Fourth Cream Cake: [Action/Voice]

[vor]

[It has been some time since he did this.

Tonight, Gregor is behind CH7 with two large aluminum bowls. He places them on the ground.

One, he fills with sweet-scented bark and sage leaves. The other, with twigs and dried paper.

His hair has grown too long anyway. Carefully, he snips two locks of raven-black hair from his head. One for each bowl.

He kneels in front of the second bowl, the one filled with ordinary fuel, and tosses a tuft of hair in. Then, he strikes a match and sets fire to the contents. As it burns, he quietly adds a slip of paper with his signature written on it in his best handwriting. His official Imperial signature.

He says nothing as the death offering for his father burns. He's done this many times, at the guidance of Lady Alys. There had been no funeral offering for Prince Serg but the one which had filled the sky of Sergyar.

He returns to the first bowl, tenderly adding the lock of hair, a slip of paper with an invisible kiss, and, of all things, a child's shoe. As the offering burns, tears glisten in his eyes. When he's sure no one is around, he curls to the ground and quietly weeps.

He's aware of the limited privacy, but he'll whisper a few words over each offering. Anyone clever enough to sneak up would have to come very close indeed to hear them.

It is supposed that the burning of these offerings helps to drive away ghosts.

When that's over, he simply sits with his back to the wall and speaks into his journal. It's soft and hesitating--he's certainly not the "inspiring speeches on a dime" sort of ruler back home, but writing in the dark is ill-advised. His voice is somewhat rough.]

On Barrayar, we burn offerings for the dead. People died on the draft, but generally, the usual rites don't apply if they're coming back. It's limbo. What do you do?

Um. Could...someone give me a haircut?

Comments

[herotypical]

And if they don't measure up?

[vor]

I'm stuck with them.

[herotypical]

Tough to fire the family friends, is it?

[vor]

I'm not the one who hires and fires them.

[herotypical]

But you're the emperor. Doesn't that make you head of hiring and firing?

[vor]

It would be in very poor taste to overrule the people whose job it is to hire my people. They've got the training to find them, anyway. I don't.

[herotypical]

You could just fire the hirers.

[ facetious. and certainly not sincere. she just wants to say that sentence. ]

[vor]

Yes, I could, but if I fired Simon Illyan I would deserve the consequences.

[herotypical]

Huh?

Why so?

[vor]

He's...kind of a legend now. Let's just leave it with "he's very, very good at his job."

[herotypical]

Ah. He's your Alfred. Your Radar O'Reilly. Your Moneypenny.

[vor]

Mm. [Maybe it's best to ignore her when she does that.]

[herotypical]

...Did you hire him?

[vor]

My regent did.

[herotypical]

Regent. That's...

So when you were too young to do the hiring yourself?

[vor]

I was five when Simon was appointed Chief of Imperial Security. A little too young, yes.

[herotypical]

...Y-yeah. I think if I had hiring power when I was a hypothetical five-year-old emperor? I would have hired my goldfish.

[vor]

At the time, I probably would've hired my bodyguard. Even if she wasn't technically qualified.

[herotypical]

She? I like the sounds of that.

[ girl power. she has it. ]

[vor]

My mother asked for a female bodyguard. Negri found Drou. She was more or less assigned to the both of us.

[herotypical]

What was she like?

[vor]

Friendly. A little shy, being a woman in a man's job. Smart. Nowadays she's married with four daughters.

[They could all wipe the floor with him, too.]

[herotypical]

...Do you think she misses it? The job?

[vor]

She still teaches Judo. But all things considered, I'm not sure she does miss her old job. She's pretty happy.

[herotypical]

Judo? Right. That's a favourite of mine. Did she teach you any?