(closed)

[naismith]

Characters: Miles Vorkosigan, Diana of Themyscira
Date: Backdated about a week?
Location: An unnamed bar in Metal sector.
Situation: Miles has somehow conned poor Diana into meeting him for drinks.
Warnings/Rating: None!


Motivated as he is to make connections and allies, Miles is prompt. He's swapped out the Vorkosigan house uniform he'd arrived in for kedan clothes already, wanting to blend in as much as possible, which is actually more achievable for him here than at home. With the kedan being shapeshifters, it's not unfeasible to run across one under five feet tall, which Miles is. He walks with his spine straight as he enters the bar, unconsciously compensating for his slight hunch, nonetheless confident and uncowed by his circumstances.

By habit, he picks a small table in the far corner, where it's impossible to sneak up on him. He doesn't have more than his stunner with him and he's not expecting combat, but it makes him feel better nonetheless, to be armed and in a secured corner in this incredibly foreign land, completely alone.

No, he's good. It's okay. He has a plan forming. There's no reason to feel overwhelmed.

Miles has two drinks waiting already when Diana arrives, both untouched.

Comments

[mythically]

Diana shows up a minute or two after she said she would. She wants Miles to feel comfortable, and in her experience that’s best achieved by letting a person feel in control. So she lingers outside the door for a moment or two, until she’s sure he would’ve arrived before her. She isn’t in costume, though she’s wearing her tiara and gauntlets. But she’s trying her hand at civilian life, and she doesn’t want to be too intimidating. (In any case, if she needs to be intimidating, she doesn’t need the costume.)

She draws more than a few eyes as she heads towards him, if only because she towers over most of the Kedan and a good number of the non-natives as well. She offers him a smile when she makes eye contact, lifts a hand in greeting. He may recognize the gesture as vaguely Greek.

“Hello, Miles. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

[naismith]

My, but she's tall. Miles looks at her appreciatively, not in a presumptive way but simply admiring. He has a thing for tall warrior women, what can he say, and she's certainly moving like she isn't an innocent bystander. He does in fact recognize the Greek undertone to the gesture, given the Greek minority on his planet, which has retained some cultural solidarity in the midst of acculturation.

"Not long," he assures her, answering her with an ImpSec analyst's salute, which is something like a vague wave toward his temple. "Please sit. Tell me, is that circlet decorative, or does it have some meaning? You did tell me not to call you lady." Miles is alive as ever to any hint of a feudal class system.

[mythically]

"That's because my proper title is 'princess,'" she says lightly. Everything she says has an air of truth to it, so it's hard to discern her dry humor from her serious statements, especially when she's smiling like she is. She sits down gracefully beside him and then waves a hand in an almost dismissive way. "But the tiara is a symbol of champions, not royalty."

She doesn't regret or deny any of her titles, but there are some she'd prefer take precedence with the outside world. After a moment she says, "I really do prefer just Diana."

[naismith]

Oh, shit. And she's a princess. Miles has always had trouble finding tall women that could break him in two and understand his complicated loyalty to an arcane feudal system, but if she's a princess... Miles restrains himself. He's not here to hit on the poor woman. Still, to say he's intrigued would be an understatement. Something of how comfortable he is traversing rarefied social circles might come out in how he doesn't bat an eyelash at her insistence that he use her first name. He is on first name basis with his own Emperor, when they're not operating in an official capacity.

He pushes her drink over across the table toward her, keeping hold of his own. "I'm not far removed from a royal family myself," Miles admits. "But if they're not Barrayaran... I'm not their lord." Plus he hadn't been sure whether to use a cover identity at first, but he's given up on that. He shrugs expansively. "I prefer Miles myself when I can get away with it."

Unless he's trying to terrify Barrayaran subjects into obedience or confess their crimes. Or he's trying to get soldiers to obey him, in which case he becomes Admiral Naismith. But when left to his own devices and in his personal life, Miles is hardly one to stand on ceremony. He'll use it mercilessly for his own ends when it's expedient, and he believes in his duties wholeheartedly, but to say he buys into the Vor pageantry would be a mistake.

[mythically]

"Barrayaran," she repeats, testing out the word. She probably pronounces it correctly, too; she's good with languages that way. "Those are your people?"

She's never heard of them, and she's well-versed with most of the races and nations her world, even extending to alien life. So she regards him curiously as she reaches for the drink, lifting it without bringing it to her lips just yet.

She nods at his explanation, grinning a bit. Her own society is a sisterhood of equals, and she was called Diana and Princess interchangeably for most of her life. She's gotten used to the latter as both an honorific and an endearment.

"That's one thing about being here. You introduce yourself as you like."

[naismith]

He nods agreement equably, unsurprised with her unfamiliarity. "My mother's Betan, actually, but I was raised on Barrayar in my father's family, and it's... it's home." For better or for worse, Barrayar claimed Miles's heart a long time ago.

"It was tempting to try to pass myself off as a kedan," he goes on, and he still looks thoughtful about it. "Normally I can't do that, for obvious reasons-- pass myself off as native, I mean. But it might just work here."

It's very odd, to have people to talk to that he has essentially no reason to hide his thoughts from. Miles isn't revealing anything that could be potentially damaging to his plans, largely because his plans aren't very well defined yet, but normally he has to do a lot more of the covert part of covert operations. His life is incredibly different here already.

