Mask or Menance IC Contact Post

[failureisntachoice]

[ An automated voice speaks because someone hasn't bothered to set up a proper voicemail. The only part in her voice is her name. ] You have reached Agent Texas. Leave a message at the tone.

Comments

[use_everything]

[I would rather not.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ Any reason? I thought you'd prefer texting to invasive mental contact. ]

[use_everything]

[Old habit, I suppose. It was not incorrect, strictly. As he was NOT going to say she'd probably reach the hospital before he was done.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ It's the same to me either way, if you're worried about that. ]

[use_everything]

[There's curiosity at that, powerful enough to cross even the narrowed link. Truly? Some manner of interface?]

[failureisntachoice]

[ The network isn't that hard to use. I'm a walking computer, remember? The question is a joke and she makes sure amusement leaks over. ]

[use_everything]

[Hm. I wish I could introduce you to Captain Illyan. You share a type of humor. Regardless, his own amusement colored the thought. I'm merely in the habit that written communication is monitored and can be intercepted as a standard of life. Though I wonder if such impartial movement of data could be possible through this.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ It's still their network. I wouldn't send anything sensitive over it that you don't want our hosts hearing about. Not sure how it works with this, but their tech is the reason you have it. A small dose of paranoia never hurts in these situations. ]

[use_everything]

[Insensitive data tells quite a bit as well. There's a more than a small dose.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ There's a reason I don't say anything important over the network. It's better done in person. Or over this link if that truly is secure. ]

[use_everything]

[We're of like mind.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ Good to know. If you hear someone approaching, it's me.

Because she's about made it to the hospital room. ]

[use_everything]

[He doesn't respond directly to that, but is setting aside a simple pad and pencils as the door to the hospital room has opened. Normally, such a simple procedure would have a discharge almost immediately after, but with Miles' history of allergy, slow elimination and very fragile bones, the overnight observation was more than justified by all concerned.

Aral nods when Tex enters.]

There's a list of things to watch for.

[failureisntachoice]

On that? [ She asks as she makes for the pad to catch a peak at what's on the page. Surely there can't be that much to look out for. ]

[use_everything]

[He... moves to cover it with some older reflex, and hesitates instead, clearly undecided. The pad isn't lined, slick paper, but rough, heavy sketch paper. No complete work graced it's pages, but idle figure work amidst some rough, rectangular sketches. A few idle workings over the Vorkosigan uniform in truth, considering how to introduce them to a tailor. The more arresting image, perhaps, was tucked to the right of the page, not quite to the fore.

It had been unconscious, thoughts turned towards the newest armswoman, there was a simple sketch of Allison and Cordelia standing in the doorway, body language turned towards each other.]

No, simply time spent in idle habit. [The cover drawn on the notebook now.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ She freezes when she realizes that no, that's not some laundry list of precautions she needs to talk. There's a uniform, one she's only seen in Aral's images from home, and then a scene that looks more familiar to her.

She's unsure if it's good or bad that her sort-of girlfriend's husband is drawing her with his wife. ]

I didn't know you drew.

[use_everything]

Ill-suited to a soldier, I'm aware. [If there was any barb behind those words, it didn't find it's way into his tone. That was fairly conversational.]

[failureisntachoice]

[ Good. She decides it must be good. ]

You have to do something to pass the time in foxholes. [ Her remark is equally conversational as her gaze remains on the drawing. There's a moment of hesitation before she reaches for the sketchbook, looking to him for permission. ]

Do you think I could have that drawing?

[use_everything]

[There's a moment's hesitation and he offers the book with a slight nod. It's a fairly new sketchbook, this collection of sketches only a few pages in.]

... I could finish it - properly - if you'd like.

[failureisntachoice]

[ She accepts the book with care and takes her time looking through the few sketches that he has already. ]

I'd like that. You mind if I watch while you do?

[use_everything]

[Figure sketches are actually relatively rare as she pages back. Most of the drawings are strong, sure straight lines of buildings. Some with particular character around Heropa and De Chima - squat buildings, others with structural damage of time, or merely odd architectural choices. Others were the artforms of the giant spanning skyscrapers, glittering and built to sway in wind and upheaval. Though technical, they were not cold, particular attention given to the detail and character of the design...

People, animals and landscapes seemed to take up little slices around the edges of the pages, almost as if shyly practiced. They're a far rougher, less steady and sure hand than the ones deep in technical design, and more than a few scribbled out, or left at faceless circles for joints and limbs.

But there were a few finished drawings, particularly recently - a rapid sketch of strangers sitting at the coffee shop, a study in postures and expressions, suggesting boredom in some, preoccupation in others and expressive conversations in others.

There were recent sketches, many quick, unsure, determined to catch the images more than the technical accuracy. Cordelia, her face lined, but deeply composed, sure and self possessed, a certain authority in her face. Her chin is lifted, and her eyes seem to be alight with delight.

There was teenage Gregor, sitting by a windowsill, seemingly unaware of being observed. A book rests in his lap, and his bangs fall over his eyes, the show of tension is in, even alone, his shoulders seem a bit hunched.

There were a few sketches of tiny Miles, expressions defiant, challenging and full of will, but the one with the most detail was simply a study of two hands, one large, squarish and calloused, a small, delicate, tapered on, fingers barely wrapping around two of the larger fingers.]

It should be fine. ... Would you be comfortable being a reference? ... It helps.

[failureisntachoice]

Yeah... That'd be fine. [ It's barely a murmur as her attention is fully absorbed in the sketches.

There's a small smile when she reaches the more recent ones, the characters all ones she saw and remembers from only a couple of days ago. She pauses at a sketch of young boy and traces a finger along the lines of his too-small cheek as her smile brightens. It had been a change being around him at that age, not one she had at all regretted beyond the old memories they stirred up.

It's not often she can offer something joyful, but she has a gift she can offer in return. ]

Cordelia asked me to take photographs, you know. And some video. I have a feeling she was planning on sharing them with you, but with this surgery happening so fast, I didn't have the chance to get them to her yet.

[use_everything]

Did she? [That has his attention completely commanded. His memories had fuzzed, a strange, wispy quality to them, some parts sharp, but others had evaporated with the next morning.]

That... is quite the favor.

[failureisntachoice]

I'm a walking computer, remember? [ There's a small bit of hesitation as she returns the sketchbook to the page he had left it on and hands it back to him. ]

I could show you some now, if you want. Over the link.

[use_everything]

[Of all the uses for the link... it had never occurred to him. Sometimes... just sometimes, he could forgive all of the magic and nonsensical lack of rules of this place.]

I would appreciate that greatly.

[And carefully, he pushes down his guards.]