[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]

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.

[vorrutyer]

[ And By runs his thumbs over those old scars rather curiously. His world has moved far beyond needle technology, so - although he's a casual drug user himself, and companion to many habitual drug users - the appearance of the IV scars is curious and strange. ]

We should go for manicures, don't you think? Perhaps if they're shaped properly, you'll hesitate to destroy their beauty.

[ By's own nails are perfectly shaped - elegant ovals, buffed and shined. As immaculate as Narcissus' own. ]

[priorly]

I get them tipped from time to time, when I want something to drag down someone's back. More of a challenge, but they still don't last long with me. But we should. I never say no to pampering. I've heard there's even a spa, somewhere, though I suspect the prospect is more rockpool than somewhere clinically white, full of charming Swedish women and fluffy towels.

[He watches the progress of Bylerly's explorations, watches them slow and focus, until he can't help clenching his hands.]

Not what they look like. Medically sanctioned, I assure you.

[vorrutyer]

[ By glances up, not tracking this last comment. ]

Hm?

[priorly]

[A nod to his arms.]

Track marks. I don't shoot up.

[vorrutyer]

[ A blink, then - ]

Ah. Drugs?

[priorly]

Mm. [He smiles, the tight one that doesn't reach any other part of his expression.] Pretty pills for special occasions, fine, but I've always been so careful about needles.

[vorrutyer]

Well, that's a pity. The best drugs come through hyposprays.

[priorly]

Translate that into barbarian for me?

[vorrutyer]

[ He mimes pressing something to his arm and pulling a trigger. ]

Into the bloodstream.

[priorly]

An injection, then. Needles, as I said. No, no, I stay away from that unless administered by rubber clad hands in clean clinics - as it often is.

[vorrutyer]

Hm.

[ His hands wander up a bit further. ]

So you've been good.