#229 - Hypervodka
#229 - If you could get anyone drunk, who would it be and what would you do?
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Aral said, aloud, "I'm stinking drunk."
Only two of his companions, Piers and Tabor, were still conscious to hear him. Hypervodka will do that to a man. Even to a Vor lord. Lying on the floor in the Emperor's Green Lounge, his elbow on the elegantly-brocaded Imperial Green Sofa, Aral laughed, and drank some more. It was like molten starfire. It was, of course, highly illegal.
Aral wondered if his father had ever tried the stuff. Maybe not. His mother would have killed him. Still....
Piers said, "If the Emp'ror could see us now, he'd throw a fit." The Emperor was in Lower Vanesse.
"Bugger the old hypocrite anyway," said Tabor. This was shocking enough to set all three men into fits of giggles. Giles, who was unconscious, snored.
Aral thought of pointing out that though the Emperor had many flaws and weaknesses, hypocrisy wasn't one of them: he'd yet to see the Emperor demand anything of his men that he wasn't prepared to do himself. Except maybe tell the truth. Aral frowned, trying to grab an elusive thought there that wouldn't quite stay put. It oozed out of his conscious, drunked regard, and was replaced by a rather lewd thought of how sexy Piers looked with his hair a mess like that, laughing. And his feet were bare. Cute feet. His books lay at odd angles, as if drunk themselves. Nice toes.
Shit. Bad idea, to let himself get aroused by other guardsmen. Not on duty, but still. Bad enough they were drinking illegal contraband from offworld in the Emperor's wing. Not that there was anyone around except their fellow guardsmen, of course, with the royal household off to Lower Vanesse, but still. Aral had spent a lifetime hearing about the dignity of Imperial service. He knew where it began and ended. He knew that present circumstances were forbidden. Disgraceful.
The thought made him laugh, and then choke, and then drink again.
He could hear something. Voices? Yeah, voices. Lots of them. Heading his way. Uh-oh.
"Hear something," he said, but Tabor had suddenly fallen asleep and Piers merely raised an oblivious eyebrow.
Voices, nearby.
"Out the window," suggested Piers.
Good idea, but the window was impossibly far away, and as Aral tried to leap up and run for it, he got no further than his knees before falling over.
Piers, less lucky, tripped over his own boots and sprawled on his face on the parquet floor. "Fuck it," he said.
The double doors opened.
Flanked by guards and minions and courtiers and secretaries all on duty, Emperor Ezar Vorbarra stood looking down at four of his Imperial Guardsmen. Two were unable to look back, having passed out. One, lying on his face on the floor, in a bizarre parody of total obeisance, did not move. The fourth, Aral Vorkosigan, raised a bottle of hypervodka in clumsy salute. "Y'r Imperial Majesty," he said, grinning. "Welcome back. Want a drink?"
There was a moment's frozen silence. Those in the Emperor's train registered shock; anger; disbelief; a few tried to hide their laughter.
Ezar's face was stony. He turned to his entourage. "Go! I don't need you any more tonight."
Bowing, murmuring, they departed, leaving the Emperor to discipline the drunkards himself. Ezar closed the doors heavily, and waited a moment. Then he crossed the room, sat heavily on the sofa, and said, "Aral. Share."
"Ever your obedient servant," said Aral cheekily, and handed the Emperor the half-full bottle. Piers appeared to be asleep now; or maybe he was playing opossum in fear of the Emperor. Aral, always shameless, was not afraid of the Emperor.
Ezar drank, and wiped his mouth, satisfied. "Haven't had hypervodka since... in far too long. Almost forgotten. Aral, m'boy, you won't believe the kind of day I've had." Aral helped to pull of his Imperial boots. Then the Emperor handed the bottle back to Aral, who took another drink. "Where'd you get the stuff?"
"Can't tell you," said Aral. "It would get someone in trouble. Can't do that. Promised."
The Emperor nodded sagely. "Can you get more?"
"Yup."
"Good. Next time I need some, I'll come to you. Make sure you have it on hand. And if the police catch you, I know nothing about it."
"Yes, sir." Aral grinned.
Ezar shook his head. "Being Emperor's a shitty job," he said.
"Have another drink," said Aral.
~ ~ ~
Character: Aral Vorkosigan
Fandom: Vorkosigan novels by Lois McMaster Bujold
Words: 730
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
Aral said, aloud, "I'm stinking drunk."
