forwardmomentum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forwardmomentum) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2015-11-30 12:29 pm
forwardmomentum) wrote in thisavrou_log2015-11-30 12:29 pm
[ catch-all for miles, post-death ]
Who: Miles Vorkosigan and YOU
When: 11/27 thru...whenever
Where: the Vor cabin, the bar, the Personnel Office, wherever
What: Miles has recently recovered from a nasty bout of being dead after a week. so that's fun.
Warnings: talk about death, probably some other heavy emotional shit
Recovering from death is sort of like recovering from a cold, Miles has found, aside from the more obvious gaping differences. It leaves one feeling at least as drained as a nasty virus, weak and shaky, and in both cases you come out of it with a hell of a case of the chills. Then there are the obvious psychological differences between death and a cold, which Miles does not particularly feel like meditating on, but the distraction of company is too overwhelming for the first couple of days, and so he stays withdrawn to his cabin, trying not to replay the last few hours of his life -- his last life -- over and over in his head.
Cryoamnesia is a fairly common occurrence with cryorevival patients; many of them never fully recover their memories, especially around their deaths, Miles has heard. Not enough time to store it in long-term memory, or something. He wishes he were so fortunate. No, he can remember every excruciating moment of it in perfect detail, to the curious numbness of his lower body to the thick taste of blood in his mouth and the chest-clouding panic that had overtaken him in the face of death. That's almost harder to stomach than any measure of physical pain. It was frigging humiliating, that's what.
The first couple of days after his return he keeps to the cabin he shares with Ivan and Gregor. He doesn't exactly know who knows he's back yet, or even who knew he died in the first place, and he's not keen to ask. His week-long absence had to have been missed by at least some, and Gregor and Ivan probably had something to do with that. Miles is still a little wan and sickly-looking from his recent revival, and aching, too; not where the glass had perforated along his stomach, he has suspiciously few scars from that, but curiously enough his legs, and -- the rest of him. It's that damned osteo-inflammatory horseshit again, he's sure. But at least, for the first time in two months, nothing's actually broken and he is somehow whole again.
By the 27th, he finally starts to emerge from his cabin and make his way back to his duties at the bar and in the Personnel Office, where he'll be taking interviews and reviewing submissions to the officialcomplaints suggestions box on his office door.
[ feel free to tag in with whatever or hit me up if you want a particular starter. miles was dead/in cryo between 11/18 - 11/25, and is only really returning to work on 11/27. ]
When: 11/27 thru...whenever
Where: the Vor cabin, the bar, the Personnel Office, wherever
What: Miles has recently recovered from a nasty bout of being dead after a week. so that's fun.
Warnings: talk about death, probably some other heavy emotional shit
Recovering from death is sort of like recovering from a cold, Miles has found, aside from the more obvious gaping differences. It leaves one feeling at least as drained as a nasty virus, weak and shaky, and in both cases you come out of it with a hell of a case of the chills. Then there are the obvious psychological differences between death and a cold, which Miles does not particularly feel like meditating on, but the distraction of company is too overwhelming for the first couple of days, and so he stays withdrawn to his cabin, trying not to replay the last few hours of his life -- his last life -- over and over in his head.
Cryoamnesia is a fairly common occurrence with cryorevival patients; many of them never fully recover their memories, especially around their deaths, Miles has heard. Not enough time to store it in long-term memory, or something. He wishes he were so fortunate. No, he can remember every excruciating moment of it in perfect detail, to the curious numbness of his lower body to the thick taste of blood in his mouth and the chest-clouding panic that had overtaken him in the face of death. That's almost harder to stomach than any measure of physical pain. It was frigging humiliating, that's what.
The first couple of days after his return he keeps to the cabin he shares with Ivan and Gregor. He doesn't exactly know who knows he's back yet, or even who knew he died in the first place, and he's not keen to ask. His week-long absence had to have been missed by at least some, and Gregor and Ivan probably had something to do with that. Miles is still a little wan and sickly-looking from his recent revival, and aching, too; not where the glass had perforated along his stomach, he has suspiciously few scars from that, but curiously enough his legs, and -- the rest of him. It's that damned osteo-inflammatory horseshit again, he's sure. But at least, for the first time in two months, nothing's actually broken and he is somehow whole again.
By the 27th, he finally starts to emerge from his cabin and make his way back to his duties at the bar and in the Personnel Office, where he'll be taking interviews and reviewing submissions to the official
[ feel free to tag in with whatever or hit me up if you want a particular starter. miles was dead/in cryo between 11/18 - 11/25, and is only really returning to work on 11/27. ]
no subject
"Miles?" He starts, as if he can barely believe his eyes, dropping the book and staring at his cousin for a long second while reality sits in. When he blinks once, and then twice, and his cousin doesn't disappear before his eyes, a slow dawning light appears in his eyes. "Miles, you frigging idiot--" Which is all he gets out before he's nearly tripping over himself and out of the bunk to gather his dead cousin into a heartfelt hug, although he does happen to add "You look like shit" while doing so.
The 'how' will probably come later. Maybe. If he remembers that that's probably an important question. Well, it could be Mark, Ivan guesses halfway through pulling Miles into a hug, but somehow he feels as if Mark wouldn't want to see them. Good, he doesn't want to see that asshole any time soon unless it's to punch him in the face.
no subject
"Miles," he says, his voice cracking before he forces his eyes open again, struggling to keep his face even as his breath shivers in his chest.
no subject
"You try being dead for a week and see how you come out looking," he counters, the humor at least partially forced. His voice is hoarse to the point of being husky from a week of disuse. No doubt the longest Miles has gone without talking for...well, possibly ever. He awkwardly twists halfway in Ivan's grip to look at Gregor, watching the flickering emotion on his face. "Gregor," he starts uncertainly, unsure of what, exactly, to say, but there's a call in his voice. It's just us, Gregor. All that restraint is wasted here.
no subject
Ivan too, twists to look at his other, more distant cousin. Miles' death has been hard on Gregor, and Ivan can hear the waver in his voice, can see the emotions on his face just as Miles can. Rubbing his eyes with the palm of a hand, trying to ignore the dampness in his own eyes and doing a damn poor job of it. The smile he shoots at Gregor is thin and strained, but only because he can't find it within himself to smile any wider without actually crying. And he's done enough of that for Miles right now.