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

[vor]

[The smile is gone now.]

I killed someone. On the last mission I went on. I don't...I don't know.

[herotypical]

[ her voice grows tight. ] If you hadn't, whoever it was would have killed you.

[vor]

I know. [Short, clipped. He doesn't especially care.]

[herotypical]

Or worse -- [ she reacts to that clipped tone and to what she knows drives her in those fights ] -- someone else. Which flavour of guilt would you rather live with?

[vor]

...I think the woman was going to be better at protecting herself than I was.

[herotypical]

Maybe so. But what about the next someone? Or the someone after that?

[vor]

[He's quiet.]

[herotypical]

[ what follows is not a lecture but a manifesto. a pep-talk, almost. a way to contextualize the horror and the guilt. ]

I'm not proud of what I do on those fields. I'm not saying that anyone should even try to be proud. But...in the end? Survival is the only silver lining to any draft. If we besmirch it 'cause we're having some crisis of conscience then we are cheapening what we manage to give to the people who can't defend themselves out there.

We do what what we have to do. We get'er done. We don't have to feel good about it, but we have to know that it's ultimately the right thing to do. I'd rather a soldier's blood on my hands than a little girl's. And there were two of those drafted, last time.

[ little girls. ]

[vor]

...You're right.

[It is hard, very hard to be motivated to do anything right now. When he's not out riding, he's usually in his apartment. Some days he doesn't even ride, just makes sure General Alys is looked after and goes home. But Buffy is right.]

[herotypical]

[ the little square registers a smile. ]

Of course I am. It's one of my more insufferable habits: being right.

[vor]

I can see that.

[Deadpan.]

So what would you suggest?

[herotypical]

I would suggest that it's time to dip back into the Judo.

[vor]

Right. Drou's not here.

[He knows he's being difficult.]

[herotypical]

Well. Normally? I teach girls. But I could make an exception. If you asked nicely.

[vor]

...I take a self-defense course twice a year. I'm not exactly a beginner.

[herotypical]

...Neither are my girls.

[vor]

...I guess...

[herotypical]

I could just as easily teach a bit of Taekwondo. Or Shotokon. Capoeira. I mean, I haven't gone through the actual examinations but I'm black-belt level in just about, well, a lot of marital arts.

Think about it, at least. It's not a bad idea to brush up on old skills, here. We all have the time.

[vor]

...Yeah. All right. When do you want to start?

[It'll give him something to do. And exercise is supposed to be good for depression.]

[herotypical]

[ she's still pretty banged up from her fight with the general, so... ]

I should be ready in a few days. And then I can put you through your paces.

[vor]

Let me know, then. I made one room in my apartment into a gym.

[One he doesn't really use.]

[herotypical]

How industrious. Got a punching bag?

[vor]

Sort of a crappy one, but yes.

[Most of it is pretty makeshift. He didn't find any weightlifting machines just lying around.]

[herotypical]

[ there's a sound -- like someone coming into the room, perhaps? and a scurry of activity. ]

I'll be in touch. And, uhm...I'll see what I can do about getting you an upgrade from crap to decent.

Take care. [ but she's gone. ]