[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

[priorly]

[A beat and then. A smile.]

Yes. I am.

[vorrutyer]

[ With a laugh - ]

Ah, the lady doth protest - too little. Why, you seem positively proud of it.

[priorly]

Oh people who never want anything are impossible, don't you think? It's not selflessness, it just makes more work for people who'd like to give them things. [He's demanding because he cares.

This is actually true. It's one way to tell he likes you.]

But do you think it's my best quality?

[vorrutyer]

[ By smiles appreciatively, because - yes. Good point, Prior. ]

No, no, not your best. You have better ones still than that.

[priorly]

[Demanding but not ungrateful, whatever rise Byerly was angling for. Whether some things can be repaid is more open to debate but give him time.]

Really? I can't even imagine.

[vorrutyer]

I thought you said you had a positive self-image. Really? You can't imagine any better ones?

[priorly]

Positive. Still one step down the line from narcissistic, though patience is not one of my virtues.

[vorrutyer]

Hm - yes, I've noticed that about you. Hardly any ability to wait at all.

[priorly]

[That's it, he's pinching the spot that caused a yelp before.]

Positive traits, Byerly.

[vorrutyer]

[ And a little jerk, a little squawk, and a slap at Prior's wrist. There's just a bit of real annoyance when he growls - ]

Don't.

[ Then with a huff, he regains his cool. ]

Anyway, this wasn't the topic of conversation. I don't want to say what I like about you. I want you to say what you like about yourself.

[priorly]

Yes, I know. Are you very ticklish? And just there, or do different places elicit different sounds?

[vorrutyer]

Prior, dearest, I can make you sleep on the floor.

[priorly]

Very ticklish. I see. [He makes a little show of sitting on his hands.] Fine then, lead by example. What would your answer be?

[vorrutyer]

My face, naturally.

[priorly]

Really? I thought that kind of thing was changeable, in your society, if nature didn't provide. [If his hands were free he'd be tempted to skim the pad of his thumb along the finely raised outlines of Byerly's cheekbone. He lets his eyes do the work, instead.]

Though you have fallen into a fine gene pool, facially anyway. But features? You didn't tell me I could pick my rippling abs.

[vorrutyer]

Changeable with money. And Barrayar doesn't really go in for those techno-alterations. At our hearts, we're still a great lot of cudgel-swinging barbarians, grunting at horses. Science is really witchcraft in disguise.

[ He smiles easily. ]

So is it your beauty, then? That you prize about yourself?

[priorly]

Or witchcraft really science - I'm fond of my hands. [ Slender and elegant, expressive, translating every worthwhile phrase into a language all their own - as now, freed from their trap to gesticulate along.] Full of good memories. My waist. My shape as a whole - no muscle Mary but I was born into something that suited, I feel. Too thin now, of course. The face is fine, any cosmetic corrections I make are only temporary.

[vorrutyer]

I think the face is a shade better than fine.

[priorly]

Well, we are most critical of the familiar. My lips. [Indicating the upper in particular, it's exaggerated Cupid's bow but lack of substance.] Are thin. As I said, fine, nothing to cover with a cloth bag. It serves me well.

[vorrutyer]

[ He accepts this...a little reluctantly. ]

Hm. Well, let's see your hands.

[priorly]

[Never let it be said he couldn't appreciate that argument. But, he's not one for empty lies either.

So: his hands, offered out chipped nails frontward.]

Perhaps not at their best.

[vorrutyer]

[ He reaches out, pressing his palm to Prior's palm. His own fingers are long, absurdly long, graceful and strong-fingered. ]

Do you bite your nails?

[priorly]

[Their hands are a near match in some senses - Prior's fingerspan on a piano wouldn't be too far off. His hands are less broad. His wrists are a painful comparison.]

Never.

[Clearly. But they're filed smooth].

[vorrutyer]

Never?

[ He turns over Prior's hands, examining his forearms, using his thumbs to trace his veins. ]

[priorly]

It's a nervous habit, isn't it? And my nerves are of steel, as well you know.

[It's an oddly intimate feeling. Or not oddly, given the sensitive nature of any place the tracery of veinwork lays so shallowly under the skin. Prior's teeth graze his lip.

If Byerly looks closely enough he'll catch the set of little scars. IV needles leaving traces in their wake, some shallow silver lines, some deeper.]

They grow so slowly. I bite them as a mode of discipline, really.