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[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly, a handsome fellow with a hard-to-place accent that just sounds a bit different, is lounging on a couch. The angle isn't entirely flattering, since he's filming himself while laying supine, and so there's a view sort of halfway up his nostrils that is a little bit too much information. A bottle of brandy dangles from one hand, and his voice is slurring just a bit. This fellow seems quite drunk. ]

Bonsoir, you grunting peasants and cultureless rubes, and happy Winterfair to all. For those of you who are cultureless monsters, Winterfair is a time when gifts are exchanged and joy is had. My gift to you is that I won't call any of you peasants again for the duration of this broadcast. Winterfair was also the last Emperor's birthday, or thereabouts, which meant everyone had to give him their taxes for the year, but mine's not till later, so you don't need to pay me till then. I'll let you know when taxes are due. Start saving up now.

So what should you all give me instead? I suppose to begin with you could entertain me. What do you say, my cream puffs - a little game of two truths and a lie? You know the rules, since the rules are literally the name of the game. Go on, play with me, do. I'll start. I'm currently rightful Emperor of Barrayar, my great grandfather Pierre once showed up to a Winterfair ball soaked in blood to send a message, I'm terrible in bed.

Anyone who opts out of the game, I'm going to assume they're simply too in love with me to speak with me, so don't play at your own risk.

[ He winks, and then lifts the brandy to his mouth - and it apparently goes down at a bad angle, because he sits up, coughing and spluttering and getting alcohol down his front before he shuts off the feed. ]

Comments

[vorrutyer]

But you worked for the benefit of your country. For its well-being.

[ The bottle is released, but By doesn't take a drink from it quite yet. ]

To what end, if your country died?

[flashystyle]

I did. We both did, you and I. Poured everything we could possibly give into making sure it lasts, and here we are.

[He takes another swig from his own bottle.]

Why do we live if we know we're just going to die? If you write in sand, the tide will just wash it away eventually. We live because some of the people we meet matter to us, and in turn, we matter to them. You're only living half the life you could be if you reject the latter.

[Aaand another.]

Is everyone from our worlds up there? No. But you can't tell me that there aren't at least a few that you need to live the fullest for, either because that's what they want or because by doing so you'll be fit to keep them safe. And even if there weren't, you can't tell me there aren't already people here, like me, who would want genuine happiness for you if they knew you were putting on a show.

[vorrutyer]

I don't need your pity, Dorian.

[ When he looks up again, there's just a brief flash of that same defiant anger as before - prideful and fierce. A swig, finally, and - ] And so what if there are people up there? They'll never wake.

[flashystyle]

Don't confuse my concern with pity, Byerly.

[There's a bit more bite to that than he intended, but really, he's being ridiculous.] You don't know that. Yes, you don't know that they ever will either, but nothing is certain. They wouldn't be there if there wasn't a chance for them to.

[vorrutyer]

[ A cold, grim smile. ]

They're there to provide a handle on us. The useful people. That's the conundrum, see - we fight to see them awake, but they never will wake. Because as soon as they do, their power over us fades.

[flashystyle]

That isn't true.

[He frowns, crossing the kitchen to close the gap again.]

We fight so that when they come down here, they'll have somewhere safe to be.

[vorrutyer]

[ A short, harsh scoff. ]

How naive. If they gave them to us, then we'd stop fighting. No reason to do so.

[flashystyle]

I think you overestimate how much they care us. What they do is just another day in something that's been happening for longer than we can imagine.

[He narrows his eyes, sitting down so he can look directly at him.]

You are wasting your time here being so goddamn pessimistic.

[vorrutyer]

[ He purses his lips sourly. ]

You're wasting your time deluding yourself with optimism. [ He takes a hard slug of brandy. ] They'll never come back to us.

[ I'll never see her again. ]

[flashystyle]

You woke up.

[He grits his teeth, placing his bottle on the table.]

