thisavrou_log | [ closed ] this is not the last snowfall, not our last embrace

[ closed ] this is not the last snowfall, not our last embrace

Who: Miles Vorkosigan and Alys Vorpatril
When: today...ish
Where: the bar
What: Miles is sad about his superboyfriend being gone, gets drunk with his aunt, weird family bonding occurs
Warnings: extreme moping

It's not often that Miles is in the bar when he's not tending to it, but tonight's an exception. Throwing himself into his work isn't always a viable coping strategy, as recent events have shown, but he doesn't have much else to distract him. Except for alcohol. It is the Vor way, after all.

Miles has been trying not to mope now that Clark's gone. He wouldn't call it moping, he'd like to think it's at least dignified misery, but let's be real here: it's moping. Slumped in a chair at the bar with his elbows just barely propped on the table, slowly nursing a glass of wine with a face the definition of morose, Miles is most definitely moping.

It isn't petty or out of a desire for theatrics, though. In fact, despite his exaggeration in all things emotional, Miles is being uncharacteristically untheatrical about it. No, this is just straight up brokenhearted. Resting his cheek against his good hand, he stares blearily at a small stack of files on the table in front of him with some vague intent to work, but all he manages is a sigh, and he reaches for his glass.

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The bar isn't the proper place for a Vor lady, but neither is a ship like the Moira. Even with the location being what it is, she's overdressed for the trip out in tailored clothing similar to Barrayar's high Vor fashions and her hair done up properly in braids. Just because she's been saddled with surprise ship duty doesn't mean she shouldn't look her social standing when off duty. The familiarity helps, in any case.

She's about to approach the counter for a glass of wine, another familiarity she takes some comfort in, when she spots her nephew. Her nephew who looks an awful lot like his father trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol. A small sigh slips past her lips as approaches quietly. It isn't until she's right beside the table and ready to sit down across from him that she speaks.

"Miles?"

Miles doesn't even register Alys until she speaks and he jumps, immediately straightening in his chair.

"Aunt Alys!" It comes out a little more startled than he'd intended. He manages a slightly mangled smile to smooth it over. "Ah -- come for a drink, I gather?"

"I have." There's no shame in admitting that with how prevalent drinking is among Vor. Her gaze remains intently on him as she easily sits across from him. "I see you're doing the same."

Though her suspicions say for an entirely different reason.

Miles's gaze drifts down to his glass, his smile wavering, then tightening. "So I am." He clears his throat, hurrying to change the subject before his aunt can dwell too much on his increasing lack of sobriety. "Can I get you a drink, Aunt Alys? I'm not on duty, but I am the senior officer here. I can point you to the very best we have to offer."

The distraction will only work for so long, she's been to enough Vor social gatherings to know when one is trying their hardest to get intoxicated. But she nods and offers him her arm to escort her to the bar.

"Thank you, Miles, I'd appreciate the guidance. I haven't had the chance to see the senior beverage dissemination officer at his post." Full title necessary, of course.

That earns a quirk of Miles's mouth as he stands to take her arm like a proper Vor lord -- even if he is a little unsteady on his feet. He holds his liquor about as well as his father. "I hope you're not making fun of me, Aunt Alys," he says with a feigned air of indignation. "I take my duties here very seriously."

He walks her at a stately pace toward the bar. Once there, he gently relinquishes Alys's arm and slips behind the bar to peruse through the selection with a discerning eye. After a few moments' deliberation, he picks out a bottle with a crystalline finish and brings to back to her, holding it out for her inspection.

"This is a kind of wine from the planet Caducus Primary -- one of the last of its kind." Miles gives her a lopsided grin and waves it vaguely. "Fit for none but a Vor lady such as yourself, Lady Alys."

"I'm certain you do." He is his father's son after all. Though Aral had gotten better in recent years in terms of drinking.

She's eyeing him carefully as they move towards the bar -- how much has he had before her arrival? -- to ensure he makes it there in one piece. Causing a break because he's fallen from inebriation wasn't part of her plans for the evening. When they make it to the bar, she takes a seat on one of the stools and smooths out her dress beneath her.

"And what occasion warrants such a fine wine?" Because she has no illusion that he's breaking it out simply due to her presence.

"My lady aunt has graced my humble place of work her presence," Miles says expansively, with a sweeping gesture of the bottle. "Do I need an occasion?"

The flattery is almost theatric, but Miles is just a little drunk, and it's also partly to cover up how morose he was when Alys walked into the bar, and partly a genuine surge of appreciation for the loved ones he still has on his ship. The recent losses are still a sharp pang in his chest. Alys, your nephew is a hot mess right now.

She levels Miles with a look that tells him she hasn't forgotten the scene she approached. That hadn't been Vorish drinking for fun she saw, that had been drinking with a distinct purpose.

