line dance

[isthisart]

Linya settles thoroughly in. The rest of her Barrayaran clothes filter in and she mixes and matches in Alys-approved ways. Cordelia continues to be welcoming; the Count continues to be more or less awkward (though she does catch him stifling a laugh the first time she has occasion to scoop up her husband in his presence). Tsipis continues to be marvelously helpful; between them they pick a factory that will be able to make pens for a reasonable bid, and she goes in to visit and makes sure they have everything right and decides what colors the chassis ought to come in (four standard colors, a dozen more available as custom order with optional engraving). She asks Cordelia what color she wants hers; since she doesn't want a complicated nib-end she can have the first one off the production line. For the complicated-nib version, Linya is still studying optics. She writes a letter to a local manufacturer of holoprojectors to see if they have any insight. She wraps up her study of Greek and starts on French - French, she already knew, but this is a different dialect with peculiar Barrayaran Cyrillic spelling rules, so it still requires nonzero effort.

Oh, and she snuggles her tiny Barrayaran. And makes music and has groats for breakfast roughly every other day.

Setting a date for a groat-related wedding as opposed to a groat-related breakfast is a little complicated, but they are formally, as it were, engaged.

Comments

[greatcomposure]

"Sensible. We'll see how fast he's recovering, then, so we know how to schedule things. As for your crash course... I'm all for it, but did you have an instructor in mind?"

[isthisart]

"Not especially. You? Alys, maybe, although I'm less sure she'll be able to produce comprehensible instructions, I can barely understand her when she's explaining how bolero jackets ought to interact with necklaces."

[greatcomposure]

"Well, I'll do the best I can."

[on_my_word]

"I volunteer as strategic consultant," says Aral. "I daresay I can go down the guest list - once we have one - and guess which way some of 'em are going to jump, and how their trajectory might be altered."

[greatcomposure]

"For that matter, you can help me assemble the guest list," says Cordelia. "I might ask Gregor for some input there, too."

[isthisart]

"This has become much less facetious all of a sudden. What are parties here like, what happens at them?"

[greatcomposure]

"Rampant ethanol consumption," says Cordelia. "Food. Dancing. Or did you mean at Vorkosigan House specifically? We don't tend to host this sort of thing."

[isthisart]

"Perhaps given this freeing lack of precedent we could omit the ethanol. I have historically tried to avoid dancing, too, for that matter, although I suppose I could revise the habit in different company."

[greatcomposure]

"The ethanol is a longstanding cultural tradition. You don't have to partake, but hosting a large Vor social gathering without it would be sort of like - I don't know a good Cetagandan example. Ask Miles for one, maybe; he's been to Cetagandan social gatherings. It would be extremely off-putting to the guests. You don't have to dance, either, but again - abstaining for yourself is one thing; denying everyone else the opportunity is another."

[isthisart]

"Fair enough. I don't have as much information about ghem and prole parties, but haut parties invariably have music and food and elaborate decorations," she supplies. "Dancing is not invariable, but when it occurred, I avoided it by supplying the music portion with an instrument played sitting down. I don't actually know if I'd be embarrassing at it relative to the heirloom population."

[greatcomposure]

"If you want to play the piano at this one, I'm sure that can be arranged," says Cordelia. "And if you want to evaluate your dancing ability relative to the population of this planet, we can find an instructor to teach you a few of the standard Barrayaran dances."

[isthisart]

"That sounds like a good idea."

[greatcomposure]

"I'll get right on that, then."

[isthisart]

"Thank you."

[greatcomposure]

"You're welcome."

[isthisart]

Eventually dinner is all eaten up. Linya notifies the kitchen that they may be prevailed upon to send a tray up to Miles later, if he wakes up before morning, and goes up to their suite.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles is still napping. He looks terribly cozy.

[isthisart]

Well then. Linya will not wake him.

When she goes to bed, he is somewhat too flat for spooning and she's worried about shifting and bothering his legs in the night, so she winds up hugging his arm and lying angled diagonally away from him. It is not as comfortable as the standard, but it will do for the time being.

He is probably awake first, between lingering postsurgical discomfort and not having had the chance to pee in twelve hours.

[thisvorlunatic]

He does indeed get up earlyish and hobble the short distance to the bathroom, where he pees and showers and takes painkillers, all very important aspects of starting the day. Then he dons clean pajamas and hobbles back to bed.

[isthisart]

Yawn. Snuggle.

"Morning."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Morning." Snuggle. Cozy, only somewhat pained snuggle.

[isthisart]

"How're you feeling? You slept right through dinner."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Hungry," he admits. "Sleepy. And very cuddled."

[isthisart]

"We can get breakfast sent up." She gets her pen and sends the kitchen a note; it took a little doing to make the comm system accept the pen as one of its nodes but that's long handled. "At dinner the 'Lady Vorkosigan Doesn't Bite' party became somewhat less hypothetical. Although apparently ethanol is not optional at Barrayaran parties."

[thisvorlunatic]

"Optional to drink, sure. Optional to serve? God, no, of course not - at least not the big social-elite kind of party. It'd be like hosting a Cetagandan party with a strict dress code telling your guests to show up in clothing made exclusively from potato sacks. Do you even have potato sacks?"