[mythically]

Betan, Barrayar. She files the new words away, to piece together with whatever else she learns about his world.

She gives him a long look from over the edge of her glass, head tilted like she's imagining that. "You probably could fool the rest of us. But the natives are more shrewd, among themselves."

She supposes he might be shrewd enough himself, to play it off. But she's not prepared to give him that much credit already. In any case, duplicity in concerns of identity is something she's experienced a lot but never quite understood the point of. She understands, academically, why Batman needs Bruce and Kal needs Clark and Superman. But it'll never be the same, for her.

"Too many people here knew me, when I arrived, to even try something like that." Not that it would have occurred to her, anyway.

[naismith]

He immediately gets the sense from that look over her glass that she's pretty shrewd herself, and he tosses a flash of a smile at her, not rejecting the assessment. Miles's reason for different identities is an old fashioned one: he worked in covert ops and he couldn't allow his actions to be traced back to Barrayaran government. That had gotten wrapped up in his own emotional needs until it became a tangled web, one indistinguishable from the other-- his service to his Imperium from his service to himself-- until it had all come to an abrupt, crashing halt last year.

Still, he knows how to play a part and while he doesn't think he could fool, say, the Alderwood Emperor, he thinks he could fool other foreigners if needed. He's not sure what he'd need it for, but Miles oftens needs things for his schemes at the drop of a hat.

"I'm envious of your problem," he confesses with wry frankness. "I'm used to a certain amount of..." He searches for a word. "Context? People, at least. All these pesky questions about who you are without your people." Miles is at least playing off his very real bleak wondering as a self-conscious speculation.

[mythically]

"I've gotten used to my reputation preceding me," she has, nodding. And that's a responsibility in and of itself, because she knows what Wonder Woman means to the world. She'd never want to let anyone down, in that regard. (It's a short leap from that line of thought to thinking about what happened to Max, but thankfully she doesn't make it, right now.)

"It's strange, isn't it? How much your world shapes you." She's had more than enough experience with that, coming from Themyscira into man's world. Nearly everything she says is misinterpreted, and half the time she can't understand how anyone in the outside world could think the way they do. "I could tell you about the Justice League-- but if our worlds look at justice differently, we might not understand each other at all."

[naismith]

"That I'm familiar with. I'm very galactic for a Barrayaran. I've visited half the known galaxy. Cultural differences are one thing, but-- but there's always something." Miles waves his hands, leaving his drink on the table, very sincerely disgruntled and dismayed with his new reality. "I can look them up on the consoles, for God's sake, if I want to know more about a Jacksonian House or a Komarran shipping company. I can call for backup if I really need it.

"Here--" He cuts off, trying to rein in his displeasure. He doesn't want to be a horrible drink companion, after he'd lured her out here. "Sorry. I'm still adjusting. Maybe it's my lack of reputation that's getting to me. There's no reason for anyone to listen to me, here, and I've worked damn hard for that."

Miles does feed off of recognition. He's put a truly unbelievable amount of work, and years, into gaining his talents and the ability to force others to allow his involvement. Now he has to start all over. Which he's done before, but it'd always been temporary, until he could get back to the right place; or there'd been a fallback position for him somewhere if it didn't work. Miles has never hedged all his bets so completely on one sense of identity before.

[mythically]

"It's alright," she says. She smiles, in her calm, serene way. "You're allowed to be frustrated, and this place is an adjustment to make."

Diana sips at her drink, thoughtful for a moment.

"It's a shame to start over, but you may have some advantages here. We're a small community, and we rely on one another out of necessity. The more we all work together, listen to each other, the quicker we'll be able to solve this world's problems and return to our own."

[naismith]

"I'm usually good at adjusting," he grumps, taking her cue and sipping at his own. This is a significant pill to swallow even for him.

Nonetheless, Miles nods in ready agreement. "I have no argument against cooperation, believe me. I might be a paranoid bastard but it's not out of unwillingness to pool resources. I'm painfully aware I don't have any resources at the moment, but I'm willing-- even eager-- to contribute what I can. I detest feeling useless."

[mythically]

"With an attitude like that, I'm sure you won't be."

It's natural for Diana to be encouraging, but she's also used to speaking the truth. In this case, it'd be both at once.

"My friends and associates who are here already... according to them, it's been a long haul so far. I can't see how anyone willing to help wouldn't be able to."

[naismith]

Miles is so pathologically allergic to being useless that he undoubtedly won't be. His complete rebellion of it ensures it.

"I have a considerable skill set," he offers, much like he's making a pitch. Miles is a few swallows into his drink now, and as he'd warned, it's already affecting him. He shifts into an oddly convincing, intent cadence without realizing it, his accent sliding from vaguely Russian to flat and nearly American. "Not really relevant for any paid employment I could find here-- except drains, ugh, never again-- but if any of your friends and associates think they could make use of skill in strategy, military command, espionage, investigation... mmm, personnel in general... please give them my name."

[mythically]

She's more than used to people getting drunk before her. Though she's drained her glass, Diana still seems just as lucid as ever. But she notices the changes in Miles' demeanor and can't help but smile. The oscillating accent, at least, she finds somewhat endearing. But that doesn't mean she isn't listening, or taking him seriously.

"I think coordination between all of us Foreigners would be an improvement. And if you're familiar with large-scale efforts, perhaps that's where you could help most."