[open] channeling angels in a new age, now.

[priorly]

Who: Prior Walter (priorly) & you??
What: Catch all logs for October!
When: October!
Where: various
Warning(s): language, likely mention of terminal illness (AIDS). Adult themes?
Notes: Please PM me if you'd like a starter, or feel free to wildcard me anytime.

Comments

[vorrutyer]

Hm.

[ By, with exaggerated solicitousness, brushes the strand of hair aside. He makes a show of studying Prior, then pronounces - ]

Ah. How wretched. You're just as beautiful without it. It's unfair, you know.

[priorly]

[What's unfair is how much he wants to pretend it's true. Oh - for five minutes, why not. As he's studied, he's studying back: a careful process, his hand resting against Byerly's cheek.] And you're quite hideously flattering. If you weren't also so gorgeous you'd be entirely impossible to be around.

[vorrutyer]

You would suspect my motives?

[priorly]

I asked you to bed with me.

[But, yes. Byerly stands accused of an excess of kindness, or pity, two well-meaning crimes that can only be tolerated so far.]

[vorrutyer]

But you wouldn't have if I were an ugly man?

[priorly]

Without the use of time travel and some extensive prosthetics, we may never be sure. [Lightly, he continues.] I can't think I'd like you less, bald and warty. But if I hadn't sat down for that drink, how would I know.

[vorrutyer]

[ Lightly: ] Well, I'd detest you if you weren't beautiful. I surround myself only with the best, you know.

[priorly]

[Oh, for fuck's sake, he knows it's all facetious and still can't let it pass. There is, after all, precedent for not coping with this. He bites his lip and makes it quick.]

Then I'd better warn you living with me is not always pretty. [This close, it's possible to feel him tense.]

[vorrutyer]

Mm.

[ By doesn't tense. But his hand turns just a little gentler - tracing Prior's cheek. ]

And what should I expect?

[priorly]

I'll spare you everything I can. [A hundred small daily humiliations.] There are days where staying upright's a challenge, you've seen that. The pills keep the rest under control, mostly, until they don't. If something happens - anything bad - call a doctor. There's one who knows me. You don't have to... touch me.

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly is quiet just a slight moment. Then he smooths Prior's hair, and he murmurs: ]

Will you prefer that I not touch you?

[priorly]

There are people who wouldn't wipe the tears of men like me. Even nurses. [a small shiver ruffles him - he's used to it, used to this. It doesn't matter what he prefers.] If I'm bleeding, best not.

[vorrutyer]

Then I won't if there's blood.

[ By doesn't look at him, but says softly: ]

But if you're in pain, it seems like dishonor of the highest order to withhold that.

[priorly]

[Something remarkably painful crosses Prior's face right then. He's caught it almost before it's visible, teeth pressed tight until it's safer to speak.]

You might just be the most honorable man I've ever met. You don't owe any oaths to me.

[vorrutyer]

Honor isn't only about oaths. There are more fundamental obligations. Universal.

[ He reaches down to take Prior's hand. ]

Of course, you really oughtn't be making those awed noises at me. It's not like I'm doing this for some stranger. Caring for dear friends is a form of self-interest, no?

[priorly]

You've known me barely two weeks, I stand by my assertions. [In a tone that manages to be find and brook no arguments at one and the same time. He glances down, catching his fingers between Byerly's and squeezing a little.] And no, it's not universal. Don't lump yourself in with the universe, baby, there are terrible things out there, and things that don't care about us at all. You're brighter than that.

[vorrutyer]

Now, now, don't let your romanticism cloud your judgment, my dearest Prior. [ His voice remains light, even as a little pull of pain yanks at his heart. Bloody hell, how wretchedly has Prior been treated, if this basic matter of decency seems exceptional? Even brutal Barrayar would never leave a sick man to languish alone. Granted, yes, the traditional Barrayaran way of dealing with illness often involved mercy-killings, but better that than to let a man suffer with no comfort or kindness. Compassion in life or a compassionate end. Never indifference. Why haven't Prior's people offered him the same attention? ]

I am a scoundrel. Forget that to your peril. It's simply that where I'm from, even scoundrels know that illness does not make a man unworthy.

[priorly]

[Compassionate ends are all very well until they're staring you in the face. Even on the nights - and there have been some - when Prior can recognize, even acknowledge mercy in death, it's still not something he'd choose.

Optimistic, you see? Tomorrow may be better, so long as there is a tomorrow.

But all this scoundrel talk, really.]

Remind me then. A few of these terrible misdeeds I should I be judging you for? With the kindness you've shown me - friendship - it is so easy to forget.

[vorrutyer]

[ He lifts his eyebrows at him. ]

Darling, why would I tell you that? You'd detest me.

[priorly]

Then I suppose I'm left imperiled. No choice but to think you decent.

[vorrutyer]

My profession doesn't perhaps give you a doubt or two?

[priorly]

The job where you try to protect your country from all that threatens it? [Prior purses his lips but - no.] ...Doesn't make you sound as awful as you may think.

[But: imperial security. Informant. Spy. In a country either at war or not that long out of it. He's not stupid.]

So, the things you've done to achieve those ends? [That's the rotten part?]

[vorrutyer]

Naturally. [ By's eyebrows lift. Cool and ironic. ] How does a spy do what a spy does, do you imagine?

[priorly]

Byerly, I've never made it to the end of a Bond movie. I know what soldiers do for their country. [A little murder plays back softly in his head.]

You... pretend to be something you're not. [That much he knows, though it remains a question of sorts.]

[vorrutyer]

Oh, no, not really. I'm always myself. Hideously so.

[ He caresses Prior's cheek. ]

I make people fond of me. I make them trust me. And every little secret they tell me in confidence slips into someone else's ears. A spy's job is betrayal.