He can do this. Absolutely. It won't be easy - he'll have trouble, absolutely, and there will be unexpected hiccups. But. On the whole, he'll figure this out.
In response to her shaky smile, his own is bright and warm. Confident, even, though he doesn't know how the hell he's going to do this yet. And hopeful. If he can give her this hope, that's good enough to start with, right? The rest ... eh, he'll figure it out as he goes.
That hand gesture, though. His gray eyes flicker a bit as he notices it, and he decides to take a chance. Gently, he reaches to take her hand, bowing over it with entirely too much ceremony. Then he lets it drop.
"I look forward to meeting your full entourage, then," he says. "Hopefully you will forgive me if I don't look completely well-rested."
For that, she laughs, for his gesture, that he would look bedraggled come morning. All her fault. Something that she squeezes his hand with, curling around his in a brief grip.
"They will be glad to meet you too, we have heard much of you and your exploits. Though I hope our differences does not bother your... Betan ways if we are to travel together. We are... very private. I would request a room where we might have some seclusion amongst ourselves. I am comfortable being exposed, but they are... they have never been so far from home."
To say the least, they were very out of their depth, on Earth and around Betans. Some of it reactive. A need to cut themselves off with what little they could keep from the UC, others... older.
Odd customs, eh? Miles has a few of his own. In any case, he has no concerns about space, so the request is an easy one to grant. He squeezes her hand back for just a moment before withdrawing completely.
"You shall have it," he says with a wave of his hand. "As long as you leave your quarters clean and undamaged at the end, I couldn't care less about what you do in them." Hell, if they leave the place clean after they leave, they'll be better guests than most. "Do they have any fears that I might be able to allay more directly?"
Her hands settle back to her sides, her shoulders falling open and easy, a sight more comfortable in his presence then she was when she first arrived. He had given her so much, already, and granted, he had taken something he quite probably didn't expect.
But she takes a moment. "Two, I suppose. This is somewhat personal a request. Of an evening, I would like you to join us for a drink. I am trying to help them adjust to the galaxy they have been denied. You will be a good... starting point." Then she takes a deeper breath. "... And of a morning, we pray and train together. Unless it is a pressing matter, I would like us to be undisturbed at that time."
A little time in the morning, a little drink in the evening. That seems ... quite reasonable? Reasonable to the point where Miles wonders if he ought to be paranoid instead, but. Well. He is just curious instead.
"Granted," he says. "As long as the drink is decent, anyway." He'll just make sure he brings a good bottle of wine along with him.
"Of course." She laughs again, eager almost. "We will prepare you something of our home, perhaps. They would be glad to show you something of us, for what you will be giving in return."
But with that she steps away, and looks about - she needs to go, relate to her own people everything that has passed in more detail for what they would only have heard half of.
"I should leave you to get what rest you can."
And she heads - not towards the door, but the balcony. Out the way she came, down the side of the building.
Perfect. A proper exchange of culture, then - the alcoholic sort. Miles is already looking forward to it. All the more reason to make sure this works during their meeting. Not that his outfit has much of a choice when he's made up his mind, but. It's easier when they agree.
"I do need my beauty rest," he says with another bow, this time small and sarcastic. Beauty, ha. Though he just sort of. Pauses as she moves to leave. "I see I need to lock my balcony more thoroughly this time."
Which he is absolutely going to do, goodness. If she'd been an assassin, he'd have been dead.
She beams, a little pleased. "You bathroom, I came in through your bathroom window, most are not slender enough - or have experience scaling building." Or her skill of picking locks. It's giddy though, but keeps it in, she shouldn't be giggling. "But most don't ever think to come in such a way, that usually no one locks them, either. So I would attend to that too."
But she slides open the door, letting in the fresh night air and the sounds of London below. The call of nightlife, the yowl of cats squabbling. Lights that glittered like fine embroidered gold. Weaving and shining. She turns back to him, just the once, as she flicks the button on her helmet, her visor sliding back down over her eyes a nose. Leaving no more than a smiling mouth. "Well met, Admiral Naismith. I look forward to meeting you again in the morning." Looks, briefly, over the edge. "We will arrive through more usual means." Some assurance.
She hops up onto the bar of the balcony railing. Holding her weight in a crouch, body tensed with her inevitable jump to the balcony below.
Oh. He definitely didn't lock the bathroom window, and for one simple reason: it's too damn high for him to reach on his own. He'll have to get Bel. Or a step stool. Or something.
