He has a box in one hand. His other is half full of cereal dug out of that box. His mouth is crammed with half-chewed oats and grains, mashed desperately and hungrily into a paste, half-swallowed already; that mouth is now hanging a little bit open.
This is not the state in which he'd wanted to meet the Butcher of Komarr. He'd wanted to meet him...like he was supposed to. Inside the Vorkosigan manor. In the man's study. Smile on his face, patch attached to his fingertip, ready to press to the back of his hand when they exchanged a handshake or a hug (Galen had never been certain which the Butcher would go for, so he'd prepared him for both). Standing over him, watching as he died, smiling down at him. The period of grief would cover up for any inconsistencies in "Miles'" behavior, and he'd adjust to life on Barrayar as he got closer and closer to the Emperor...
Instead, he's in sweatpants and unarmed. Except for some cereal. A betrayed little inner voice wails: Why didn't Naismith say anything about him?
Right. He could step in right now. Break the man's neck while he's not looking up. Knife from the kitchen and slit his throat. He'll never have a better opportunity than the one here to take Galen's revenge. And then -
And then what? You're a world away from that bastard. Slit the Butcher's throat, and then get tried for murder. End up in prison. Or hanged yourself. What's the point of risking yourself? You don't even care about this world, so why would you care about eliminating someone like this? This is your best chance to kill him...but what do you get if you do?
He stands there in indecision too long. Stares at his progenitor's father too long. The chance to take him by surprise and kill him is lost: he remains gawping stupidly until the man looks up. ]
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He has a box in one hand. His other is half full of cereal dug out of that box. His mouth is crammed with half-chewed oats and grains, mashed desperately and hungrily into a paste, half-swallowed already; that mouth is now hanging a little bit open.
This is not the state in which he'd wanted to meet the Butcher of Komarr. He'd wanted to meet him...like he was supposed to. Inside the Vorkosigan manor. In the man's study. Smile on his face, patch attached to his fingertip, ready to press to the back of his hand when they exchanged a handshake or a hug (Galen had never been certain which the Butcher would go for, so he'd prepared him for both). Standing over him, watching as he died, smiling down at him. The period of grief would cover up for any inconsistencies in "Miles'" behavior, and he'd adjust to life on Barrayar as he got closer and closer to the Emperor...
Instead, he's in sweatpants and unarmed. Except for some cereal. A betrayed little inner voice wails: Why didn't Naismith say anything about him?
Right. He could step in right now. Break the man's neck while he's not looking up. Knife from the kitchen and slit his throat. He'll never have a better opportunity than the one here to take Galen's revenge. And then -
And then what? You're a world away from that bastard. Slit the Butcher's throat, and then get tried for murder. End up in prison. Or hanged yourself. What's the point of risking yourself? You don't even care about this world, so why would you care about eliminating someone like this? This is your best chance to kill him...but what do you get if you do?
He stands there in indecision too long. Stares at his progenitor's father too long. The chance to take him by surprise and kill him is lost: he remains gawping stupidly until the man looks up. ]