veryvorkosigan | Winterfair

Hm, he didn't think of that. All right, then. He moves his hand closer, waiting for her, until just their palms touch, then raises his eyebrows at her. Happy now?

Their feet still tap out the steps of the reel.

Her smile back is perfectly serene. Of course.

They start to spin, now fast enough that their feet are tapping out a counterpoint to the music. They're attracting some amused (and probably puzzled) attention from around them.

Cordelia can't quite suppress a half-breathless laugh, while staying firmly on the beat.

This is ... yeah, this is faster than she's had to move in a while, and she is definitely not going to be able to keep this up for very long, but it's good to know she can still do it at all.

That's all right! They only have to keep it up until the music stops!

...and until then, Duo is going to come to an abrupt halt, and start spinning the other way.

-- WELL ALL RIGHT THEN, Cordelia is going to catch herself and do the same!

A good few of the younger Vor around them are watching with unconcealed delight.

The music ends with a final dramatic flourish, and Duo bends over to catch him breath, laughing with delight. "That was terrific!" he says. "Good job keeping up, I thought you might outlast me."

"If we'd kept going, who knows?" She's laughing too, and (just noticeably) short of breath.

The major-domo is announcing something over the noise; it seems it's time to be seated for the banquet.

Still chuckling, he falls in with the crowd, smiling broadly at the lady who was next to them. "I've never participated in a mirror dance before," he tells her, his careful formal accent back in action. "Not bad for a little exercise!"

She gives a light little laugh of her own. "You and the Dowager Countess were a little more...energetic than some people manage." She pats his arm lightly. "It wasn't a Barrayaran dance, was it? I hadn't seen it before."

Cordelia, meanwhile, has started a cheerful conversation with the couple to their other side -- although she's keeping an ear out in case Duo needs rescuing.

"Oh no," he says, genial. "I'm just visiting. But tell me, what were the steps you and your partner were doing?"

Duo is king of small talk. Especially with pretty women. He manages to tread water until everyone is seated.

Which takes a considerable time; even with the seating arrangement worked out well in advance by Lady Alys and her minions, there are still a good few hundred people to be seated at over a dozen tables, according to relative rank. Cordelia and Duo are seated not at the Emperor's table, but only one table away; their seatmates appear to be mostly other High Vor in Cordelia's age range, or the local equivalent.

Most of them are making every effort not to look askance at Duo, or ask them awkward questions.

Duo is still cheerfully formal, and seems not at all bothered that he has to ask what some of the food is. He is unfailingly polite to Cordelia, pushing in her chair, deferring to her in conversation.

He'd go for offering her the choicest tidbits off his plate too, but that might be more culturally loaded here than at home.

He seems to be enjoying himself at the very least.

So does she.

And if she notices that there are a few people at other tables giving them pointed glances, followed by either sniggering or outraged whispering to each other, well ... it doesn't seem to interfere with her appetite.

Soon enough the banquet is over, with dessert being offered buffet-style in the next hall so that the dancing and mingling can resume.

Duo is used to pointed glares in his direction, and is either distracted, or intentionally ignoring them. He's still following Cordelia's lead, even if he did steal the dance.

Show him dessert, however, and he's there with bells on.

There's a considerable variety of dessert out here to do justice to.

Cordelia's lingering over a choice between a cream cake and a chocolate petit four, when a gruff voice speaks from the other side of the buffet table. "Dowager Countess. A pleasure to see you here."

The speaker is an aging man in a suit that manages to look vaguely military without actually being a uniform, carrying a silver-headed walking stick in a way that suggests it's more affectation than prop. He does not look or sound like it's a pleasure to see her at all; his face is pinched, his backbone rigid with disapproval.

"Lord Vorcharkov," Cordelia says, with a polite smile. "Happy Winterfair."

Edited 2014-01-29 19:01 (UTC)

Duo looks up from where he's hovering over a tray of what looks like cream cheese and spinach in puff pastry.

His eyebrows raise, but he keeps quiet for now, waiting to see this guy's reaction to Cordelia's greeting.

(Sweetened mascarpone and basil, with candied walnuts lining the bottom of the pastry; it's a traditional South Continent dessert.)

Vorcharkov sniffs, apparently studying a platter of glazed fresh fruit. It's admittedly worthy of study, like a stained-glass window done in food.

"Duo, allow me to present you to Lord Vorcharkov," she says lightly. "Father-in-law to the current Count Vorgalanis, and a longtime supporter of the Conservative party. And this is Captain Duo Maxwell, a friend I met in my galactic travels."

"Happy Winterfair," Duo echos, giving the Lord a nod of his head. Not quite a bow, but enough to not be obviously disrespectful. He's guessing it isn't nice to meet this guy, so that greeting is out.

He bites back the 'So, you recommend the fruit?' that is just on the tip of his tongue.

The man's face grows even more pinched, nostrils flaring slightly, and he doesn't return the greeting.

"I suppose this was only to be expected," he sniffs, his voice lowered -- but not quite too low to be heard by any nearby interested parties. "Swanning around the wormhole nexus over the past few years like a born galactic --"

"Which I am," she agrees cheerfully, abandoning both her earlier choices and picking up a candied orange segment.

"Which you evidently are." Vorcharkov sounds much less cheerful about it. "Too much to hope that five decades on Barrayar would have taught you some notion of propriety, if not instilled any natural shame. The old Count your husband not five years gone --"

"Eight," she corrects, her voice still light but with a sudden steel core to it. "Eight years. And two months, and ... twelve days. But who's counting."

Duo sets down his plate with a 'clank' of silverware. Okay, so this guy is a dick. And if Duo wasn't very aware of the careful eye Security has had on him most of the evening, Vor-jackass here would be having a knuckle sandwich for dessert.

"Do you have a problem with whom I choose to spend my time, Lord Vorcharkov?" If they were back in Milliways, that would have come out in Japanese. There's no better language in which to passive-aggressively insult someone.

"I have no quarrel with you, Captain," Vorcharkov says stiffly.

"Lord Vorcharkov," says Cordelia with a small sigh, "much as I enjoy my occasional duties as Barrayaran-to-galactic translator, this particular tangle is just too ridiculous to be worth straightening out. I'm fairly sure you've got hold of at least three completely wrong ideas, but since I don't feel like prying your fingers loose of them ... would you terribly mind just categorizing me as an old widow behaving scandalously and leaving it at that?"

Okay? He's missing something.

Duo settles for staring daggers at Vorcharkov. Dude insulted his date. Who is a very classy widow, thank you, and also a good dancer.

That's just not cool.

He stares at her, clearly thrown off-balance.

Cordelia waves two fingers at him, and smiles again. "Do have a lovely evening. And give my best to Marina and Leyo."

She picks up a candied strawberry, and moves easily down the buffet table, leaving Vorcharkov faltering in place.

"You might want to reconsider just who you have a quarrel with," Duo tells him.

Then he swans off after Cordelia.

"So," he says, reappearing at her shoulder and presenting her with one of the chocolate petit fours. "That's what you mean about Barrayar being more conservative, huh? What a-" He coughs and censors himself carefully.

"Scumbag. Let's go with that."

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