elnysa | video; un: eproghuefgdzptrrw

[ 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.

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[ Indulging this sort of ridiculousness is such a deeply ingrained habit that Remus can't really help it, so, hello. Ignoring any TMI or Too Realness elsewhere. ]

I lived in Limerick for a few months. [ And as a faintly disappointed aside: ] No one spoke in rhyme.

—and my name is Remus Lupin, [ to get back on the subject of getting his limerick thank you, ] and I'm a prole of no account but decent education.

[ Ah! Huh, this is new information. ]

What, is Limerick a place?

[ How fascinating. Byerly looks quite pleased a moment to have learned this. ]

Well. Lupin's not so much good for rhyming, unless we're going to go very juvenile, which I prefer not to do, as I am an adult and a very classy one at that. So, let us ponder Remus. Where were you educated, Monsieur Lupin?

[ There's a pause, which on Remus' end is occupied by two things: convincing himself that it's fine to talk about school, they've already blown their cover and who cares, and also slowly and painstakingly switching to video, because not doing so in the face of this insistence seems clearly rude and therefore even worse than violating statutes from other worlds.

So Byerly gets a face along with an answer. ]

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, near Hogsmeade, Scotland.

Also places.

[ But— ]

I've never heard of Barrayar.

[ Which could be a prompt but is primarily look, I also don't know things, no need to feel bad about Limerick and possibly Scotland. ]

Places that don't have nearly the same place in my heart, because no one has ever recited a bawdy scotland, nor scandalized society with a lewd hogsmeade. Nor, for that matter, stood up and delivered a stunningly ill-mannered barrayar. We can only aspire to that level of immortality.

[ Byerly presses a hand to his heart and sighs wistfully. Then he goes on: ]

Tell me, monsieur, what sorts of magic can you do? Give me a few sample spells, please do.

[ Remus' mouth is open for a moment before he answers, the inevitable pause of someone told to say something when there are so many things to say. ]

The usual... turning teapots into turtles, or teaching the teapots to tango. Having them heat up and pour on their own, if we want to be useful. [ Big if. ] Putting broken teapots back together. Bigger teapot, smaller teapot.

It's very teapot-focused magic.

How quaint and domestic.

[ His eyes crinkle in a smile. ]

That lovely young lady, Lily - is she from your world?

[ So quaint, so domestic, that's exactly the idea.]

Oh, yes. My world or a close copy. We used to be the same age, and now...

[ Look at him, he's ancient. One foot in the grave.

Mildly touchy subject. ]

You could always invent the barrayar form. Not many people here would know the difference, and the word could live on after you and your world are both gone. As ill-mannered poetry. I'd consider it.

Ah, but to capture the essence of Barrayar, it'd have to go something like -

[ He clears his throat, adopts a stern expression, and recites: ]

Honor, dishonor, blood and guts, shit fuck fuck fuck fuck shit damn fuck shit fuck fuck fuck dishonor dishonor scandal dishonor dishonor. [ His expression clears, and he says - ] Now pretend I just lit something on fire. Anyway, it doesn't seem as though it'd be the sort of thing that lives forever, that particular poetic form.

Curious little fact you just dropped, though. The same age?

[ About midway through that performance Remus can no longer contain his eyebrow raise. It's a little more impressed than baffled, in his contained way. He's certainly going to remember that form. ]

Yes. We went to school together. So either time means nothing or there are multiple planets that have identical people living identical lives, just with a bit of a delay.

It's is fun to think about [ no it's not, at all, but his sarcasm voice is pretty much the same as his pleasant conversation voice ] because of how underwhelmed and in control of your own fate it makes you feel.

Ooh, yes, I get little goosebumps of joy every time I ponder how much everything makes sense right now. A bit of time travel atop all the dimension-hopping. It's all so yummy.

[ Byerly's voice doesn't change, but his smile broadens in appreciation of the dryness of Remus' humor. Like a fine martini, that voice. ]

Heavens, though, it makes you wonder who else might show up. Helen of Troy? Ivan the Terrible? The first human ever to live, or the last one? Oh, I don't want to accidentally become my own grandfather - isn't that how these things typically go?

Becoming your own grandfather might be difficult, but sleeping with your grandparents would be alarmingly easy. Maybe we should petition the Orbiters to warn for that. They could use whatever magic goes into those overly personal name tags.

Heavens, wouldn't that be useful. Useful in general, actually. "Don't sleep with this one."

[ Then, reflectively - ]

There once was a fellow named Remus
Who had a magical penis.
But he knew he'd be hexed
If his ancestors he sexed
So "untouchable" Remus did deem us.

That tragedy told from the perspective of your ancestors, of course.

video; un: eproghuefgdzptrrw

audio | rjlupin

video because.

video because manners.

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