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[vorrutyer]

[ Unlike any of Byerly’s previous posts, which consisted of him monologuing interminably, this post looks to be a dialogue. There are actually two people on screen - Byerly’s lanky, elegant, sloe-eyed self, and next to him a small odd-looking fellow with intense features and a too-large head set on a hunched spine. For all the differences between them, though, the two look like they could be brothers, or at least cousins - similar noses, similar bone structure, similar skin tone, similar hair color. Ah, the products of Barrayaran inbreeding.

You can tell who set up the camera by the framing. Byerly is centered, and sitting at an angle that best shows off his fine features. Miles Vorkosigan, the small fellow, is squished off into a corner of the frame. By is the first to speak, too. ]

Bonsoir, lovely fellows and ladies. Your bosom friend and brother Byerly here with an important announcement. Though you have known me as His Imperial Majesty Byerly II of Barrayar, now I’m just plain By, because my position has been usurped. [ A fake mournful sigh. ] Brutal civil war. Deadly. Horrible. I’ve been dealt a monstrous blow.

[ Miles, meanwhile, just kind of rolls his eyes skyward. Spare him from his cousin’s melodrama. ] If by “usurped” you mean “assumed rightful authority,” then yes. I usurped you. With little resistance, I might add. [ A pause; he straightens his small frame as best he can - not that it’s especially effective given the camera angle. ] Did you really go around calling yourself His Imperial Majesty Byerly II?

But of course. [ Byerly blinks in mock-innocence. ] Sire, don’t tell me that you don’t see the Imperial office as worthy of respect. I was simply demanding the dignity due to the camp stool.

Is it more dignified to lose it to a civil war too? [ Miles arches a brow in turn. ] I could fight you, I suppose.

Oh, please don’t do that, sire. [ By’s expression is a reasonable approximation of pained. ] I don’t want to hurt you. He’s very fragile, you see. [ The last is said conspiratorially to the audience, as though Miles couldn’t hear. And, swiftly, before he can be executed for treason - ] So I wished to introduce my dear sometime-cousin and current-overlord to the network, as a grand announcement of an enormous life change, and an announcement that I will of course be hosting a coronation party for him.

-- What?

[ There’s not even the slightest twinkle of amusement in Byerly’s face; he looks perfectly solemn as he explains - ]

It is, of course, customary for those invited to a coronation to bring gifts of tribute. I would not presume to speak for my lord Emperor, but I might suggest gifts of alcohol. Or something a little harder than alcohol? A fellow does grow tired of only being drunk, and the Emperor is quite a fan of stimulants, which is why you’ll hear him babble endlessly, all the time. Would that suit you, sire?

[ Miles has been working his mouth like a frog in the background this whole time; he still sputters a moment, staring at Byerly in disbelief. ] I never agreed to a party, By -- [ He interrupts himself with a beautiful stream of cursing in Greek. ] For god’s sake, that won’t be necessary.

[ Loudly, speaking over his Emperor - ] That sounds like a yes to me! I’ll see you all tomorrow night. [ And with a wink, he cuts the feed. ]


[ ooc: blue is Byerly, red is Miles ]

Comments

[dendarii]

[ Goddammit Byerly. Miles just rubs at his face, frustrated. ]

No more Countships without Our say so. [ A beat. ] I suppose I can't do anything about this one.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a raised eyebrow. ]

I was Emperor in my own right, earlier. I had the right. [ Then, with a sigh, and a bow to Prior - ] I offered, but Prior refused. A pity. We should be so lucky.

[priorly]

I said I might consider being a prince, for the alliteration.

[Though never quite meant it. Byerly had made the offer in some ways for Prior's own protection, should some of his less savory countrymen wake up - but given the stories Prior's heard about them, he hardly sees what difference it would make.

Still. He's not looking entirely impressed by the current countryman's attitude, new emperor or not.]

Though you never told me all your people were this charming in their greetings. Why I feel positively swept off my feet.

[dendarii]

[ Miles flushes a bit with embarrassment. No, he's not giving off a very good impression, is he. ]

Let me start over, then.

[vorrutyer]

I think that'd be an excellent thing to do, sire.

[ By, grinning a bit, settles back against the table. Apparently, liege loyalty doesn't extent to not tormenting his liege. ]

[priorly]

[Prior glances between them, eyebrows raised.

Then extends a hand to Miles - palm turned downward, painted nails up, the way a woman might await a kiss to the back of her hand.]

[dendarii]

[ Miles hesitates. Clearly recognizing the gesture, but also equally clear in his discomfort with it.

After a moment, he takes Prior's hand, but only raises it a little. Not fully to his lips. Instead, he bows lightly over it. ]

Prior - Walter, was it?

[vorrutyer]

[ A little noise of disapproval from the peanut gallery. ]

Sire, aren't you half-Betan? Think what your mother would say. You can do better than this.

[priorly]

[As if he's said this too many times before (he has said this too many times before)]

Like the Walter before this one, yes.

[He has enough mercy to pull back his hand - Byerly wouldn't have set homosexual so plainly into his introduction if it wasn't to make a point, and so far Byerly's points appear to be means of making his cousin uncomfortable. Which is something Prior may need to consider, at a later point.]

I only bite in moments of pleasure or distress. [As he curls his fingers back against his palm.] You're quite safe.