"I have and I would be grateful to hear how you've been faring as of late," she says primly.

Miles manages not to wince that look, merely stretching his smile a little thinner, and he gracefully uncorks the bottle and pours his aunt a glass. The wine is a shimmering golden color, though something the liquid itself refracts light strangely, acting like a prism and creating faint, wavering streaks of color within the glass. As beautiful and delicate as the planet it came from. Miles's chest aches a little with the memory and his expression flickers at the unwelcome memory of his own death on that planet. He quickly covers it up with a sip of his own drink, though, recorking the bottle and setting it back where it belongs.

"I'm alright," Miles says vaguely, as he comes around the bar and pulls himself up onto a stool with about as much grace as he can manage at his height. "Better than last month." Not that that's saying much. But he's not about to go spilling his romance troubles in front of his aunt, his very Barrayaran Vor aunt, who might raise an eyebrow at Miles taking a lover who isn't a woman, but he thinks that even Lady Alys might balk at hearing about three of them. He determinedly plasters a smile over his face, hoping it'll paint over the morose look he's been sporting.

"I'd be grateful to hear how you've been faring as of late as well, Aunt Alys," he returns politely.

Her attention is fixed more on Miles than her drink though she nods a polite thanks once her wine is poured. Her hand rests on the stem of the glass, resting there for now. No, he was a mess the previous month so that doesn't say much for his current condition or explain why she found him the way she did. Was he going to be as stubborn as Ivan with sharing anything about his personal life with her?

Most likely. She'd have to choose her battles carefully.

"Well enough. My accommodations haven't improved, but I'm managing." Her gaze remains on her nephew and she's not taking her eyes off of his anytime soon. "How much better than last month?"

Miles's smile tightens. "Better," he says vaguely, wishing now that he wasn't already a little drunk, because then maybe he'd be able to put on something a little more convincing, or at least more effectively change the subject. Surely his aunt doesn't really want to hear about his personal affairs anyway. "The workload's not nearly as bad," he adds, directing the conversation to something distinctly not personal, "now that we've got more people here at the bar. And between myself and Megatron, the Personnel Office is much more manageable. I've even got free time again."

Which he's spending getting drunk because he's sad. What a winner.

"There's more people working here and you're keeping your position as senior beverage dissemination officer?" For shame, Miles. Alys knows there's far better things he could be doing with his time, he's proving it with talk about what should be his primary job on the ship. She pauses for a moment to take a cautionary sip of her mysterious wine -- a good selection all-around by her nephew -- as she considers him.

"I was worried when I saw the toll this had taken on you."

Miles's brow wrinkles. "I don't think the bar's quite ready for my retirement yet. Besides," he adds, "from a security standpoint, it's not a bad post to hold, even just part-time. It's a unique channel for gathering information."

He is ImpSec, after all. Miles considers his glass, his brows drawing down as he purses his lips. "It wasn't that bad. I'm fine now," he says, a little defensiveness creeping into his voice. Okay, so it was that bad, but dammit, he can't stand being treated like some kind of invalid for it. "I'm back on my feet and no worse the wear for it. Full recovery. I'm just indulging myself in a little entertainment."

He takes a long, pointed sip from his own glass that, alas, probably does not prove the point he was aiming for.

She gives that a small hum of consideration. No, she's well aware of the sort of talking that happens when alcohol is involved though she's found entertaining and information gathering to be a full-time occupation. Not one to be juggled with yet another time-consuming task like her nephew has been doing. Unfortunately if the man is anything like his parents, he'll be impossible to convince otherwise.

All she can do is keep an eye on him. Even if he's making it difficult by hiding what appears to be pertinent information from her.

"Miles," she says calmly as she sets down her glass. "We're family."

Miles is determined to hold out on Alys, to keep this personal pain as close to the chest as he can, but under her unwavering look and tone of voice he falters, his shoulders sagging. The pretense of normalcy, if not good humor, slips away from his face entirely, leaving him looking melancholy. His gaze falls to his glass, brows drawn down, and his breath escapes him in a weary sigh.

"I've just...lost some people lately. To the whims of the Ingress, I mean. People who meant a lot to me." He bites his lip, stopping just short of spilling the more intimate nature of his relationships with Lara and Clark. Doubtless that would not go over very well with his very Barrayaran aunt. Not for the first time, he wishes his mother were still here. "It's...hard," he manages, lamely.

Loss. That's a feeling she knows intimately and she doesn't hesitate to rest a hand on one of his. The phrasing is vague enough that it's hard to tell if he's speaking of close friends or friends, but that's information that's unimportant. This is her nephew and suddenly the drinking makes complete sense. She raises her glass in solidarity before having another sip.

"I'm sorry, Miles. Truly. I didn't realize there had been a wave of departures recently." Or that he had been well-acquainted with several of them.

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[ closed ] this is not the last snowfall, not our last embrace

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