[ Shit shit shit shit. Shit. Fuck. Terror sparks two conflicting impulses in him: to flip the table and run far, run fast, and to sit in a frozen rictus of terror. Option B wins out; his eyes go a little wide, and he sits, paralyzed, terrified, at the sound of that name.
How does that name hold so much power over him? He'd just heard it two or three times from a woman who might well have been lying. A woman who, in all likelihood, was a liar - the Countess Vorkosigan, no friend to him, probably misleading him in an attempt to suborn him. Right? And yet already, just having heard it two or three times, it's taken root in his imagination. Mark Pierre Vorkosigan. The formidable businessman. Who has a brother. Parents. A family. A life. Whom Miles is jealous of, in his own way...It has power enough already to freeze him to his chair.
A few full moments pass before finally, finally, an awkward laugh looses from his throat. ]
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Date: 5 Apr 2016 22:14 (UTC)How does that name hold so much power over him? He'd just heard it two or three times from a woman who might well have been lying. A woman who, in all likelihood, was a liar - the Countess Vorkosigan, no friend to him, probably misleading him in an attempt to suborn him. Right? And yet already, just having heard it two or three times, it's taken root in his imagination. Mark Pierre Vorkosigan. The formidable businessman. Who has a brother. Parents. A family. A life. Whom Miles is jealous of, in his own way...It has power enough already to freeze him to his chair.
A few full moments pass before finally, finally, an awkward laugh looses from his throat. ]
What am I supposed to be marking, exactly?
[ It comes out strangled, awkward. Stupid. ]