He trails after her, all the more fascinated after that little revelation. Goodness, he can just picture her scaling the walls somehow. What an extraordinary woman ... "As do I," he says, just the slightest bit awed. "We'll be here to receive her when you do."
He'll stay on the balcony for a while; he wants to watch her go.
Lakshmi gives him a nod goodbye, briefly smiling once more - and then simply, she's off, just like she came. Quietly, quickly and suddenly.
She swings down with no warning - one arm holding her weight as her feet get the perch she wants on the outside edge. Dropping with a heavy landing that springs into a running step that launches her at speed, a long-stride sprint that gains the momentum she needs so that when she jumps over the street - off and across to a nearby roof she clears it easily, rolling in a summersault to break her landing before she's up and moving again. Wasting no time in her departure - there was too much to do as she scrambled into the night over rooftops. Disappearing into the echo of street lights and neon signs of Earth.
The rest - the intervening hours - she barely gets more than a few hours sleep. Telling her people the good news, their preparations to leave in the hotel where no one asked their names and didn't bother strangers. They left there at some early hour with as little sleep as any of them got. Preparing herself in a long hour of silence that - it was coming together. This war, it might just be seen through. The blockaded might just be broken, she scarcely dare breath as she codes the message back to her father. To tell him to begin the preparations, a feverish feeling that seizes her. Bold and sharp that grips her and infects her guards. Gambling with something intangible.
Though when she is waiting for him the next morning, she's easy to spot sitting in the lobby for him and his men. A serious, darkly dressed woman, rich in fabrics. She sits shoulders back, hands in her lap, elbows on the arms of the chair. Draped to a position far greater than one she currently was. Flanked by the guards that stand either side of her. All six of them in total. Hard in the mouth, hard in the eyes. Their plasma arcs and swords were worn in even weight to each other. Serious and quiet, watching for the slightest thing that would dare approach their Rani.
Far different, to how she'd been, appearing in the dark of night. A Queen, not a woman, and she holds herself to that purpose - at least until she sees him approach, and rises to greet whoever comes to lead her away.
Good god, but that woman is incredible. He watches her parkour her way across the roof with nothing short of absolute awe. Also some jealousy; he knows his body will never, ever perform anywhere near that well. In fact he's not certain it's a normal human trait. Some Jacksonian enhancements, perhaps? She doesn't seem the type, but... Well, it's a mystery for another time.
Miles will not return to sleep, in fact. Instead he spends the time preparing. Researching still more about the UC, about her beleaguered world. There will be time to sleep once they're all on the ship, anyway, and he wants to get al the information he possibly can. It paints a woefully inaccurate picture, given the omnipresence of the UC's PR department, but there are some scraps of truth in there, and Miles ferrets out all he can.
When he descends to the lobby to meet her, he is every bit the Admiral the rumors made him out to be. No bedhead or bedclothes, nor even any sign that he hasn't slept since her interruption. His eyes are fever-bright, taking in her entourage with interest and excitement both. Ah, here's a motley crew. He can see their scars by the reflections cast in their eyes.
But Miles' own guards are, perhaps, still more unusual. Bel Thorne on his right, androgynous but emphasizing their masculine side today, all uniform edges and stunner pommels. On his left is ... well. Taura. Who needs no introduction, surely. She towers over all in the room, her eight feet of sheer muscle contrasting with the bright splash of pink along her claws. (Quinn is elsewhere. Close, but elsewhere.)
"Good morning," he says brightly, coming to sit down in his own chair, his guardians still flanking him. "I hope you slept well."
My God, - she knows that even if she has seen more of the galaxy then her guards, she has seen little of the wider galaxy. It's composure, not exposure, that saves her from staring at his guards. The woman could have thrown her across the room and - cut down a hundred of the UC. Leaves her mouth dry.
"Well enough." Her hand's press, palm to palm in greeting. Her head bowing over them. A smile playing there, as she meets his eyes. Her hair that reached comfortably in a braid to her hips, fell over her shoulder with the gesture. A set of pins that were hooked at intervals with gold pendants that gave it the weight to let it swing in a pendulum before she straightens.
Then she sits again, arranging the drape of the material over her shoulder. Fixing it in place as she settles herself once more. It's then that she gestures to her guards. Who - were doing their best not to stare. "These are my durgavasi - guards." Her hand sweeps from one side to the other. "Vijay, Jhalkari, Lakshman." They step forward at their names. A stiff bow from the waist, a hand on their swords, a formality to the familiar movement. "Kashi, Ram and Devi." She hovers a moment, a deeper breath. She's far been from nervous for most of this.