Only two of his companions, Piers and Tabor, were still conscious to hear him. Hypervodka will do that to a man. Even to a Vor lord. Lying on the floor in the Emperor's Green Lounge, his elbow on the elegantly-brocaded Imperial Green Sofa, Aral laughed, and drank some more. It was like molten starfire. It was, of course, highly illegal.
Aral wondered if his father had ever tried the stuff. Maybe not. His mother would have killed him. Still....
Piers said, "If the Emp'ror could see us now, he'd throw a fit." The Emperor was in Lower Vanesse.
"Bugger the old hypocrite anyway," said Tabor. This was shocking enough to set all three men into fits of giggles. Giles, who was unconscious, snored.
Aral thought of pointing out that though the Emperor had many flaws and weaknesses, hypocrisy wasn't one of them: he'd yet to see the Emperor demand anything of his men that he wasn't prepared to do himself. Except maybe tell the truth. Aral frowned, trying to grab an elusive thought there that wouldn't quite stay put. It oozed out of his conscious, drunked regard, and was replaced by a rather lewd thought of how sexy Piers looked with his hair a mess like that, laughing. And his feet were bare. Cute feet. His books lay at odd angles, as if drunk themselves. Nice toes.
Shit. Bad idea, to let himself get aroused by other guardsmen. Not on duty, but still. Bad enough they were drinking illegal contraband from offworld in the Emperor's wing. Not that there was anyone around except their fellow guardsmen, of course, with the royal household off to Lower Vanesse, but still. Aral had spent a lifetime hearing about the dignity of Imperial service. He knew where it began and ended. He knew that present circumstances were forbidden. Disgraceful.
The thought made him laugh, and then choke, and then drink again.
He could hear something. Voices? Yeah, voices. Lots of them. Heading his way. Uh-oh.
"Hear something," he said, but Tabor had suddenly fallen asleep and Piers merely raised an oblivious eyebrow.
Voices, nearby.
"Out the window," suggested Piers.
Good idea, but the window was impossibly far away, and as Aral tried to leap up and run for it, he got no further than his knees before falling over.
Piers, less lucky, tripped over his own boots and sprawled on his face on the parquet floor. "Fuck it," he said.
The double doors opened.
Flanked by guards and minions and courtiers and secretaries all on duty, Emperor Ezar Vorbarra stood looking down at four of his Imperial Guardsmen. Two were unable to look back, having passed out. One, lying on his face on the floor, in a bizarre parody of total obeisance, did not move. The fourth, Aral Vorkosigan, raised a bottle of hypervodka in clumsy salute. "Y'r Imperial Majesty," he said, grinning. "Welcome back. Want a drink?"
There was a moment's frozen silence. Those in the Emperor's train registered shock; anger; disbelief; a few tried to hide their laughter.
Ezar's face was stony. He turned to his entourage. "Go! I don't need you any more tonight."
Bowing, murmuring, they departed, leaving the Emperor to discipline the drunkards himself. Ezar closed the doors heavily, and waited a moment. Then he crossed the room, sat heavily on the sofa, and said, "Aral. Share."
"Ever your obedient servant," said Aral cheekily, and handed the Emperor the half-full bottle. Piers appeared to be asleep now; or maybe he was playing opossum in fear of the Emperor. Aral, always shameless, was not afraid of the Emperor.
Ezar drank, and wiped his mouth, satisfied. "Haven't had hypervodka since... in far too long. Almost forgotten. Aral, m'boy, you won't believe the kind of day I've had." Aral helped to pull of his Imperial boots. Then the Emperor handed the bottle back to Aral, who took another drink. "Where'd you get the stuff?"
"Can't tell you," said Aral. "It would get someone in trouble. Can't do that. Promised."
The Emperor nodded sagely. "Can you get more?"
"Yup."
"Good. Next time I need some, I'll come to you. Make sure you have it on hand. And if the police catch you, I know nothing about it."
"Yes, sir." Aral grinned.
Ezar shook his head. "Being Emperor's a shitty job," he said.
"Have another drink," said Aral.
~ ~ ~
Character: Aral Vorkosigan
Fandom: Vorkosigan novels by Lois McMaster Bujold
Words: 730
~ ~ ~