[dendarii]

[ Miles' discomfort is sharpest where he interacts directly with anything other than heterosexuality. And being as young as he is, his Barrayaran biases are still warring with his Betan sensibilities. ]

Well - yes. Of course. I'm sorry for my rudeness.

[ No comment for you, Byerly, just a look. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ And a sunny smile in return. ]

Well, with all that out of the way with, shall I make us something for breakfast? It seems I ought to start adjusting to my new liegeman duties.

[priorly]

[Prior's answer to the apology is a wink, and he settles back into easy familiarity.]

Just water for me, I fear my delicate constitution hasn't gotten out of bed yet. [A moment and] The sire thing is very odd, will you be keeping it up? It's a little dubious roleplay for my taste.

[dendarii]

[ Miles shrugs, faintly. ]

I expect Byerly to be the only one using it. Sarcastically at that. [ Here he tilts his head at Prior, more curious than anything. ] Is this temporary laziness from your constitution or something more permanent?

[ There's not a scrap of pity in his voice - only curious commiseration. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ A shrug as he heads into the kitchen. Like this is natural as anything: ]

Sire is the appropriate term of address of a subject to his Emperor.

[priorly]

[A faint protest as Byerly goes.]

Not at the breakfast table, surely.

[Not a scrap of pity is something to be appreciated, although real reason for it hasn't been given yet. Though it might be noted that Prior hasn't shown the slightest reaction to Miles' lack of Byerly's more willowy qualities.]

It's not much of a constitution, in general. If it's not upsetting itself then it's upset with the pills intended to keep it from getting that way - a vicious cycle.

[He'll elaborate further, but if Miles is unsure about sexuality, one has to wonder how he feels about disease. An impairment of ones own doesn't guarantee an open mind.]

[dendarii]

[ And he appreciates the lack of commentary in return. Too many have already gotten under his skin in this encounter, even. His own tone is just sympathetic and light in return; this is a much easier topic for him. ]

Ah, yes. The joy of the treatment being as much of a pain as the affliction itself.

[ He gestures to his forearm; one of many surgery scars is there, bright and pale against his skin. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ By doesn't comment as he pulls down food from the cabinets. (The morning's breakfast will be the closest approximation of groats he's been able to find on this world.) He's curious, instead, now that his impulse for cruelty and mischief has been sated, how Prior and Miles will get on. ]

[priorly]

[Prior's still more circumspect about what he considers to be the wreckage of his body. Save for one bloody bruise visible at the base of his throat he keeps them close to his chest, so to speak. Shame's not quite the right word for it - except when it's the only word that will do.

He smooths his own hands over his arms as some sort of instinctive response to that scar.]

It looks old - are you still in treatment now?

[He can guess, vaguely, at the reasons: developmental issues. Problems with bones.]

The medication down here is prehistoric, anything complex and better off not involving chanting cavemen usually involves going back to the ship.

[Or finding a mage, but Byerly will surely fill that in if Miles does have medical needs.]

[dendarii]

Perpetually. My bones are heinously brittle. A light breeze could break one, if I'm not careful.

[ Hence, well. All of him. He sort of gestures down at himself. And snorts a bit at Prior's comment. ]

Ah, yes, I had gotten that impression. Ridiculous. Does all of your medicine come from the station, then?

[vorrutyer]

Not all.

[ And, loftily, as he brings Prior a glass of water: ]

Also, as a frame of reference, the medicine in Prior's time is prehistoric as well.

[priorly]

Excuse me, we're at least Neolithic to their Paleolithic. And the fact remains they can't cure me there, and they can't cure me here either. [He resets his attention to Miles.] Though I am an anomaly, they're supposed to be miracle workers in this place. You could find yourself with better luck.

[He takes the glass, and taps his thigh lightly.]

The bone in my leg is dying, only a little ahead of the rest of me. It's a... plague, of sorts. Or that's the word most people know. A deficiency in the immune system that means every malignant thing that wants a piece of me gets to take it.

[dendarii]

[ There's a pause from Miles. He's - thinking about something. Considering whether to say it. And ultimately deciding not to. No, not here. Byerly first, then other people, maybe.

Anyway, his tone is sympathetic but - as always - not pitying. ]

Ah, auto-immune deficiencies are the worst. I am lucky to only have experienced that as a medical side effect, not a full symptom. [ A wince. ] How long did your doctors give you?

[vorrutyer]

[ That strikes Byerly - who's never suffered a disease worse than childhood asthma and the occasional flu - as grotesquely insensitive. He stabs a vicious glare towards his liege-lord, and strongly considers dumping some water over the damned mutie. ]

[priorly]

No, not quite auto-immune. It's like an auto-immune deficiency hopped up on testosterone and trying to fight it's way out to pick on other people.

[It's unusual for someone to put the prognosis question so bluntly, but not terrible. Prior asked all the best medical professionals the exact same question, in so many words.]

They don't give out time. It depends what comes along: usually pneumonia, though I got through the last bout of that more or less unscathed. Longer here than I'd have had there, I think. [And this is more for Byerly than something he's sure of.] Years, if I'm lucky. I'll probably be eaten by one of the giant spiders, first.

[dendarii]

[ Look, Miles has gotten all kinds of prognoses himself. He's not going to hold himself back unless Prior himself is sensitive, and he seems to have guessed correctly on that regard. ]

I see ... Terrible, then, but perhaps not inevitable. They stopped giving me prognoses after I lived past the age of ten, thankfully. Depressing lot, all of them.