vor: (Not allowed to be shy.)
[A week of research was a questionable coping mechanism. It succeeded in keeping him from having to talk to anyone. Also, in keeping him busy. However, a week buried in information brings on a loneliness that makes unchecked depression go rampant.

That's the worst part about it, sometimes. Being so utterly incapable of breaking the ice, of visiting someone and drudging up polite conversation and leaving that loneliness behind. He can't conjure the energy to visit anyone or ask for a visit, but everything is so much worse when he's lonely. Walking that circle is worse than rummaging through page after page of data, wanting to find and yet terrified of finding. He hated it alone in the research rooms, but feared going back to the same cycle, the same circle, as before.

When he comes back, he puts off going back to the flat for as long as possible. He sees to the horses at the stable, introducing the new mare to the others. Horses don't require conversation, but they provide companionship. Gregor is faintly disturbed by that thought, as if working with the horses might be more harmful than therapeutic. He finds himself clutching Babushka's mane in both fists, his face buried in her shoulder, heart pounding with the sudden, dizzy speculation that the one thing that makes him feel happy in this place is poisoned by his own weakness. No. No, no, no, he's not about to start thinking that way. Working with the horses means working with the hands, and that's human interaction. He enjoys that part. There's a premise to it, nothing forced. It's okay. He's being ridiculous about this. Gradually, he releases Babushka's mane. Her placid temperament helps. It's as if she barely noticed.

He should go home and take a shower, but instead he sits in the stable and sends a written message out, filtering it only lazily since it's nothing important.]


[Filtered to Ivan Vorpatril, Buffy Summers, Adele LeBlanc, and everyone who works at the stable or takes lessons - 35% unhackable]

I've come back.
--GVB

[/Filtered.]

[Then, it's anything he can do to keep from going back to that apartment. He knows once he's there, he'll nest in his safe little area and be completely trapped, alone with his own thoughts. So he plunks himself into the coffee shop with a cup of coffee and a cream cake he brought over from the bakery. He should check up on Loki (he has his own problems). He should talk to Nephry (she shouldn't see me like this). Or Molly (neither should she). Or Buffy (no pretending no no no...). Or Adele (nothing she can do). The trouble is that he's not fit to be seen by anyone. There's really nowhere to go but home, is there? Like it or not, he's chained to that place. Heaven forbid he send out a message to any one of them, or even that idiot Ivan, saying, I need help, today is a bad day, I don't care what you do just make sure...

Cut for morbid/suicidal thinking. )

At last, he sends out a voice message.]


The public stables are open, with three horses available to anyone who needs them. Just check them out with the on-duty stable hand.

[After inquiries are responded to, there's nothing to do but go home. Once he is there, he is most likely to curl up on his couch and not answer the door or any messages.]
vor: (Night-night)
[Filtered to Ivan Vorpatril, 65% unhackable because it's early and he's sick.]

Ivan,

Would you please look in on the horse for me? The Imperial Ass seems to be having trouble getting out of bed today, as the Imperial Sniffles have turned into the Imperial Plague. We apologize for Our impending death and your impending resulting frustrations.

Regretfully,

Gregor

P.S. If this letter caused you alarm, please give yourself a refresher course in detecting the Imperial Sarcasm.

[/Filtered]

[Gregor is sick as a dog. Apartments adjacent to his have probably heard violent, deep, chesty coughing for about two weeks now. Ordinarily, he'd have on-site approved physicians checking him out and prescribing whatever antibiotic was necessary, but here, he has to actually go seek out help. So. To the Battle Dome clinic he goes, looking specifically to see Adele LeBlanc when she's in. He will wait for her, if necessary.

Afterwards, he's going to the library, then the bakery for coffee and something sweet. Anyone stopping in can see him sitting inside, devouring a psychology textbook and sipping coffee, the cream cakes reduced to crumbs. They are the only thing he has eaten all day. He is not looking great, occasionally falling into bad coughing fits, for which he ducks outside, but recovering fairly quickly. When he heads home, he goes straight to bed despite his plans to work out. And the fact that it's the middle of the day.]