But this? Her hand gestures - the woman closest to her, Kashi, step aside with a leading hand and from behind her, emerges a boy. Not past six years old. "And my son. Damodar Rao Newalker."
He's a little thing, dark-eyed as his mother. But determined not to let her down as he steps forward, letting go of his nurse's hand. Just - as taken back by how tall Taura was to how little Miles was. Staring with big wide eyes before he remembers himself. He bows like his mother and speaks - a slight stumble on English around the form of Admiral Naismith when he speaks in the long string of Hindi. Lakshmi's hand lifts to the boy's shoulder, proud, so fiercely proud. Then lifts to translates. "He says that if you, Admiral, are as brave and kind as his father, that you will surely assure our victory."
The words said, he steps back to his mother's side. Going to step next to her, a serious little man. Her hand sweeps down his back, a mild but sure affection. "I regret not telling you he was with us earlier, but I am sure you can understand the secrecy. He will not be in the way, he is raised around warriors and knows to mind his way around them."
Miles can't help but be a bit delighted at their reactions to Taura. (And guilty in the same moment; he can see Taura folding her arms over her chest, determined to make the best of it but clearly not enjoying their stares.) Later he'll make it up to her in their quarters, absolutely. But for now he's quite grateful for the advantage her presence provides. If there was any chance this little group was intending an assassination attempt, the implied promise of Taura will be enough to make them think twice...
He bows lightly as she introduces her guards, noting all of their names. And then - oh. A child. Far from being annoyed or distressed (although Bel looks distinctly unhappy), Miles' eyes brighten with delight. The one constant of the universe is that Miles is terribly baby mad at all times. God, what he wouldn't give to get married and have a few of his own ... but that's well beyond anything happening here. He stands at that, coming to stand a little closer to Damodar. He's taller than the boy, but not by nearly as much as most adults would be. "Hello," he says. "You must be very brave to travel with your mother like this."
He nods - stiff at the stranger, then looks at his mother for to translation - something Lakshmi leans in gladly to do. Relating, "He is my son, and he promised to stand by my side." It hurts, it hurts utterly to know who he would have promised it too. How solemn he would have been to her husband. She leans, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
Because - he should be a boy, he shouldn't be so serious. So hard, but like her, like her guards, there was nothing else for it. He should be a boy, laughing, playing, not living a rough life of fighting and running and fighting. She turns her gaze up, this wasn't the time to reminisce, to look about in longing. "Shall we? There is much to discuss, but half the time."
Such a good boy. Miles gives him another nod before returning to his chair, once again the invincible little Admiral. "By all means. I require the precise terms of the job in advance, of course. As well as the details of our payment."
Not even a flicker in his eyes at the blatant lie; he, of course, already knows what the payment will be. What he's been paid already. The sword is safely housed in his own ship already, locked away with the Vorkosigan seal dagger at its side.
Her hand lifts and flicks in an order that is understood. Reaching for her son, as she settles back into her chair. Lifting him easily, and settling him in her lap in a way that is practised. Obediently, he falls quiet, and she goes about her business. If there is a strangeness to involving a child in war plans of all things, she is not troubled by it. Though there is one concession - as Kashi produces a toy lion that is given for the boy to fiddle with as the adults talk around him.
"The Maratha system has only one wormhole to gain access too it and has been under forced occupation for the last 500 hundred years. The United Corporation as such is - thoroughly entrenched, as they say. They have settlements of their own men at important sights as well as two battle cruises that orbit the planet of Jhansi. They have sort, over the years, to cripple us. But I have people - a whole planet that can fight down to their last, ready and waiting for when I get weapons to them." Numbers, she has, in fact, more than has - it's equipment, the cutting edge of technology, that she doesn't. "I need to organise an outfit of stunners, plasma arcs and nerve disruptors, transport them down the surface, for which I would employ your men to help us in transport and the distraction required." To not be shot out of the air, no less.
He has payment, he as more than he knows as payment - but, he asked, and she offers what she had intended, as she looks across the faces of his crew. Wets her lips, letting out a held breath, knowing this isn't - a lot, at least, not as it appears in the immediate. "We promise you pillaging rights to all the UC's equipment and sights to do with as you wish in all ensuing battles, for your immediate payment, and once we have been - liberated, you will have one full year's profit from our mines. I will ensure that even in the event of my death, you will be paid it in the full." Let that at least tantalise as a thought of long-term payment, enough to agree in the short term.
