failureisntachoice | Mask or Menance IC Contact Post

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

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

[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.

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. ]

[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.]

[ 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.

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.]

[ 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?

[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.

[ 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?

[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.

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.

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.

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.

[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.]

[ She keeps her distance mentally, treating this like a data transfer now that their connection is broadened. First, she sends over a series of photos of Miles, wearing his newly bought swim trunks, and playing on the beach under her watchful eye. It's easy to tell the boy had been a handful, but she didn't let that shorten their trip.

A short clip accompanies it of her helping Miles collect the shells he had so desperately wanted (and shooing him away from the crab he thought he could sneak away with).

It's all neatly packaged and sent to him to open and peruse at his leisure. The only intrusion she holds is to keep the images strong as he goes through them. ]

[He closes his eyes, to sort through them - a wholly human and unnecessary gesture. With her thoughtful privacy, there was no telling what exactly his thoughts were, but there was a growing sensation of contentment that seeped first over the edges of the link, and then on his face.

The stern expression smoothed into something almost younger, an unguarded smile there over pictures of shells and charging at - and away from the tide. He sets his chin on his hands, unconsciously, and sorts through the images slowly. The small clip is met with a simple, breathy laugh here and there...

It's some long moments before they're put aside, his eyes open and the link gently narrows.]

Thank you... It - ah. For myself, he'd just been born. This is.. something I missed by jumping here.

[ She keeps her gaze on Miles, offering Aral what little privacy she can in the physical realm as well. This is a private moment and she hopes whatever reverted things back to normal didn't rob him of the memories he made himself.

The fact that they had even entrusted her with Miles' well-being when he was that small spoke volumes to her. She shakes her head at the thanks. Photos and video were the least she could do while she was with them and the kid. ]

You have that to look forward to when you get back. I'll make sure you and Cordelia both get copies.

Indeed. ... She'll appreciate them, I'm sure.

[He leans back in the hospital chair and putting a hand on the pad she'd handed back, he gestures to the other chair in the room.]

Please.

You want to do it now?

[ Unless he's directing her to sit for some other reason. She eyes him as she takes a seat. ]

[He rubs at his chin.]

I don't insist.

[ She shrugs and leans back in her seat. ]

You're the artist and your shift here is over. It's up to you, I'm not going anywhere.

["Artist" gets a bit of a sidelong glance, followed by a dismissive gesture and pleased sound. After a moment of study to the sketch cramped into the corner... he turns the page for a fresh sheet.]

There's a little to go over anyway. He's a long history of reaction to medications.

[ She nods. That's a list she can easily commit to memory and will serve as a good cross-check if Miles ever needs to be brought in for medical attention again. ]

The doctors have the list too, right?

I wish it were so simple. What we have scarcely matches the medicine of this era, though the classes remain. [Gamely though, he gives those and what in-universe names they'd found to be similar enough.

Gestures over the page, at this point, where large and loose, sketching space and vague shape to being.]

Symptoms will be more of an issue.

[ She dutifully takes notes and stores the information away in a file. It'll be easy to recall should this situation come up again. ]

I bet. Has any form of magical healing caused any problems?

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