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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.

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If the wrong thing that they were doing deserved their dying, yeah. I would.

[I'm going to is the more actionable version of that sentiment. He thinks, again, of James, a half a hundred instances of James at once--first year on the Hogwarts Express, third year smoking stolen cigarettes in a courtyard--leaned over the draft of the Map--stood in the stacks of the Restricted Section well after dark and levitating a book off the topmost shelf--in his bedroom at the Potter's house, smiling down at Sirius from his bed while Sirius kipped on the floor--his chin in Sirius' back as they flew on the motorbike--his face with teartracks on it--his face, smiling, at his wedding--as he tucked back the blanket Harry was wrapped in--as he put his arms around Sirius on the front steps of the cottage, I'll see you soon, Padfoot.

And then he thinks of Harry, nearly that same face but drawn and serious and grim. I don't reckon my dad would have wanted them to become killers.]

In a second, I would.

[ The smile is nearly faded now. His gaze is intent. ]

I didn't think you were that hard. My word. I had taken you for someone with a bit more...

Yeah.

[Sirius' smile is thin. He doesn't need to know how that sentence would end. He can pick up on the context.]

Well. I'm not. Apologies for being shocking.

Oh, never apologize for that. I enjoy someone who's a bit shocking.

[ Normally, yes. In this context...Well. Perhaps it is rich, coming to someone whose income comes from faithlessness, but...Barrayarans value loyalty. To place righteousness above loyalty...

Well. It certainly marks Sirius Black as being a certain kind of person, By thinks. A soldier indeed, of the hardest sort. Someone devoted to his cause more than to human decency...A chilling idealist. ]

And I doubt you really mean it. Righteous people are always so proud of being righteous.

I wouldn't get off on it, if that's what you mean.

[Proud. That's not quite a trait he'd use to describe himself, if asked. Loyal, yeah. Right, and good, and faithful? Yeah. Does he have pride? Sure. But not the sort that Vorrutyer means, the sort where you go about boasting. His is more demonstrative.]

I'd be proud to defend the rest of my friends against scum like that. No matter who they were.

And if those remaining friends then turn out to be unworthy...Off with their heads in turn?

My remaining friends are worthy.

And didn't you think that about your original friends?

I did. And I was proved wrong. Not a mistake I intend to make twice.

[ With a little sigh, he relents. Apparently, he won't be able to dig his claws in too deep here. Pity. ]

And best of luck to you, dear Lord Black, in separating the wheat from the chaff. And here's to hoping that whoever betrayed you in the past - [ Because that is obvious enough - ] Doesn't show up. Or does? Which would you prefer?

[He smiles, tightly, at that.]

Which d'you think?

I scarcely know you. I wouldn't dare to guess.

[ Not actually a lie - Sirius is still rather unpredictable to him. But he smiles like he's mocking Sirius and actually knows the answer. ]

[Oh, well.]

Perhaps we'll become friends, and you'll get to know me better.

Why on earth did that sound sarcastic, dear Sirius? I'd quite like to be friends.

Edited 2017-09-29 14:15 (UTC)

I don't know why. It won't get you anything.

[ With a light sort of wryness: ]

Yes, of course. What benefit could I possibly derive from having a magical friend?

As I understand it, there's plenty of people who can use magic. I suspect you'll find someone to fill the void in your heart, possibly with a well-crafted spell.