Five hundred years. Miles draws in a sharp little breath, unable to hide his shock at the sheer scope of it. For a world to be occupied for five hundred years ... that means the United Corporation had to have dominated it nearly from its first settlement. He'd known that Maratha had been one of the very first colonies after the wormholes had been discovered, but even so. Barrayar had suffered enough under twenty years of occupation. The fact that this woman stands before him at all is nothing short of a miracle.
But that too may be their downfall. A company so firmly entrenched may well be lazy, or at least thoroughly surprised by Dendarii audacity. Both of which he will need in the coming fight, he is certain of it. He can't think of any other mercenary outfits that have attempted it - much to Barrayar's dismay. The UC is currently imposing some very displeasing taxes on the entire Imperium. Which is fortunate, as it's the entire basis of Miles' communication back to Simon to request money for the whole debacle. If it goes poorly, his outfit will still be paid. If it goes well ... they might be paid thrice over. Which is good, because Bel is giving him a look about this whole lack of being paid in advance thing.
He's quiet a moment, mulling it over. Mostly a show for both of their guards, but. "The mines that the UC is currently profiting handsomely from, I'm sure." Hell, maybe he wouldn't even need payment from Barrayar in that case. His portion alone would be enough to feed a lovely revenue stream directly back to his homeworld. "So - tell me. How many mercenary outfits have you approached before mine?"
He thinks he knows the answer to that. Surely his is the latest in a string of many rejections. Could she possibly have come to him first and foremost?
She meets him in it, somewhere between offended, somewhere between blazing fiercely as she bites into it, she looks at him, and she looks only at him with all of the pent-up bravery, fear and devotion and how much is bound up in this moment for her, for all of her people. Looks at him like if he were near him she would grip in her hands. As if her will might be enough.
Because it's not flattery when she speaks, no honeying of words, it is what she sees to be the truth. "None, for I never would have asked another. I need more than brute force. We have done that, we have tried that. Until our wars have slicked our ground with blood it turned to mud." She takes a breath in, slow. "I need a will that does not flinch. For that is what will secure this victory, and give me leave of what I need to do after - expose them to the Galaxy for what they have done so they may never rise again."
She shakes her head. "There could be no one else but you, Admiral." A slip of her own language, her own forms. But honest, as she looks at him, she doesn't see a little man, twisted and weak, not at all. She sees strength and cleverness - and kindness too, for what he had accepted the night before in the quiet between them. "You have given me proof of that, already."
No pressure there. Miles is both pleased and utterly intimidated by her
admission that she’s sought out him and only him so far. How can he
possibly turn that down? Which both his guardians realize in an instant,
both turning to look at him. They know how this ends just as surely as
Miles himself does. Sigh. Surely some part of this is also due to intel
she’s gathered about him personally. God he kind of hopes so.
Anyway. The conclusion is forgone, already won by Lakshmi this morning. And
if she hadn’t won him then, she surely would now. “I suppose I must accept,
then,” he says with a soft sigh. “Very well. You have my determination,
then. And all my cleverness. God help us if that isn’t enough.”
She breathes in deep - no small part of her that worried, that perhaps he would take her blade, take her hope with it - and leave her with nothing else to show for it. What was said in the dark didn't always meant it would be followed through in the light. He had made her not quite sure of him. A play there, she can't let her own people know if she has doubts, she'd made up her mind regardless of whatever they had to say. But he sets her at ease and she relaxes again, letting out a deeply held breath as she forced her stiffness back out.
"God will not be able to find our remains, I'm afraid. The UC is fond of its obliteration." It's - not funny, but she smiles anyway. Definitely no pressure here. But it shockingly, prompts her guards to smile, in turn. People, under all that blank, mildly angry expressions. "But if I may, we prefer to offer something, on any kind of union, that is a gift in thanks for the event." It wasn't much, but it was what had been brought with them.
Not funny, but Miles manages a sort of disjointed smile anyway. Figures
that’s he’s up against. It never seems to be anything less. “All a part of
the deal, of course,” he says with a wave of his hand, “although we will do
all I can to avoid it.”
A slight eye roll from Bel. Good job not wanting all of them to die, Miles.
Anyway. He refocus on the second part of her response. “A gift? And what
would that be?” He thought he already recieved that last night.
This one, at least, was the one he was meant to have - and not just for him, it seemed. But those that had come with him as well. Gift giving was important - at least amongst her own people. Nothing meant anything unless there was a gift given. Nor was it limited to just her to him.
