Date: 2014-09-10 07:28 pm (UTC)
thisvorlunatic: (⑧ business)
"I think you two are more alike than you realize," murmurs Miles. "So what's your proposition, Ser Galen? To what end have you called us here?"

Galen lifts a hand, about to access an inner pocket of his jacket, then pauses and smiles and tilts his head as though asking permission. Miles says nothing, does nothing, offers no sign that he realizes Galen is about to pull a weapon—doesn't flinch as the hand emerges from the jacket—

Even when the weapon turns out to be a nerve disruptor.

Ser Galen's smile sharpens. "Some standoffs are more equal than others," he says. "Pick up those stunners—" this to Mark, who obeys without comment, stuffing them all in his belt.

"Now what are you going to do with that?" asks Miles, his eye drawn inexorably to the bell-flared silver muzzle of the nerve disruptor.

"Kill you," says Galen.

So why haven't you? thinks Miles, but he keeps the thought to himself. "Why?" he asks instead. "I don't see how that will serve Komarr at this late hour. Mere revenge?"

"Nothing mere about it. Complete. My Miles will walk out of here as the only one."

"Come the fuck on!" says Miles, rolling his eyes, temporarily quite freed of the magnetic draw of the nerve disruptor. "You're not still stuck on the bloody substitution plot! Barrayaran Security is thoroughly warned; they'll spot you at once now. Can't be done." He focuses on Mark. "Tell me you're not going to let him run you headfirst into a flash-disposer. It's a useless waste. Pointless, too."
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Ivan Xav Vorpatril

September 2014

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