You woke up, and I met you-- the real you. The fact I have is an incredible thing made out of unfortunate circumstance, and you-- you matter, Byerly. Everything you've done, every bit of who you are, fucking matters. I don't know what I can say to you that will convince you of that fact, or if there's anything at all, but don't think for a second that I'm not going to stop trying. And if that doesn't work, I'll go ensure that someone who can will wake you up to slap you out of out of this. I'm sure they'd be thrilled at the chance.

[vorrutyer]

And what is the real me?

[ He tilts the bottle on its edge, watching the liquor gather in the corner. ]

What part of me needs to be woken up? Because I'll be quite frank, Dorian - I don't know what me is the real me. If you've figured it out after our acquaintance, that's a damned miracle, I'd say.

[flashystyle]

And miracles can't happen, right? No, I don't know anything about that Byerly other than the fact he exists. But I'd like to, if you just... put in the effort to figure that out.

[He sighs, looking away from him to consider his own bottle.]

There's no point in maintaining this... false armor around yourself if you don't have thick skin when someone finds a weak spot. You get angry, then you get angry at yourself for getting angry, then you wind up here. Then you won't be able to find everything about everyone, like you want to.

[vorrutyer]

[ A drink. ]

Is that my goal? [ Then: ] I was angry, dear fellow, because I'd thought what I'd told you was something you'd keep in confidence.

[flashystyle]

I didn't mean for it to be such a personalized attack-- half the people here have probably come from shit families. I didn't think anyone would...

[He nearly drinks again, defensive, but lowers the bottle before he can just deflect.]

I didn't think. I'm sorry.

[vorrutyer]

[ By presses the attack. ]

Would what? Would care? Would notice? Well, I hope they shan't, because now it's all out there. For public consumption. Everyone can draw their own conclusions about who Byerly is.

[flashystyle]

They'll know that I think he's a man worth their time. I didn't say anything objective.

[vorrutyer]

I don't need you advocating for me.

[flashystyle]

Then I won't. Alright? I won't tell anyone about who I think you are, or what you can be, but that doesn't change my stance.

[vorrutyer]

[ Having secured that promise, Byerly is momentarily at a loss for what to rail against. He takes an angry swig as he thinks, then sets it down and demands: ]

So what is it you want of me, Dorian? To be softer, yes, very well, but that's not going to happen. A man cannot simply become sweet and kind on command, no more than he can become hard-hearted and disciplined - an impossible thing, to the despair of shitty fathers everywhere. So what do you want?

[flashystyle]

[All his arguing to make a point, and he's doesn't have an answer ready. Dorian takes up his own at Byerly lowers his bottle, thinking, then-]

I want you... to at least try and not be so dishonest with yourself, then. Not all to everyone else, obviously, as you must have some motive to ask for truths of our companions. [It's on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn't quite click. After a moment of wondering, he moves on.] I don't want to be drinking with you if I don't know if you're actually enjoying yourself. And I like drinking with you, so please, do me this kindness.

[vorrutyer]

[ Just a little flicker in his eyes as Dorian seems about to guess - but no; he presses on. That truth is safe, apparently, at least for now. Because Byerly, by this point, is quite certain that he could guess if Dorian saw through him. The man truly is transparent.

So, instead: ]

It sounds like what you're asking isn't for me to be honest with myself. It sounds like you want me to be honest with you.

[flashystyle]

No, that... That is what it sounds like, but no.

[He sighs, but it's probably his least frustrated one within the past hour. He leans back and rubs his eyes.]

I want... to make suggestions to you, and you do what you will with them. If they don't make your life any better, then it isn't my business to continue forcing them upon you.

[vorrutyer]

I suppose my difficulty lies in understanding why it is that you think I need these suggestions.

[ His fingertips dig slightly into the surface of the brandy bottle. ]

Forgive me, my dear Dorian, but I'm not sure what use I can get out of your advice. I certainly don't mean to offend, but I can't help but doubt the common sense of a man who would forgive his father after what he did to you.

[flashystyle]

Byerly.

[His tone is more dejected as he draws the hand from his face. He stares ahead, eyes unfocused.]

Please don't. I've already talked about my father.

[vorrutyer]

And yet it still doesn't make sense to me.

[ He turns his eyes on Dorian. His face is impassive. ]

He tried to destroy you.