Her hand lifts - another gesture to her guards and a woman that looked - shockingly a lot like her, for what it was worth, steps forward fishing from a bag that was at her feet. A series of similar looking boxes inside of it, though she takes only the first one. "Something simple, from our home, for all of you. We know that the materials may be easily replicated elsewhere. But our smiths are some of the most skilled. I had them prepared for you and yours before I left." She taps at Damodar's arm and the boy hops out of her lap, stepping back to his nurse. It's then she stands, taking the box out of her hands.
"If you'll permit me?" she opens the box to show him - and it's a chain, a fine golden chain that was a series of intricate links. A bracelet, to length. Carefully, she lifts it out, letting it slide over her fingers. Gesturing for his hand as she comes closer.
A gift indeed. Miles can’t help but admire the chain as she holds it out.
It reminds him of Barrayar, again, though most other cultures might find it
silly or old-fashioned. Bel doesn’t think much of it, he can tell, but
Miles finds himself fascinated. He extends his wrist, then, and allows her
to do as she wishes.
“Thank you,” he says, solemn but grateful. “It is a lovely piece.”
She's gentle with him, as she moves his hand, and around her, her people give his, their gifts. ( Poor Devi, somewhere next to her, staring wide-eyed, and probably utterly smitten with Taura, most likely. ) But she occupies herself quite easily in the task. Lifting his hand so she can fasten it - her fingers sweeping under his as she kneels to be even with him. Though, as she measures it, perhaps it is a little long given how slight his wrists truly were.
It would do, for now, later on, she might get it fixed to sit on him better. But as it stands, it does the job, as she hooks the clasp between her nails - and hesitates as she leans closer, a bow of her hand over his head, a ghost of her breath near to him. Formal, not a step out of place, before she straightens up. "It is our pleasure. Gifts are common for us. Whatever we can give, we like too, and nothing is auspicious without it." Still hasn't learned, that these aren't done everywhere else - it's going to get them in trouble one day.
"Do we go to your ship - or would you prefer us to stay here for the time being?" Unsure, really, how this was meant to work. Truth be told, it was dizzying to know she had even gotten this far.
It’s woefully big on his tiny wrist. Enough to get a small snort of
laughter from Taura, though not an unkind one; Miles just solemnly loops he
chain around his wrist an extra time. There. All fixed.
Both Taura and Bel accept theirs gracefully in turn; Taura gives Devi a
toothy smile, which may or may not help with that burgeoning crush. As for
the question itself, well. Miles is ready with the answer. “You’ll be
aboard the Ariel, with me,” he says with a smile. “All the preparations are
ready, if you’d like to gather your people.” He’s seen to it himself last
night instead of sleeping. “We’ve no gifts, but there will be plenty of
refreshments at least.” Including a bottle of wine should they decide to
give that a try.
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In response to her shaky smile, his own is bright and warm. Confident, even, though he doesn't know how the hell he's going to do this yet. And hopeful. If he can give her this hope, that's good enough to start with, right? The rest ... eh, he'll figure it out as he goes.
That hand gesture, though. His gray eyes flicker a bit as he notices it, and he decides to take a chance. Gently, he reaches to take her hand, bowing over it with entirely too much ceremony. Then he lets it drop.
"I look forward to meeting your full entourage, then," he says. "Hopefully you will forgive me if I don't look completely well-rested."
Given she did wake him up super early.
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"They will be glad to meet you too, we have heard much of you and your exploits. Though I hope our differences does not bother your... Betan ways if we are to travel together. We are... very private. I would request a room where we might have some seclusion amongst ourselves. I am comfortable being exposed, but they are... they have never been so far from home."
To say the least, they were very out of their depth, on Earth and around Betans. Some of it reactive. A need to cut themselves off with what little they could keep from the UC, others... older.
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"You shall have it," he says with a wave of his hand. "As long as you leave your quarters clean and undamaged at the end, I couldn't care less about what you do in them." Hell, if they leave the place clean after they leave, they'll be better guests than most. "Do they have any fears that I might be able to allay more directly?"
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But she takes a moment. "Two, I suppose. This is somewhat personal a request. Of an evening, I would like you to join us for a drink. I am trying to help them adjust to the galaxy they have been denied. You will be a good... starting point." Then she takes a deeper breath. "... And of a morning, we pray and train together. Unless it is a pressing matter, I would like us to be undisturbed at that time."
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"Granted," he says. "As long as the drink is decent, anyway." He'll just make sure he brings a good bottle of wine along with him.
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But with that she steps away, and looks about - she needs to go, relate to her own people everything that has passed in more detail for what they would only have heard half of.
"I should leave you to get what rest you can."
And she heads - not towards the door, but the balcony. Out the way she came, down the side of the building.
