[It had been years since their lives had changed. Almost a decade of it, so much so that it had permeated, become normal and just another facet of a complicated lifestyle. After years had passed so ... well. Quietly, at least in ONE single, sole aspect of Miles' life, Aral had become to optimistically hope - and then assume - that Miles and Gregor wouldn't be showing any signs until the ages that they had first found that strange alternate dimension... It left a nice, respectable 20s for either Miles or Gregor, easily ages that they could understand and deal with what was happening.
As the groundcar pulled into the Imperial Residence (things were better with Piotr, the old man had offered to ... forget, in his own backwards way, that he'd thrown his son out, stripped his revenue and all but his name. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even to where it could be, but better. Aral decided for now that the Residence would be fine, much to Simon's great relief.) his mind had already turned to the needs of the small group of decorated men waiting by the entrance, flimies and clipboards at hand.
The words "worn out" may drift by Miles on their way to Cordelia (a spark of something- concern, fondness among the murmurs, warm then weary) before Aral straightens his uniform, puts on a stony face and pushes the car door out, striding with intent and purpose.
He might hear Cordelia sigh.. but certainly feels Bothari's enormous, gentle hands gather him up from the back of the groundcar. That axlike face watching his, dark eyes looking for injury or fever.]
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As the groundcar pulled into the Imperial Residence (things were better with Piotr, the old man had offered to ... forget, in his own backwards way, that he'd thrown his son out, stripped his revenue and all but his name. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even to where it could be, but better. Aral decided for now that the Residence would be fine, much to Simon's great relief.) his mind had already turned to the needs of the small group of decorated men waiting by the entrance, flimies and clipboards at hand.
The words "worn out" may drift by Miles on their way to Cordelia (a spark of something- concern, fondness among the murmurs, warm then weary) before Aral straightens his uniform, puts on a stony face and pushes the car door out, striding with intent and purpose.
He might hear Cordelia sigh.. but certainly feels Bothari's enormous, gentle hands gather him up from the back of the groundcar. That axlike face watching his, dark eyes looking for injury or fever.]