uncountable Miles
May. 28th, 2010 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
So I had this conversation with my little sister--
No, she's not my older sister. Why does everybody think that? I am way more mature than her. Shut up.
This conversation, it was about Miles Vorkosigan, you know, Lois McMaster Bujold's best brainchild. We were punning about Miles' multiple identities (birthed in Brothers in Arms, and reaching their absurd peak in Mirror Dance), and Mikke said something about how, what was it...."Miles' little story about there being a dozen of them raised in a clone-creche is likely to have Admiral Naismith urban legends popping up for years."
So this made me imagine the best and most entertaining candidate, poor Ivan Vorpatril, on a mission in a galactic bar somewhere far, far away from Barrayar, encountering his very first Admiral Naismith impersonator (five foot six with grey eyes and brown hair and an energetic disposition; wearing grey and whites of the wrong hues, also sporting a beret). The impersonator is a genially expansive sort, and Ivan (bemused and amused and annoyed), buys him drinks and draws out all of not-Naismith's tales of galactic heroism, many of which are outright fabrications (accurate accounts of Naismith's career, of course, only sound like ridiculous lies). In the same scenario, Miles would have ended the experience with some sort of challenge, or a confrontation--a joke, a story, a reveal--but Ivan prefers to dodge the bombs, so he just leaves.
Months later, he's telling the story at some dinner party of elites with very high security clearances (probable guests: Miles, Ekaterin, Gregor, Laisa, Alys, Simon, Galeni but probably not Delia, maybe Vorthys; maybe also Mark, but if so, he has to grimace over this story, because to him, imitating Miles is less fun, more death deep-fried on a stick)--
--and mikke says: "Dinner parties are always good. They allow people to choke on wine."
Right. Thanks.
Anyway, we think Miles would be all indignant--okay, I'm just handing it back over to mikke:
mikke: miles would be like WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING
mikke: and ivan would be like do what, exactly?
mikke: and miles would be like well at least did you report him to impsec?
mikke: and ivan would be like oh, fair
mikke: ivan would be like he's way too tall though
mikke: and miles would be like thanks, ivan.
Anyway, we wish someone would write this fic. I wish Mikke would write this fic, but she won't. Anyone?
No, she's not my older sister. Why does everybody think that? I am way more mature than her. Shut up.
This conversation, it was about Miles Vorkosigan, you know, Lois McMaster Bujold's best brainchild. We were punning about Miles' multiple identities (birthed in Brothers in Arms, and reaching their absurd peak in Mirror Dance), and Mikke said something about how, what was it...."Miles' little story about there being a dozen of them raised in a clone-creche is likely to have Admiral Naismith urban legends popping up for years."
So this made me imagine the best and most entertaining candidate, poor Ivan Vorpatril, on a mission in a galactic bar somewhere far, far away from Barrayar, encountering his very first Admiral Naismith impersonator (five foot six with grey eyes and brown hair and an energetic disposition; wearing grey and whites of the wrong hues, also sporting a beret). The impersonator is a genially expansive sort, and Ivan (bemused and amused and annoyed), buys him drinks and draws out all of not-Naismith's tales of galactic heroism, many of which are outright fabrications (accurate accounts of Naismith's career, of course, only sound like ridiculous lies). In the same scenario, Miles would have ended the experience with some sort of challenge, or a confrontation--a joke, a story, a reveal--but Ivan prefers to dodge the bombs, so he just leaves.
Months later, he's telling the story at some dinner party of elites with very high security clearances (probable guests: Miles, Ekaterin, Gregor, Laisa, Alys, Simon, Galeni but probably not Delia, maybe Vorthys; maybe also Mark, but if so, he has to grimace over this story, because to him, imitating Miles is less fun, more death deep-fried on a stick)--
--and mikke says: "Dinner parties are always good. They allow people to choke on wine."
Right. Thanks.
Anyway, we think Miles would be all indignant--okay, I'm just handing it back over to mikke:
mikke: miles would be like WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING
mikke: and ivan would be like do what, exactly?
mikke: and miles would be like well at least did you report him to impsec?
mikke: and ivan would be like oh, fair
mikke: ivan would be like he's way too tall though
mikke: and miles would be like thanks, ivan.
Anyway, we wish someone would write this fic. I wish Mikke would write this fic, but she won't. Anyone?
no subject
on 2010-05-30 08:59 am (UTC)I love this whole conversation.