video; un: eproghuefgdzptrrw

[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

[flashystyle]

The act of being friendly isn't using, Byerly-- Maker, you're insufferable.

[He sits back with an exasperated sigh, leaning his chin into his clothed hand.] You know, you remind me of one of my colleagues. He goes about indulging barmaids, drinking like he's having a grand time-- but a Ben-Hassrath, and they're...

[Ah. He trails off, just looking at Byerly for a long moment before he continued.] The title means the Heart of the Many.

[vorrutyer]

[ The significance of that is lost on Byerly. He asks, dryly: ] How poetic. What, is the fellow a prostitute?

[flashystyle]

Could have been. Must have had an enormous cock.

[He could walk away with this revelation, he knows. Not be so honest. Prove a point. But he doesn't care for that, still.] He was a spy.

[vorrutyer]

[ Ah. Byerly is drunk, and so for just a moment there's a flicker in his eyes. Just a quick one. Within a moment, he's back to casual indifference. ]

Good heavens. A spy. How romantic. I suppose a spy would be well-served by having an enormous cock, no?

[flashystyle]

Oh, I'm sure. He had about two feet on you, never had a shirt on. He'd flex when you knew he was looking, and a voice that made you want to melt into his arms and tell him everything.

[But it's enough, for Dorian. He doesn't press, though- he doesn't change his critical expression, like he knows a great deal more. He won't corner him, start asking questions. Not now.]

He still had friends, though. Insufferable lot. Kept him from going mad.

[vorrutyer]

I thought spies were supposed to be small and unobtrusive. That's what they're like on Barrayar, anyway. Unremarkable bureaucrats.

[ Byerly suspects - he suspects Dorian knows. So this is a mild counterargument, something that Dorian won't even register as an argument. ]

To keep him from going mad, though? Do spies often go mad?

[flashystyle]

Anyone can be a spy, dear Byerly. If they can generalized so easily, they must not be very good ones.

[He sighs, smiling grimly.]

A lot of them do before they dare stray from the occupation. They're lay with all these people, but they're alone at the end of the day, and discipline is much stricter for them that it might doing something else. He was very good at what he did, but he was following so blindly that he nearly gave his friends' lives for it. I don't think he'd like the man he'd be if he had.

[vorrutyer]

Then he must not have been a very good spy.

[ His manner is mild, like he's commenting on the weather. ]

Isn't that lot supposed to - you know - swallow cyanide capsules rather than compromise their loyalty? Isn't that why they choose spies?

[flashystyle]

Oh, they're supposed to. They would have. He just... didn't care much to do all that fighting for nothing, in the end. You fight for what's in your heart. If your heart's empty, what's the point?

[vorrutyer]

I think that's what governments count on. Hollow men who just do as they're told.

[ Except Barrayar. Barrayar needed a sense of honor. Honor made the lives of his superiors more difficult, but - they needed it. ]

[flashystyle]

It's a good thing there isn't any more government now, isn't it?

[He narrows his eyes.]

So that when spies wake up, they don't have to be.

[vorrutyer]

Ah, that's true. Your shirtless friend could live an easy life. Assuming he hasn't already been completely hollowed out, of course - I doubt there's any way to come back from a thorough excavation.

[flashystyle]

Yes, you do a lot of doubting.

[He rises to his feet, considering all the glass.]

Well, if all we're doing it using each other, I think I'm going to use your couch for the evening. I'll clean all this up, give you time to stew on how the world's terrible to you, all that.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly's eyes drop. ]

You might use my bed instead.

[flashystyle]

Oh, why would I? It's hardly appropriate, when I've only gotten in it to get pleasure out of you. [He raises his brows, turning to go search for a towel from the kitchen.] Do you want me in your bed?

[vorrutyer]

I want you to take it.

[ He looks off to the side, now, guilt pulsing through his deadened drunkenness. ]

I'll take the couch.

[flashystyle]

I'm not so naive and pampered and whatever else you think of me that I can't take your couch.

[He stops, staring ahead at the sink.]

I don't need your bed.

[vorrutyer]

I want you to have it. I dragged you out here with my...self-indulgence. The least I can do is not force you to suffer sleeplessness.

[ He runs a hand through his hair. ]

And you're anything but pampered.

[flashystyle]

Oh, let's get two things straight. [He smiles, turning to lean against the counter.]

One, I brought myself here because I thought I might get somewhere. You didn't drag me anywhere, and you probably couldn't. Two, in light of the fact that I'm actually quite the tool, I think I'll have to get piss drunk to be able to sleep anyway. So why don't you stop with all this and to bed, hm? You've drank enough that you might just fine.

[vorrutyer]

[ He folds his arms, lips tightening. ]

What do you mean, in light of the fact hat you're such a tool?

[flashystyle]

Found joy in your presence. Got some use out of you.

[His jaw clenches, but he sounds more dismissive than willing to argue.]

I mean, all I've given you is trouble this evening. No real reason for me to come back here after the morning, is there? I sober up, I get out of your hair.

[vorrutyer]

[ The guilt breaks through a little harder. ]

That's not what I meant by that.

[flashystyle]

Really? Because I can't think what it could possibly mean. You don't have to pretend it's anything else, Byerly- I shouldn't have, I know better.

[His lips thin.]

You can still call me when you need some entertainment. I'll have hardened up for your liking, both ways.

[vorrutyer]

No.

[ His hand goes to his hair, gets a good grip. Of all the things to break through his hardened indifference - his own pain, the things he lacked, the things that hurt him...He was inured to them. But Dorian looking at him, and proclaiming himself disillusioned - ]

I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Please. I'm sorry. Fuck what I said. I don't know if I'm right. I'm probably not right. I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, Dorian.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian spends a moment just watching, guarded. In truth, he nearly did think he just allowed himself to care about someone who only sees him as a means to an end. It was hard to swallow, but he had before. He could easily shut him out for his own safety.

He sighs, dragging his hand through his hair before he crosses back over. He rests his hand over the one in By's hand and the other at his neck.] You don't have to know right now. You don't have to do anything, Byerly, just-- just let someone take over, alright? Please.