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"I do need my beauty rest," he says with another bow, this time small and sarcastic. Beauty, ha. Though he just sort of. Pauses as she moves to leave. "I see I need to lock my balcony more thoroughly this time."
Which he is absolutely going to do, goodness. If she'd been an assassin, he'd have been dead.
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But she slides open the door, letting in the fresh night air and the sounds of London below. The call of nightlife, the yowl of cats squabbling. Lights that glittered like fine embroidered gold. Weaving and shining. She turns back to him, just the once, as she flicks the button on her helmet, her visor sliding back down over her eyes a nose. Leaving no more than a smiling mouth. "Well met, Admiral Naismith. I look forward to meeting you again in the morning." Looks, briefly, over the edge. "We will arrive through more usual means." Some assurance.
She hops up onto the bar of the balcony railing. Holding her weight in a crouch, body tensed with her inevitable jump to the balcony below.
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He trails after her, all the more fascinated after that little revelation. Goodness, he can just picture her scaling the walls somehow. What an extraordinary woman ... "As do I," he says, just the slightest bit awed. "We'll be here to receive her when you do."
He'll stay on the balcony for a while; he wants to watch her go.
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She swings down with no warning - one arm holding her weight as her feet get the perch she wants on the outside edge. Dropping with a heavy landing that springs into a running step that launches her at speed, a long-stride sprint that gains the momentum she needs so that when she jumps over the street - off and across to a nearby roof she clears it easily, rolling in a summersault to break her landing before she's up and moving again. Wasting no time in her departure - there was too much to do as she scrambled into the night over rooftops. Disappearing into the echo of street lights and neon signs of Earth.
The rest - the intervening hours - she barely gets more than a few hours sleep. Telling her people the good news, their preparations to leave in the hotel where no one asked their names and didn't bother strangers. They left there at some early hour with as little sleep as any of them got. Preparing herself in a long hour of silence that - it was coming together. This war, it might just be seen through. The blockaded might just be broken, she scarcely dare breath as she codes the message back to her father. To tell him to begin the preparations, a feverish feeling that seizes her. Bold and sharp that grips her and infects her guards. Gambling with something intangible.
Though when she is waiting for him the next morning, she's easy to spot sitting in the lobby for him and his men. A serious, darkly dressed woman, rich in fabrics. She sits shoulders back, hands in her lap, elbows on the arms of the chair. Draped to a position far greater than one she currently was. Flanked by the guards that stand either side of her. All six of them in total. Hard in the mouth, hard in the eyes. Their plasma arcs and swords were worn in even weight to each other. Serious and quiet, watching for the slightest thing that would dare approach their Rani.
Far different, to how she'd been, appearing in the dark of night. A Queen, not a woman, and she holds herself to that purpose - at least until she sees him approach, and rises to greet whoever comes to lead her away.
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Miles will not return to sleep, in fact. Instead he spends the time preparing. Researching still more about the UC, about her beleaguered world. There will be time to sleep once they're all on the ship, anyway, and he wants to get al the information he possibly can. It paints a woefully inaccurate picture, given the omnipresence of the UC's PR department, but there are some scraps of truth in there, and Miles ferrets out all he can.
When he descends to the lobby to meet her, he is every bit the Admiral the rumors made him out to be. No bedhead or bedclothes, nor even any sign that he hasn't slept since her interruption. His eyes are fever-bright, taking in her entourage with interest and excitement both. Ah, here's a motley crew. He can see their scars by the reflections cast in their eyes.
But Miles' own guards are, perhaps, still more unusual. Bel Thorne on his right, androgynous but emphasizing their masculine side today, all uniform edges and stunner pommels. On his left is ... well. Taura. Who needs no introduction, surely. She towers over all in the room, her eight feet of sheer muscle contrasting with the bright splash of pink along her claws. (Quinn is elsewhere. Close, but elsewhere.)
"Good morning," he says brightly, coming to sit down in his own chair, his guardians still flanking him. "I hope you slept well."
Ha ha.
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"Well enough." Her hand's press, palm to palm in greeting. Her head bowing over them. A smile playing there, as she meets his eyes. Her hair that reached comfortably in a braid to her hips, fell over her shoulder with the gesture. A set of pins that were hooked at intervals with gold pendants that gave it the weight to let it swing in a pendulum before she straightens.
