(Untitled)

[veryvorkosigan]

It's midmorning, December 26th. The day after Christmas. Known in some times and places as the Feast of Stephen.

Dressed again in her travel-stained Vor gown, Cordelia lingers awkwardly in the Davies living room. It's a strange leavetaking: she has nothing to pack, and almost nobody to say goodbye to.

Will should be here shortly.

Comments

[sign_seeker]

And here he is.

His face is bland, and faintly thoughtful; it's hard to tell what he's feeling. Hard, too, to tell whether that's by design or accident.

After a moment, he gives her a crooked half-smile of reassurance. "Don't worry," he says. "You'll be back just the instant after you left, so far as anyone on Sergyar is concerned."

[veryvorkosigan]

She nods. It's what she's used to, with her comings and goings from Milliways; no matter how long she stayed, she always returned to the instant she left.

"And everyone here?" she asks quietly.

[sign_seeker]

"Oh, well."

Will grins. "Came down the mountain, didn't you? Ill-clad and mysterious. No one will be too surprised if you leave in a hurry too."

[veryvorkosigan]

Cordelia makes a wry face at him.

"I did hope to say goodbye to Bran, though," she says after a moment, her face going sober.