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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like meditating on, but the distraction of company is too overwhelming for the first couple of days, and so he stays withdrawn to his cabin, trying not to replay the last few hours of his life -- his last life -- over and over in his head.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
Ah, sorry. Habit. In my time, it's the polite thing to refer to a man or woman by their rank or social status. A count, though? [She whistled.] That's a lofty title, innit? I've known me a few Lords in my day, but never met a count. [She's also met a few kings and an Emperor, but that's bragging (one day, she will meet President Jefferson, and her dinner card will be complete).]
G'wan and ramble; I like learning about new places. Lord knows I do it meself, and I don't even have the excuse of an exhausting injury!
The bar? The bar's been... Morose. [She stretched her mouth into a semblance of a smile.] Everyone's still a little...upset about what happened. So we've had a lot of folks drinking away their sorrows. [Jacky's not unaffected. She hasn't put on a show at all in the week she's been manning the bar solo, outside of singing a few of her sadder songs to herself acapella and humming The Ship's Boy's Lament.] I've not let anyone get mean drunk; anyone looks like they're heading that way, they're cut off for the rest of the night. The last thing this boat needs is a brawl.
no subject
[ he still looks tired and pale -- sounds it, too -- but he's obviously doing a lot better than when he'd first popped out of cryo. miles lets himself slump on the barstool a little, resting his elbow on the bar. ]
That's the custom back home, too, but my impending countship doesn't really mean anything here. [ he waves his hand, as if to dismiss the idea altogether, but his smile grows incrementally brighter. ] You know, I think you'd enjoy meeting my father. He has this peculiar habit of subverting everyone's expectations of him.
[ not unlike his son. miles seems to relax a little more, glad for a distracting topic of conversation that isn't his own mortality, and tilts his head at jacky. ] I'd be happy to tell you anything about Barrayar you wish to know -- that's my home planet. It's a...polarizing sort of place, I suppose, but it's my home. There's some interesting history there.
[ he loves barrayar, jacky. he loves barrayar so much. ]
no subject
[As he rambled a bit about his father, she had to laugh.] He sounds like an interesting fellow!
What's Barrayar like? Is it a warm place, does it have seasons? And is that the name of a country or the whole planet? [She grinned her fox-like grin.] I already know there's sailing.
no subject
[ but the dry tone fades from his voice when the subject turns back to barrayar, a peculiar fondness coming over his face, something like nostalgia. it's a peculiar relationship he has with mutant-paranoid barrayar, a planet he loves and wants nothing more than to serve despite its best and repeated attempts to swallow him whole. barrayar eats its children, he's heard his mother say, and she isn't altogether wrong. but miles has been spit back out every time he's been chewed up. barrayar is a part of him, on some deep and fundamental level. ]
Well, warm is relative. Beta Colony -- that's where my mother's from -- is entirely desert, with surface temperatures too high for humans to survive in for long. The people there live in domed, climate-controlled communities, you see. But Barrayar's climate isn't unlike Earth's, seasons and all, although the terraforming is still incomplete in most places. [ he shrugs slightly, and gestures outward with a hand. ] Barrayar is planet and country both -- and empire. The planet's ruled by the Imperium -- and the Barrayaran Empire extends to two other planets, Komarr and Sergyar, although their acquisitions are relatively recent. Barrayar was only rediscovered by the rest of the galaxy about a hundred years ago. My grandfather's generation, in fact.
A MILLION YEARS LATER...
She's being maudlin; it's been a problem since that planet imploded, the Black Cloud always over her head. Forcibly, she shook herself, and mulled over what Miles told her.] What's 'terraforming'?
no subject
[ miles cocks a head at her, thinking a moment. terraforming is such a basic concept to him, in his world -- he supposes it would need a little explanation for someone from the time period jacky is. ]
Oh, uh -- it's the process of making other planets habitable for humans. Most of the native Barrayaran flora, it isn't really safe for human consumption, and a lot of it's downright toxic. [ he pauses, realizing he is, perhaps, not being very helpful. ] Think of it as...very extensive landscaping on the scale of an entire planet, except instead of looking pretty, it's all about creating an ecosystem capable of supporting humans.
no subject
[Her eyebrows flew up.] S'trewth! Y'can do all that, create areas to be more hospitable? Like, make a desert grow more food, and what not? [Furrowing her brow, she thought back.] Would those dome-things y'talked about be part of that then? Or are they what you do when y'fail.
no subject
instead he just grins, delighted as always by jacky's sheer enthusiasm for hearing about his world. it's really...refreshing, and somehow, it helps cure the homesickness a little. ]
Well -- not fail, really. There are limitations, and terraforming takes a long time -- generations, at least, depending on how you do it. It isn't like you can just hit a button and [ he snaps his fingers ] then it's done. And it really depends on the planet. Barrayar started out with a perfectly breathable atmosphere, and enough water and a decent enough climate to start mixing in Earth-descended flora to the environment. The early colonists wouldn't have even made it otherwise -- we were cut off for several centuries after colonization started.
[ he shrugs, rubbing at his chin in thought. ]
Other places, not so easy. Komarr, for instance -- very cold, not very breathable air -- a bit like Mars, actually. That's one of the planets with domes, but they're engaged in a very long term terraforming project to make the air outside the domes breathable. They've been at it for centuries. Beta Colony, on the other hand... [ he wobbles a hand. ] It's just too damn hot, and it's nothing but desert -- barely any water. It can't support much in the way of Earth-descended flora, so the Betans just stick to domes. Besides, they're much more interested in exploring and finding new planets than prettying up their own -- Beta Colony was settled nearly a millenium ago. I think they're comfortable with the old sandbox.