Then she sits again, arranging the drape of the material over her shoulder. Fixing it in place as she settles herself once more. It's then that she gestures to her guards. Who - were doing their best not to stare. "These are my durgavasi - guards." Her hand sweeps from one side to the other. "Vijay, Jhalkari, Lakshman." They step forward at their names. A stiff bow from the waist, a hand on their swords, a formality to the familiar movement. "Kashi, Ram and Devi." She hovers a moment, a deeper breath. She's far been from nervous for most of this.
But this? Her hand gestures - the woman closest to her, Kashi, step aside with a leading hand and from behind her, emerges a boy. Not past six years old. "And my son. Damodar Rao Newalker."
He's a little thing, dark-eyed as his mother. But determined not to let her down as he steps forward, letting go of his nurse's hand. Just - as taken back by how tall Taura was to how little Miles was. Staring with big wide eyes before he remembers himself. He bows like his mother and speaks - a slight stumble on English around the form of Admiral Naismith when he speaks in the long string of Hindi. Lakshmi's hand lifts to the boy's shoulder, proud, so fiercely proud. Then lifts to translates. "He says that if you, Admiral, are as brave and kind as his father, that you will surely assure our victory."
The words said, he steps back to his mother's side. Going to step next to her, a serious little man. Her hand sweeps down his back, a mild but sure affection. "I regret not telling you he was with us earlier, but I am sure you can understand the secrecy. He will not be in the way, he is raised around warriors and knows to mind his way around them."
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He bows lightly as she introduces her guards, noting all of their names. And then - oh. A child. Far from being annoyed or distressed (although Bel looks distinctly unhappy), Miles' eyes brighten with delight. The one constant of the universe is that Miles is terribly baby mad at all times. God, what he wouldn't give to get married and have a few of his own ... but that's well beyond anything happening here. He stands at that, coming to stand a little closer to Damodar. He's taller than the boy, but not by nearly as much as most adults would be. "Hello," he says. "You must be very brave to travel with your mother like this."
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Because - he should be a boy, he shouldn't be so serious. So hard, but like her, like her guards, there was nothing else for it. He should be a boy, laughing, playing, not living a rough life of fighting and running and fighting. She turns her gaze up, this wasn't the time to reminisce, to look about in longing. "Shall we? There is much to discuss, but half the time."
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Not even a flicker in his eyes at the blatant lie; he, of course, already knows what the payment will be. What he's been paid already. The sword is safely housed in his own ship already, locked away with the Vorkosigan seal dagger at its side.
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"The Maratha system has only one wormhole to gain access too it and has been under forced occupation for the last 500 hundred years. The United Corporation as such is - thoroughly entrenched, as they say. They have settlements of their own men at important sights as well as two battle cruises that orbit the planet of Jhansi. They have sort, over the years, to cripple us. But I have people - a whole planet that can fight down to their last, ready and waiting for when I get weapons to them." Numbers, she has, in fact, more than has - it's equipment, the cutting edge of technology, that she doesn't. "I need to organise an outfit of stunners, plasma arcs and nerve disruptors, transport them down the surface, for which I would employ your men to help us in transport and the distraction required." To not be shot out of the air, no less.
He has payment, he as more than he knows as payment - but, he asked, and she offers what she had intended, as she looks across the faces of his crew. Wets her lips, letting out a held breath, knowing this isn't - a lot, at least, not as it appears in the immediate. "We promise you pillaging rights to all the UC's equipment and sights to do with as you wish in all ensuing battles, for your immediate payment, and once we have been - liberated, you will have one full year's profit from our mines. I will ensure that even in the event of my death, you will be paid it in the full." Let that at least tantalise as a thought of long-term payment, enough to agree in the short term.
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But that too may be their downfall. A company so firmly entrenched may well be lazy, or at least thoroughly surprised by Dendarii audacity. Both of which he will need in the coming fight, he is certain of it. He can't think of any other mercenary outfits that have attempted it - much to Barrayar's dismay. The UC is currently imposing some very displeasing taxes on the entire Imperium. Which is fortunate, as it's the entire basis of Miles' communication back to Simon to request money for the whole debacle. If it goes poorly, his outfit will still be paid. If it goes well ... they might be paid thrice over. Which is good, because Bel is giving him a look about this whole lack of being paid in advance thing.
He's quiet a moment, mulling it over. Mostly a show for both of their guards, but. "The mines that the UC is currently profiting handsomely from, I'm sure." Hell, maybe he wouldn't even need payment from Barrayar in that case. His portion alone would be enough to feed a lovely revenue stream directly back to his homeworld. "So - tell me. How many mercenary outfits have you approached before mine?"
He thinks he knows the answer to that. Surely his is the latest in a string of many rejections. Could she possibly have come to him first and foremost?
