It's going to happen. Obviously it's going to happen. All those insane lies about brother, and freedom, and you have a name, all of that was a crock of shit. Total crock of shit. All that Vorkosigan was trying to do was lull him into a false sense of security and win him over to his side so that he could use him in his escape from Ser Galen's clutches. And whose fault is it that he fell for all that insane propaganda, anyway? Not his. It's not his fault that he bought into it. It's Galen's, for not preparing him well enough for Vorkosigan's lies. Or - or Vorkosigan's fault himself, for being so good at lying. Or something. It's not his.
He wedges his hands under his thighs and hunches defensively in his chair as yet another Dendarii mercenary swarms past him on some frantic task. He feels like he's the only one not moving here, in this little makeshift command center. Everyone else has a task, a job, and here he is just sitting uselessly, waiting for death. Waiting for the nerve disruptor to the back of the head, or the kiss of the hypospray that'll render him unconscious for the organ-harvesting surgery. But so far he's been here in the Dendarii headquarters an hour - and it's been four hours total since he helped Miles escape from the Komarran safehouse - and he has yet to be killed. Miles has come into this room and left six times, barking orders, chattering frantically as he tries to sort out all the information so that they can complete their hunt of Galen and his compatriots, and he has yet to have his throat cut. It's torture. It's complete torture.
And so, when Miles comes into the room for the seventh time, the clone snarls at him in terror and fury - "Just get it over with already!"
SORRY SORRY
It's going to happen. Obviously it's going to happen. All those insane lies about brother, and freedom, and you have a name, all of that was a crock of shit. Total crock of shit. All that Vorkosigan was trying to do was lull him into a false sense of security and win him over to his side so that he could use him in his escape from Ser Galen's clutches. And whose fault is it that he fell for all that insane propaganda, anyway? Not his. It's not his fault that he bought into it. It's Galen's, for not preparing him well enough for Vorkosigan's lies. Or - or Vorkosigan's fault himself, for being so good at lying. Or something. It's not his.
He wedges his hands under his thighs and hunches defensively in his chair as yet another Dendarii mercenary swarms past him on some frantic task. He feels like he's the only one not moving here, in this little makeshift command center. Everyone else has a task, a job, and here he is just sitting uselessly, waiting for death. Waiting for the nerve disruptor to the back of the head, or the kiss of the hypospray that'll render him unconscious for the organ-harvesting surgery. But so far he's been here in the Dendarii headquarters an hour - and it's been four hours total since he helped Miles escape from the Komarran safehouse - and he has yet to be killed. Miles has come into this room and left six times, barking orders, chattering frantically as he tries to sort out all the information so that they can complete their hunt of Galen and his compatriots, and he has yet to have his throat cut. It's torture. It's complete torture.
And so, when Miles comes into the room for the seventh time, the clone snarls at him in terror and fury - "Just get it over with already!"