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"I'm not going to forget my girlfriend. She is very memorable."

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"Yeah?" says Stalas. Miles blinks at him.

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...Mark snickers.

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"Uh - yeah. What, do you want me to extol her virtues?"

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"Why not?" says Stalas. "Miles, you're looking at me funny."

"Yes I am," says Miles. "I, unlike you, grew up around Ivan. My reflexive reaction when he starts talking about his girlfriends is more bitter jealousy than friendly interest, even though I have been married for several years now and don't have any reason to be jealous anymore."

"Oh," says Stalas. He grins. "My sympathies."

"Your mockery, more like," says Miles. Accurately.
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"Anyway, Vivienne's a brilliant dancer, and she's got very soft hair and purrs like a kitten if I pet it, and she gets along with m'mother well enough that they don't have arguments if they run into each other but not well enough that Mother's nudging me to marry her, and she doesn't go off thinking I'm cheating on her if I'm only looking, and she's comfy to be around, fills silences."

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"Very cute. Good for you," says Stalas.

"This is unsettling to behold," says Miles.

"Hey, I'm a prince of Orzammar. My problem with women has always been feeling vaguely awkward around noble hunters because they and I have conflicting opinions about whether I should have children yet."
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"I don't suppose you want to see pictures of what our firstborn is going to look like at various ages."

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"...Eh?"

"She can make holos predicting the appearance of our unborn child because she's designing his genome. I haven't wanted to look at them because things other than one's genome can determine one's appearance and that is kind of a painful subject for me."

"Oh," says Stalas. He exchanges a look of extreme mutual comprehension with Miles, then shakes his head. "No thanks, Lady Vorkosigan."
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"You can go ahead and call me Linyabel," she shrugs.

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"All right."

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Mark is looking quietly thoughtful.

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"What's eating you, Mark?"

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"Mm," he says. "I'd look at the predictive baby pictures, if it wouldn't just about kill Miles."

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"...What?"

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"Am I wrong?"

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"...nnnno. I hadn't thought about it. But no. You may in fact be right."

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"...I'm not sure I follow. I've talked other people into looking. Ivan's seen them. Why would Mark having a peek be special?"

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"Cute kid," volunteers Ivan. "I look forward to being his irresponsible uncle."

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"I—I don't even know. Maybe Mark knows," says Miles.

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"Because you'd be afraid I'd want to look at us next. Because it'd make you wonder why you still couldn't look yourself, and you wouldn't be satisfied with the answer. I could go on, but they get less fun from there."

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"I, uh... thank you for your restraint," says Miles uneasily.

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Linya hops off her barstool to hug Miles. Nonscoopfully.

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