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Because it's not flattery when she speaks, no honeying of words, it is what she sees to be the truth. "None, for I never would have asked another. I need more than brute force. We have done that, we have tried that. Until our wars have slicked our ground with blood it turned to mud." She takes a breath in, slow. "I need a will that does not flinch. For that is what will secure this victory, and give me leave of what I need to do after - expose them to the Galaxy for what they have done so they may never rise again."
She shakes her head. "There could be no one else but you, Admiral." A slip of her own language, her own forms. But honest, as she looks at him, she doesn't see a little man, twisted and weak, not at all. She sees strength and cleverness - and kindness too, for what he had accepted the night before in the quiet between them. "You have given me proof of that, already."
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No pressure there. Miles is both pleased and utterly intimidated by her admission that she’s sought out him and only him so far. How can he possibly turn that down? Which both his guardians realize in an instant, both turning to look at him. They know how this ends just as surely as Miles himself does. Sigh. Surely some part of this is also due to intel she’s gathered about him personally. God he kind of hopes so.
Anyway. The conclusion is forgone, already won by Lakshmi this morning. And if she hadn’t won him then, she surely would now. “I suppose I must accept, then,” he says with a soft sigh. “Very well. You have my determination, then. And all my cleverness. God help us if that isn’t enough.”
But he thinks he can do it. Just maybe.
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"God will not be able to find our remains, I'm afraid. The UC is fond of its obliteration." It's - not funny, but she smiles anyway. Definitely no pressure here. But it shockingly, prompts her guards to smile, in turn. People, under all that blank, mildly angry expressions. "But if I may, we prefer to offer something, on any kind of union, that is a gift in thanks for the event." It wasn't much, but it was what had been brought with them.
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Not funny, but Miles manages a sort of disjointed smile anyway. Figures that’s he’s up against. It never seems to be anything less. “All a part of the deal, of course,” he says with a wave of his hand, “although we will do all I can to avoid it.”
A slight eye roll from Bel. Good job not wanting all of them to die, Miles.
Anyway. He refocus on the second part of her response. “A gift? And what would that be?” He thought he already recieved that last night.
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Her hand lifts - another gesture to her guards and a woman that looked - shockingly a lot like her, for what it was worth, steps forward fishing from a bag that was at her feet. A series of similar looking boxes inside of it, though she takes only the first one. "Something simple, from our home, for all of you. We know that the materials may be easily replicated elsewhere. But our smiths are some of the most skilled. I had them prepared for you and yours before I left." She taps at Damodar's arm and the boy hops out of her lap, stepping back to his nurse. It's then she stands, taking the box out of her hands.
"If you'll permit me?" she opens the box to show him - and it's a chain, a fine golden chain that was a series of intricate links. A bracelet, to length. Carefully, she lifts it out, letting it slide over her fingers. Gesturing for his hand as she comes closer.
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A gift indeed. Miles can’t help but admire the chain as she holds it out. It reminds him of Barrayar, again, though most other cultures might find it silly or old-fashioned. Bel doesn’t think much of it, he can tell, but Miles finds himself fascinated. He extends his wrist, then, and allows her to do as she wishes.
“Thank you,” he says, solemn but grateful. “It is a lovely piece.”
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It would do, for now, later on, she might get it fixed to sit on him better. But as it stands, it does the job, as she hooks the clasp between her nails - and hesitates as she leans closer, a bow of her hand over his head, a ghost of her breath near to him. Formal, not a step out of place, before she straightens up. "It is our pleasure. Gifts are common for us. Whatever we can give, we like too, and nothing is auspicious without it." Still hasn't learned, that these aren't done everywhere else - it's going to get them in trouble one day.
"Do we go to your ship - or would you prefer us to stay here for the time being?" Unsure, really, how this was meant to work. Truth be told, it was dizzying to know she had even gotten this far.
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It’s woefully big on his tiny wrist. Enough to get a small snort of laughter from Taura, though not an unkind one; Miles just solemnly loops he chain around his wrist an extra time. There. All fixed.
Both Taura and Bel accept theirs gracefully in turn; Taura gives Devi a toothy smile, which may or may not help with that burgeoning crush. As for the question itself, well. Miles is ready with the answer. “You’ll be aboard the Ariel, with me,” he says with a smile. “All the preparations are ready, if you’d like to gather your people.” He’s seen to it himself last night instead of sleeping. “We’ve no gifts, but there will be plenty of refreshments at least.” Including a bottle of wine should they decide to give that a try.
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