[ catch-all for miles ]

[forwardmomentum]

Who: Miles and YOU
When: anywhere from the beginning of the month to..... eh (wobbles hand)
Where: the bar, sanitation, the vor cabin, WHEREVER YOU WANT
What: Miles being a miserable depressive sadsack and then getting better! Making amends for being a shit during the event! Teaching the new guy how to not break the septic system! Whatever your heart desires!
Warnings: TBA

The last couple of weeks have been disaster. Miles had been so caught up in the effects of the exuo and the eclipse that he'd lost control of himself more than once, instigating a few fights and severely paying for it afterward. The broken arm will heal fine, but the cracked ribs are going to be a pain for a little while yet. Not to mention the whole nearly being sacrificed in the name of bringing back a little sunlight. That? That he can live without.

But the worst thing about it was the knowledge that something -- something was messing with his brain, and he still doesn't fully understand what or why or even how. It'd made him lose himself, hit that edge dangerously close and slip right off it. In Miles' line of work, he can't afford that -- and he's not sure he can live without his line of work. It all gets very...tangled up sometimes.

He's exhausted, after it all winds down. The -- effect, whatever it was, it had him going so hard for so long that as soon as it wore off, Miles crashed hard. His post-mania funks are never pretty, but this one's especially black, made only worse by the stinging memory of some of the things he'd said. He can't get that much privacy in his cabin with Ivan and Gregor, but he tucks a sheet under Ivan's mattress to create a makeshift curtain and resolutely hole up as far in the corner as he can in a miserable little pile of Miles Naismith Vorkosigan.

It wears off after a few days, much to Ivan and Gregor's relief as well as his own. Once the black clouds have passed, though, Miles drags himself out of bed. Time to get back his forward momentum. Time to get back to work. He's got double duty, after all, at the bar and in sanitation, and last he checked, he's got a new guy to train. Hopefully the place is still running alright. Miles feels a bit bad about not being consistent about showing up for work, but now that he's determined to get his shit back together, he makes a project out of cleaning out the whole damn bar and rearranging it, and as for sanitation -- well, he'll make an action plan when he gets down there.

[ this is a catch-all, so feel free to tag in with whatever or request a starter if needed! ]

Comments

[peridork]

"Hmmmm."

That sound is coming from the weird green girl that just moseyed into your bar, Miles. Not that her arrival was very stealthy to begin with. It's kind of hard to be, when you've got metallic leg extenders hitched to your actual feet. The unfortunate thing about not needing sleep or food is that Peridot finds herself with way too much free time when she's not on duty, which she has, lately, taken to filling by poking around every damn corner of the ship.

This is a room she hasn't been in before, occupied by a human that she hasn't seen before either. The expression on her face is actually rather apathetic, all things considered, with her usual arrogance spiked to an all time high thanks to a certain mask that she tried on earlier.

She doesn't even say anything, she just kind of... gazes imperiously at the man, blinking slowly, like she's trying to decide if engaging with him is worth her time or not.

[forwardmomentum]

All right, Miles has never seen a girl quite like Peridot, he'll give her that, but after a couple of months on this ship, that sort of thing is starting to faze him a little less. She's got an air about her that Miles already finds a little irritating, though all he does is raise an eyebrow and stare right back at her as he places the final shot glass on top of the pyramid. He breaks eye contact to survey his own work with an appraising nod, finding it satisfactory, and turns back to Peridot.

The thought comes into his mind suddenly -- not his own, and that makes him frown. Just a vibe, he guesses. "Listen," he says to Peridot in an accent that sounds vaguely Russian, if seven hundred years removed. He rests his good elbow on the bar, although he winces slightly as he leans forward. "Either I'm worth your time and you order something, or I'm not and you find something better to do than gawk. Isn't there a rec room on this ship? I hear we've got a killer Fine Arts instructor now. You look like you've got a finger painter in you just waiting to come out."

[peridork]

She's rather taken aback by the directness of that statement; it's almost like this small human just read her mind??? Surely not...

Normally Peridot would be more hung up on the numerous terms he just used that she does not understand, but being predisposed to behaving more aggressively superior as she is right now, she puffs up and scowls. How dare this insignificant pebble tell her what to do?!

"This is a public space, is it not?" She intones, folding her arms over her chest and scowling. "Besides, I can go wherever I please, and "gawk" at whoever I wish! So be silent!"

[forwardmomentum]

"No, it's my -- " Miles starts, annoyed, but then she tells him to be silent and he abruptly snaps his mouth shut in obedience. It catches up to him after half a second that this is not, in fact, something he actually wanted to do. He looks a little more annoyed, then alarmed -- then really annoyed when he opens his mouth to try to speak but can't. His throat works, with little effect. Son of a bitch. Miles gives her an indignant look demanding explanation, hitting his fist on the table.

[peridork]

Whether or not she's aware of the power she presently wields, it doesn't matter: Peridot cackles delightedly at his reaction, a wide grin splitting her features. "Wow, that's much better."

[forwardmomentum]

Miles takes a brief moment to reflect on what, in recent memory at least, he could have possibly done to deserve this. Is this some sort of karmic surcharge for taking a swing or several at Ivan last month? He thought he'd paid for that with the cracked ribs, but he didn't exactly get a receipt. Is this about all the times he's been told he talks too much and never listened? Well, if it's some kind of cosmic joke, the universe needs a new comedy routine.

Peridot's childishly cruel delight doesn't do anything for his quickly rising frustration, either, and he waves his hands at her in irritated demand. What the hell?

[peridork]

Have an evil sounding snicker to help augment that growing frustration, Miles. Peridot doesn't really know what to make of this?

"Whatever." She turns away with a shrug to resume her investigation of the room. Vague thoughts likely drift in Miles's direction, questions of what certain objects are, what their purpose is, what they're called... It would be an almost child-like curiosity, if she didn't sound so disdainful about it all.

Either way, she's dismissed his presence almost entirely, for the moment.

[forwardmomentum]

If there's anything worse than not being able to talk, it's not being able to talk and being subjected to the inanity of her idle curiosities in that irritatingly childish voice of hers, although it sounds sort of distant and -- as Miles watches her move about the bar area, he realizes she's not moving her mouth at all. His brows draw down, and he touches his fingers to his temple. You've got to be kidding me.

Fortunately, as Peridot's attention wanders away from Miles, so her hold on him seems to as well; this time when he opens his mouth, he can actually make his voice work, and he leans over the bar, supporting himself on his good arm.

"That," he says through his teeth to Peridot's back, if only to get her to stop thinking at him, "is a keg, to answer one of your two dozen questions, and it's full of maple mead, before you even start. Y'know, the fastest way to get those questions answered is to actually ask them."