He'd been promised an audience with Piotr by his grandmother. What a wild and ridiculous thought that is. If only this were some kind of fever dream... He'd be able to wake up from that. Instead, each morning here he wakes up in the same damn situation, except increasingly frustrated with the lack of anything useful to do...
(He can see why Byerly had wanted to confess instead. The temptation is maddening. But Miles knows better than anyone else the dire consequences that might have if he doesn't go about it in the right way.)
So here's his way of starting off: he's going to go to his grandfather's war tent and demand a mission. Stables mucking. Both. What the hell. And if he can do it while taking a look around Cetaganda's medical facilities, all the better.
He's stiff as a board when he enters, every bit of his ImpMil and Dendarii training converging on him at once. It surely sits poorly on his stunted frame.
"Count Vorkosigan?" He bows his chin slightly in deference. "Your wife said I might seek an audience with you." No hiding his Barrayaran accent. He's not even tried.
no subject
(He can see why Byerly had wanted to confess instead. The temptation is maddening. But Miles knows better than anyone else the dire consequences that might have if he doesn't go about it in the right way.)
So here's his way of starting off: he's going to go to his grandfather's war tent and demand a mission. Stables mucking. Both. What the hell. And if he can do it while taking a look around Cetaganda's medical facilities, all the better.
He's stiff as a board when he enters, every bit of his ImpMil and Dendarii training converging on him at once. It surely sits poorly on his stunted frame.
"Count Vorkosigan?" He bows his chin slightly in deference. "Your wife said I might seek an audience with you." No hiding his Barrayaran accent. He's not even tried.