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[ Byerly Vorrutyer is sitting in front of a piano, fingers on the keys. Byerly Vorrutyer is also, apparently, drunk. There's a bottle of brandy in front of him balanced beside the music rack that's two-thirds drained, and there's a tiny sway in his posture, and he looks sloppy - suit coat opened, shirt-collar loosened. When he speaks, his voice slurs. But as he talks, he plays Chopin beautifully, expressively. He only misses the very occasional note. ]

God help me, but this place is dull. And I know from dull. I spent an entire season - an entire season! - on the Vorinnis estate on the South Continent. If Lady Vorinnis hadn't been there to distract me with all her deliciousness, I'd have actually, literally, died of boredom. I nearly set fire to the whole taiga. Roasted all the little birdies and rabbits and peasants. Pheasants. Peasants. Whichever.

[ He sighs mournfully, casting a sorrowful glance at the camera. ]

Say, fellows, how does a man have fun around here? It's clear no one knows how to play whist, so that's out, and dueling for laughs seems tacky. I've already watched a few of you brutes bash one another's faces in, which had its charms and no doubt, but the time for that is over. I can't play bed, wed, behead with you, because you're all proles of no account and no education who wouldn't know the high-society names I mention to you. Oh!

[ He sits up a bit, stopping his playing mid-note, right before the end of the first section of the piece. What a musical anticlimax. ]

I've got one. I'll write limericks about you. Tell me a bit about yourself, and I'll write limericks. Go on, do. They'll be funny, I promise - this is one of my favorite games. Absolutely kills at parties.

[ And then, with a small bow - ]

Byerly Vorrutyer, Emperor of Barrayar, at your lyrical service.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You don't say. I'll do better next time.

Well, do I still get a limerick, or is that spoiled?

No, no, I'll give you one. Just give me a bit more information about you.

[Is it going to be rude, he wonders... excessively rude, anyway.]

My name's Merlin and I'm a sorcerer. [uhhh...] You can include that bit about the dragon ride, he's my friend.

[Is that it... That's it. Merlin: a summary.]

Yes, yes, I guessed all that already. What else?

That's not enough? What sort of things do you need?

Well, where are you from?

Camelot. Ealdor before that, but no one's ever heard of it. I'm King Arthur's best friend.

Oh, Camelot. I've heard of that. And what do you do, aside from being best friend to a king?

Save his life all the time, clean his socks, put up with insults. You know, friendly things.

So you're a servant?

Among other things. Professionally, yes. [A beat.] By other things I mean the parts with magic, you know. As mentioned.

[ With a laugh - ]

Well! My mind didn't go to dirty places until you made sure to clarify.

There's just no winning for me today, is there. [Not a question-] Well that's it for me, really.

No, no, you must tell me more. Or else all I'll be able to think about is your unrequited passion for your friend.

That's— no, it's not like that. "Other things" does not include mooning after a great shriveled turnip who can't find the front side of his pants most days.

Ooh, someone sounds a bit defensive...

No. Not at all. Not even a little bit. I'm—clarifying.

There once was a fellow of magic,
Who lived in a kingdom pelagic. - I assume, I'm not actually certain if Camelot's on the ocean, but that's always how I've imagined it.
He most certainly was not
With his good friend besot
As one cannot love a king - that's just tragic.

[He's walking into these left and right today, it seems—]

I suppose that would be very tragic, yes. If it were true. [...] Camelot isn't on the coast, I'm afraid.

Ah! Alas. I was so close to perfection.

Better luck next time? I'm honestly not sure how much of the things people here know about Camelot is true and how much is nonsense. Suppose that isn't anyone's fault, though. It was quite a while ago to everyone except me.

Well, everything's quite a while ago to me. All of you are antiquated barbarians. Why, most of you haven't even made it into space yet!

That's—fair, I suppose. Not counting where we all are now, anyway. Were you gallivanting around in space before coming to this place?

We were indeed. Skipping between wormholes, hopping across asteroids, tip-tapping amongst the stars. Like civilized people do.

You, though? Personally? Or just people in general?

(no subject)

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