[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]

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.

[priorly]

And I should be careful of you. [He catches Byerly's wrist, an unusually quick movement, and keeps it trapped, pressing with his thumb to make his fingers unfurl.] Which is why you're telling me about it. Who would you even pass secrets to - [Ah.] people who can offer something in return.

[vorrutyer]

[ By draws in a breath, his fingers coming loose. Levelly, though without a smile - ]

Just so.

[priorly]

[Prior looks down at the hand in his grasp, examining it like an augur. He draws the other hand up, too, fingers still locked.]

It seems to me that it's not quite your job anymore. Oath or not. Now it's your choice. And you'll keep making it, knowing that. I don't think the choice is wrong, just hard.

[When he looks up, it's with a watchful expression.]

When you talked about the Time of Isolation I thought it was a period not a lifestyle.

[vorrutyer]

[ He lifts one eyebrow in appreciation of the wit of that last comment, if not of the sentiment. ]

As it happens, I quite agree with you. Scoundrels and wicked men are necessary, at times, to keep the world going around. But it doesn't negate my general point.

[priorly]

[His hands are loose cuffs at Byerly's wrists.]

I still don't see your point. I don't believe you're cruel, there hasn't been a single villainous laugh this whole time. Whatever you do, you think you have to. Do wicked men hand out warnings? That's what this is, right? I can keep people's secrets, when they matter. After all, I promised you.

[vorrutyer]

But I cannot.

[ He lifts his eyebrows, then lifts his hands gently to bring them into their sightline. ]

Am I your prisoner, Prior?

[priorly]

And now I know. So whatever I tell you, that's my choice. Anything I have that you might want to use - I know.

[His grip tightens, a little. The smallest of quirks tugging at one corner of his mouth.]

You just gave yourself up.

[vorrutyer]

I hope you don't think I'm cowardly, surrendering so easily.

[ His eyelashes sweep down. His voice is sultry. ]

Treat me kindly?

[priorly]

[And that quirk widens to something - well, wicked.]

Maybe you should have asked if I was cruel, first.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a dry smile: ]

Are you cruel?

[priorly]

Only when asked nicely.

[Almost too quickly, contravening the alert bells that have started to ring in his head. And maybe the way he looks at Byerly is too dark, black flooding brown, but. But. He does have things he keeps hidden. For his own protection.

It only takes a little effort to turn his smile, and tone, more trivial.]

I don't think it would speak well for me if shackles were a requirement.

[So Byerly's hands slip free.]

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly draws his hands down, but ghosts a little touch over Prior's neck. ]

Less a requirement than a bonus, it seems to me. Sometimes a fellow wants to be imprisoned and kept, doesn't he?

[ He settles back with a smile that's quite sultry. But teasing, at the end of the day. No more than teasing. ]

I hope you are cruel, beloved. It'd set my heart at ease to know it.

[priorly]

Imprisoned! Nothing quite so dark. I'm sure there are people who spend themselves just thinking about it, of course. But for myself I can't imagine anything more dispiriting than being a jailer. All that company, none of it by choice.

[He knocks lightly on Byerly's chest before settling back himself.]

But if it soothes your little tin lump, consider me a beast.

[vorrutyer]

Ah, but is that the truth?

[ He sighs mournfully. ]

If there is something I detest in myself, it's my preference for the truth over convenient lies. Dreadful quality, isn't it?

[priorly]

[Something he detests. Somehow Prior's eyes remain unrolled; he spares Byerly a sidelong look.]

We all have beastly qualities, I'm sure. I try to keep mine under wraps. [The ones he thinks of most have a literal, fairytale bent. Real horror, written through his skin.] That must make your occupation a chore.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, on the contrary. It makes my occupation perfectly delicious. After all, I'm paid to ferret out what is the truth - or, at the very least, bundle up all the lies so that the clever fellows at HQ can winnow out the good from the bad.

[ By smiles at Prior, perfectly unapologetic for his constant drama. Then, rather abruptly: ]

What do you like best about yourself, dearest?