choreography

[isthisart]

Linya unpacks. She is introduced to the armsmen and the other householders, and those of them younger and less thoroughly worn smooth by experience than Pym react to her with various combinations of glassy-eyed staring and suspicion - none of which fails to retreat at a well-timed throat-clearing, though, so she is able to bring one along with her for protection when she makes a trip to a music store for piano tuning tools. It goes without incident. She also makes sure she will be able to find food in the wee hours of the morning when she's up late or early.

She well-tempers the piano, and plays one of her relatively few memorized pieces (there are, in fact, a lot of them, but fewer than musicians of her acquaintance acquire for their repertoires) to make sure it's how she wants it.

The next morning, she draws Miles a diagram of the cascade braid and lets him practice it until he's got it down and she can wear it out. Cordelia mentions that she has invited Gregor over.

Linya tries groats with maple syrup on them for breakfast and, unexpectedly, loves them. (She does not try ethanol in any form, nor animal meat, this early in her residence.) She gets her pen to connect to the Barryaran comm networks. She meets, by comm-call, the Vorkosigan family accountant Tsipis, with whom she gets on absolutely famously; after fifteen minutes they have an enthusiastic agreement to talk thrice weekly so he can teach her economics and keep her up to date on how he's doing with errands for her nascent pen development business - sourcing materials and tools for her prototypes, materials and tools and manufacturers and programmers for scaling up when she has a solid consumer version.

She starts teaching herself the local form of Greek and has another bowl of groats in the dimness when there's nobody about but the night guard.

She slips into bed with her husband contentedly and snuggles up and goes to sleep.

Comments

[seewhathappens]

"I plan to discuss them over lunch."

[greatcomposure]

It is at this moment that Cordelia enters the vicinity.

"Gregor," she says, greeting him with a handclasp and a maternally affectionate smile. "Good to see you."

[seewhathappens]

"Likewise. Should we send someone to fetch Miles, or just proceed as planned and let him show up of his own accord?"

[greatcomposure]

"Hm. Linyabel, do you happen to know where he is?"

[isthisart]

"Not as of right now, no."

[greatcomposure]

"Well, if he hasn't popped up by the time we reach the table, I'll go find him."

This plan of action having been formed, she turns to lead her guests to the table in question - a medium-sized one that lives in a lesser dining room, currently supplied with four place settings arranged in facing pairs.

[isthisart]

Linya sits at one.

[seewhathappens]

Gregor sits opposite. (Gregor's guards once again stand by the door, one in, one out.)

[greatcomposure]

Cordelia steps out for a few seconds, then returns and sits next to Gregor, leaving the seat next to Linya for Miles.

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles arrives slightly ahead of the food, and takes the remaining seat.

The food is unremarkably tasty, and Linya gets a double portion - someone has apparently learned that quirk already.

[isthisart]

Linya appreciates the kitchen's quickness on the uptake. Om nom.

[seewhathappens]

They have, as Cordelia predicted, a quiet lunch. No one seems inclined to say much, but the mood at the table is generally peaceful and comfortable.

And then, when everyone is winding down and Miles is occupied with a final bite but Linya is not, Gregor looks across the table and says mildly, "So. Are you some sort of spy or saboteur?"

[isthisart]

"No, just an opportunistic malcontent," says Linya, blinking. "But if there's some kind of security measure that would make you sleep better at night I'm not necessarily opposed."

[seewhathappens]

"In your judgment, is it possible that you are and don't know you are?"

[isthisart]

"I have no marks that would be associated with someone physically introducing anything dangerous or spylike to my person, my personal electronics are all custom-programmed to paranoid security standards and therefore highly unlikely to harbor malicious software placed there without my knowledge, I am not missing any time - and I would notice a gap in my journal notes - to account for what would be unusually difficult attempts to psychologically or psychiatrically manipulate me, the strategem would be completely unprecedented on several levels, and I have no particular objection to ImpSec reading my every offplanet communiqué, double-checking any designs for products I intend to distribute, or, in the one case, sleeping in my bed - so no, I really don't think so."

[thisvorlunatic]

Miles, having now finished his last bite (what impeccable timing, Gregor), cracks up.

[seewhathappens]

Even Gregor chuckes, somewhat to his own surprise.

[isthisart]

"But, again, if my word on the matter doesn't suffice, I did not exactly land on Barrayar expecting minimal suspicion or the ability to coast without any attempts to assuage it, so you will not ruin my weekend plans if I need to have another chat with Captain Illyan or something."

[seewhathappens]

"Noted. But I don't think ImpSec is going to need to watch you much more closely than they'd watch any Lady Vorkosigan. As explanations for your presence go, 'Miles did it' is an extremely compelling alternative to 'the Cetagandan Empire decided to package some subtle disaster in the form of a haut-wife awarded to a low-level intelligence agent with good political connections'."

[thisvorlunatic]

I'll low-level intelligence agent you, Gregor, you ass—no, no he won't, not with his decidedly un-cleared wife at the table. Miles subsides from his nascent tirade.

[isthisart]

"I have gathered that I am not the first stunt he's pulled, although I seem to be the only one that has added to the family tree."

[thisvorlunatic]

"You are my favourite stunt," Miles assures her.

[seewhathappens]

[isthisart]

"Awww," says Linya. "Anyway - are a lot of people convinced that I'm some sort of menace? Are there people I should not accept beverages from?"

[seewhathappens]

"Almost certainly, but they're not the ones I worry about," he says. "Would-be assassins are a problem for security people. My problems are a little less direct. I can foresee three obvious categories of trouble, once your presence is widely known: quibbles about your immigration status, quibbles about the validity of your marriage, and spite-motivated voting shifts in the Council of Counts. The last problem is not really something you can affect, but the first two... well. You do exist in something of an ambiguous state, at the moment. Taking an oath of fealty as Lady Vorkosigan would go a long way toward shutting up the dissenters. It isn't strictly a prerequisite to remaining on the planet and married to Miles, but it would clarify some of those ambiguities, and it would be something to point to when people complain about your planet of origin."