[Filtered to Phoenix Ikki 79%]

PI--

I suppose we're supposed to be pen pals, whatever that entails. I hope you're adjusting to the village well.

--GB
vor: (Is this one of your friends?)
[Sleek and dark, the new horse is a glorious bay mare the color of dark chocolate with cayenne pepper, intelligent and attentive and calm, but headstrong when she wants to go her own way. Gregor has an emotionally difficult time shacking her up in a nook in a barn in the farmlands. A proper Vor horse deserves better, but with the stables full, there’s nowhere else for her.

This morning, though, he’s riding the horse through the woods and grasslands just outside the village, looking exhilarated. With a palette swap, he could almost be back on Barrayar, near the house at Vorkosigan Surleau, with an afternoon to himself, his security perimeter tactfully out of sight and temporarily out of mind. With the exception of one or two bodyguards, of course.

After a shower and a change of clothes (a tunic, trousers, and unbuttoned vest devoid of military-esque embellishments), he steps outside looking happier than he has since his arrival, and feeling freer than he has in years. His hair has grown out of its short military burr cut, but he’s in no hurry to change it back to the Barrayaran standard. It has finally sunk in that here, he has no schedule, no expectations, no affairs. No pressure to marry and have lots and lots of kids (especially male ones). No treaties, no Cetagandan threat, no disgruntled Komarrans, no slander, no ImpSec. Just himself and a future he chooses. This is the chance he ran away for, and it doesn’t even come with consequences back home. For once, Gregor Vorbarra is in an amazingly good mood. Not that it’s easy to tell from his face.

He spends much of the afternoon converting one of the rooms in his apartment into a workout space. He then peruses the weapons’ shop for…well, okay, no, they have absolutely no stunners, plasma arcs, nerve disruptors, or needlers, and Gregor doesn’t have a way to charge them anyway. Not that he really expected a place like this to carry them. Instead, he selects an excellent, if plain, concealable dagger with a walnut grip and sound steel.

In the evening, he sits at Cloud Nine listening quietly to the music, munching an appetizer, and writing in the journal, laid flat on the bar with the cover down. He needs to tape over the name on it already, dammit.]


Does anyone need any work done?

-GB

[Filtered to Rin, 90% unhackable]

Rin, I believe you and I have a race to run.

[…Yup, definitely in a very good mood.

Run into him anytime during the day.]
vor: (We have considered it)
Cut for length. TW for morbid/suicidal thinking. )

[He wakes up early in the afternoon and doesn’t feel better until after he’s taken a shower. It takes a lot of motivation to go outside at all. He spends a little time in the stables just to remember the smell of horses even if there aren’t any that belong to him. Riding. That’s the only thing he can think of that’s worth going outside for, and he can’t do it.

He tries the library. Barrayaran history won’t hold any answers about Serg, so maybe Escobaran. He doesn’t find Escobaran history. He does, however, find some psychology books that he winds up taking with him to the tea shop on a whim. There, he sits and sips his cuppa while devouring one book about mental illness by a supposedly distinguished author. There’s comfort in looking at it from a curable, clinical perspective. Most of the actual content matter he’s already learned at Cordelia’s knee.

Feeling like he’s doing something helps. He starts to look up more information about missions. He wants at least one horse, dammit, and the currency here seems to be these points earned by doing favors for the Malnosso. Maybe during a research mission, he could even learn something about what happened at Escobar.

He has a plan. Horse, psychology, and Escobar. And after the first horse? Maybe another. Maybe he’ll fill the stables so people can travel more easily within the enclosure. It would be good to have horses around. Maybe he could take up a career as a groom. Ma and Da (Illyan and Aral) would have conniptions. Cordelia would say it’s good for him.

He writes:]


Would anyone ride horses if we had them?

Also: I would like to speak with anyone who has died here and come back, if anyone would be willing to speak of it.

-GVB
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