[ closed ]

[latkje]

Who: Byerly (vorrutyer) & Nash (latkje)
What: Magic!
When: After the conclusion of the disease plot.
Where: On the road from Wyver to Olympia.
Warning(s): 504 Gateway Time-out

[ The road from Wyver to Olympia is well-travelled and well-packed, the long stretches of monotony preventing Nash from enjoying the landscape. Travel was supposed to bring variety, he thought, new sights, new sounds— not the same thing, over and over. It was hard to tell how far they'd come, at least in the physical sense. ]

At least we're done with that awful humidity. [ He runs a hand through his hair— short and wavy, it had gotten unruly in the heat. ] I have a northern constitution, if you didn't know. [ And a northern fashion sense, as Harmonian clothes tended toward the dour and conservative. Nash was also in the habit of wearing gloves. He's wearing them now, in fact. ] There are some things I just wasn't made for.

[ That hangs in the air a moment, then he turns to actually look at Byerly. ]

But you wanted to talk about magic.

Comments

[vorrutyer]

Do you?

[ Byerly doesn't look at Nash; he smiles into the middle distance. ]

How unusual. There aren't many people who look at me and expect more than meets the eye. Have we not spent enough time together? Do I need to spend more time drinking where you can see me?

[latkje]

That doesn't seem like a very interesting way to look at people. [ I.e., not expecting more than meets the eye. ] I assume you at least try to picture them without their clothes.

[vorrutyer]

Wouldn't that mean expecting less than I see, dear maiden?

[ And then he makes a show of looking Nash up and down, nodding in approval. It's fairly transparently a delaying tactic as he struggles to decide just how honest he wants to be. His instinct is to avoid honesty altogether, to keep his job a secret, but...one does need allies, does one not...? ]

[latkje]

Hah. Okay, but less can be more. Do they say that where you're from?

[ He's indulging the stalling technique. Very helpful, he says. ]

[vorrutyer]

I've heard it.

[ He takes a drag on his cigarette - another delay - and then says - ]

What would you do if I were more than that? [ Echoing Nash's earlier question: ] Turn me in?

[latkje]

Byerly. [ A deliberate pause. ] Who would I turn you in to?

[vorrutyer]

You asked the question of me, dear maiden.

[latkje]

Because I knew the answer.

[ Pretty hard to endanger national security at this juncture. ]

[vorrutyer]

Do you really think I'm so harmless? There are ways I could use that information against you.

[latkje]

Sorry, wait. [ He moves one of his hands around, apologetic. ] Apologies, I think I've lost it.

Weren't we having a conversation where you were pretending to be harmless?

[vorrutyer]

And in which you were accusing me of being nothing of the sort. So you either gave me that information presuming I'm harmless, in which case I'm also useless, or harmful - in which case I can actually do something with it.

[latkje]

You're missing a third possibility. [ And, well, probably a forth and a fifth, but who's counting. ]

[vorrutyer]

Do share.

[latkje]

[ He brushes his hair out of his face, but his voice doesn't skip. ]

You don't have to calculate many risks when you don't have anything left to lose.

[vorrutyer]

Ah.

[ Byerly's smile twists. Yes. That...That dilemma, he knows well. Ah, desperation. He and Nash - they're like the last two people in the bar, right before the lights come up. No one left to go home with, eh?

No - that's not fair to Nash. It's clear enough his new bedfellow is...rather more desirable than Byerly. Better at this game. Not a surveillance operative suddenly thrust into covert ops. Sort of covert ops. ]

Well. I'm certainly no secret agent, but I have - shall we say - watched quite a few holodramas. I know a thing or two.

[latkje]

[ It isn't the first time Nash has lost everything, though it does seem like the kind of thing that should happen to a young man, with many steps left in him for walking. Really, at this point in his life, Nash prefers not to walk at all. And yet, here he is, legs moving in a dull repeat. He makes a mental note to complain about it more.

(It's a lie, of course; he hasn't lost everything before, not like this, and his memories tell him so. There's a man standing in the doorway, his hands held in fists. "You have a home to go back to," he says. "That's something to be happy about."

But you can't stay married for very long without being able to ignore the little things that nag at you. )

He assumes "holodramas" are a genre of plays, or something like that. ]

Probably one or two things that I don't.

[vorrutyer]

Oh, I don't know about that.

[ He pushes his hair back from his head, lets out a sigh. What other choice does he have? The greatest secret he'll betray if he's honest is that he acts in the interest of Barrayar. And so what? Any clever man can deduce he works in the interest of Barrayar. So. ]

May I propose an alliance, dear maiden?

[latkje]

You're too late for marriage.

[ But he nods, a sort of sideways gesture. Some of his hair falls into his face. It does that. ]

[vorrutyer]

Alas. [ A drag from his cigarette. ] Then I can only pray that it will later turn into something passionate. May my handsome charm make you forget your wife entirely.

[ He sighs. ]

It seems likely that we two are working towards a similar goal. No?

[latkje]

[ Blandly. ] That would make both of our lives easier.

And what goal is that?

[vorrutyer]

[ A dry little smile. ]

The salvation of two worlds' worth of people who have no one else to speak for them.

[latkje]

Oh, that.

I'm not the High Priest. [ That's the correct title. ] But I prefer to work off the record, anyway.

[vorrutyer]

Still your goal, though, isn't it? Or are you indifferent to your homeland?

[latkje]

No. You've got me.

[ He puts his hands somewhere between a shrug and surrender. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ He tilts his head slightly to the side. ]

Hm. So what if we aligned strategies, dear fellow? Allied our two worlds for the time being? Unified our interests?