#8: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you're proud of it.
From Offerings:
Miles gave him a you-suffering-bastard look that seemed to presage a hug, but then apparently decided against it. "This," he said, "is where a Vorkosigan should pull out a bottle of booze." He pushed aside folds of the shirt and reached for what turned out to be a small flask clipped to his belt.
"It's not even lunchtime yet," said Gregor.
"You apparently have an insufficient understanding of Vorkosigan tradition. Cheers." Miles unscrewed the top and took a sip, then handed the flask to Gregor. Tasting first to prove to the Emperor he wouldn't be poisoned: also a tradition.
"This isn't maple mead, is it?" Gregor asked.
"Brandy." Gregor drank, and coughed hard. "Sort of," amended Miles.
"Something you found in your father's desk, perhaps?"
"Um... foot locker. God knows how old it is."
"Well," said Gregor, "maybe it'll grow on me." It did, slightly. He'd been very careful to avoid alcohol during the whole Serg debacle, and since he'd begun to recover had returned to his usual ways, drinking toasts in good wine when he had guests, and otherwise mostly abstaining. He could stand to get really drunk, he thought. There wasn't much in the flask, but Miles no doubt had more -- and better -- back at the house.
But before they became incoherent... "Miles," he said, taking one more sip and passing the flask back, "how do you think I'm doing? As Emperor?"
"Huh. Well enough, I think. You've been Emperor my whole life; I really have no basis for comparison."
"Yes, you do."
"You mean my father, as Regent? I was a kid. And... he was my father. And it's different. Knowing that you're not Emperor, I mean. Saves you from... going over the edge. Whatever edge that might be. Stark raving terror, most likely."
Gregor began to laugh. "I was just remembering," he said when Miles gave him a questioning eyebrow lift, "what Ekaterin said, elaborating on her bluff. I was going to give my throne to Xav, with you as Regent. It was what no sane advisor would counsel me to do, a recipe for disaster: a cuckold with total control over an Empire abandoned by a man he'd thought was his friend, fleeing with his wife. And an Emperor barely older than I was when I took the throne. Xav the Doomed. And yet she didn't seem to think it was imprudent."
"She was improvising wildly. You say crazy things."
"Yes, but... I think it would have worked. The circumstances, I assure you, are completely fictitious, but even if it was all true, you're the one I'd trust. To be Regent, and to stay Regent. Even if you hated my guts." He waited until Miles, looking slightly stunned, toasted him with the flask, then added, "As Emperor, I wouldn't trust you a day."
Miles snorted brandy, choked, and had to be thumped on the back. "Agreed," he husked out when he could speak.
"If I live," Gregor said, "I plan to give up the throne when Xav is thirty, or earlier if he says he's ready. That will be quite long enough for Gregor the Already Tedious. But so far I think I've managed basically competent."
"Gregor the Modestly Fishing For Compliments. Gregor the Really Not So Bad. Gregor the Pretty Fucking Good At His Job, In Fact."
"Ha. Gregor needs another drink now." Miles passed the flask.
*
Reasons I'm proud of it: This is one of my favorite fics for dialogue, because Miles and Gregor play off each other so well; the conversation just flowed, with a remarkable amount of trading straight lines and ba-da-boom ripostes for people talking about such serious issues. There are funnier bits in the story, but I like this bit because it shows clearly how much they value each other, how they can be honest with each other, and still go for the one-upmanship. It was all so fun to write, and I remember the feeling of that, and it's great.
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chiming
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Date: 2015-03-09 03:24 pm (UTC)From:From Offerings:
Miles gave him a you-suffering-bastard look that seemed to presage a hug, but then apparently decided against it. "This," he said, "is where a Vorkosigan should pull out a bottle of booze." He pushed aside folds of the shirt and reached for what turned out to be a small flask clipped to his belt.
"It's not even lunchtime yet," said Gregor.
"You apparently have an insufficient understanding of Vorkosigan tradition. Cheers." Miles unscrewed the top and took a sip, then handed the flask to Gregor. Tasting first to prove to the Emperor he wouldn't be poisoned: also a tradition.
"This isn't maple mead, is it?" Gregor asked.
"Brandy." Gregor drank, and coughed hard. "Sort of," amended Miles.
"Something you found in your father's desk, perhaps?"
"Um... foot locker. God knows how old it is."
"Well," said Gregor, "maybe it'll grow on me." It did, slightly. He'd been very careful to avoid alcohol during the whole Serg debacle, and since he'd begun to recover had returned to his usual ways, drinking toasts in good wine when he had guests, and otherwise mostly abstaining. He could stand to get really drunk, he thought. There wasn't much in the flask, but Miles no doubt had more -- and better -- back at the house.
But before they became incoherent... "Miles," he said, taking one more sip and passing the flask back, "how do you think I'm doing? As Emperor?"
"Huh. Well enough, I think. You've been Emperor my whole life; I really have no basis for comparison."
"Yes, you do."
"You mean my father, as Regent? I was a kid. And... he was my father. And it's different. Knowing that you're not Emperor, I mean. Saves you from... going over the edge. Whatever edge that might be. Stark raving terror, most likely."
Gregor began to laugh. "I was just remembering," he said when Miles gave him a questioning eyebrow lift, "what Ekaterin said, elaborating on her bluff. I was going to give my throne to Xav, with you as Regent. It was what no sane advisor would counsel me to do, a recipe for disaster: a cuckold with total control over an Empire abandoned by a man he'd thought was his friend, fleeing with his wife. And an Emperor barely older than I was when I took the throne. Xav the Doomed. And yet she didn't seem to think it was imprudent."
"She was improvising wildly. You say crazy things."
"Yes, but... I think it would have worked. The circumstances, I assure you, are completely fictitious, but even if it was all true, you're the one I'd trust. To be Regent, and to stay Regent. Even if you hated my guts." He waited until Miles, looking slightly stunned, toasted him with the flask, then added, "As Emperor, I wouldn't trust you a day."
Miles snorted brandy, choked, and had to be thumped on the back. "Agreed," he husked out when he could speak.
"If I live," Gregor said, "I plan to give up the throne when Xav is thirty, or earlier if he says he's ready. That will be quite long enough for Gregor the Already Tedious. But so far I think I've managed basically competent."
"Gregor the Modestly Fishing For Compliments. Gregor the Really Not So Bad. Gregor the Pretty Fucking Good At His Job, In Fact."
"Ha. Gregor needs another drink now." Miles passed the flask.
*
Reasons I'm proud of it: This is one of my favorite fics for dialogue, because Miles and Gregor play off each other so well; the conversation just flowed, with a remarkable amount of trading straight lines and ba-da-boom ripostes for people talking about such serious issues. There are funnier bits in the story, but I like this bit because it shows clearly how much they value each other, how they can be honest with each other, and still go for the one-upmanship. It was all so fun to write, and I remember the feeling of that, and it's great.