Half an hour later, almost exactly, Miles arrives at the door of the manor.

How punctual of him!

Callida realizes that maybe it would be more thematic if she were to send someone to answer the door and send him in, but also, she kind of doesn't want to feed into the culture of Do whatever the Sith says immediately. So she answers the door herself.

"Hi," she says, smiling.

"Hi! Nice place. I hear Gregor gave it to you?"

"Thank you, I'm very fond of it. He did! Though it's less 'mine' and more 'embassy of the foreign fleet that has yet to be named.'"

She moves aside so he can come inside.

He steps inside, smiling.

"Yeah. Heard about that too. I've been trying to think of names - oh, right, now I remember why I got onto the subject of terraforming! I was thinking that the way your fleet showed up here reminded me of the colonization of Barrayar, and then it occurred to me that my knowledge of my own planet's terraforming history is mostly folklore and I went looking for harder data."

She snorts, amused. Her people have all mysteriously made themselves absent (... They are very literal when it comes to these sorts of things, her people) and so the path to the pleasant sitting room she prefers is entirely empty. She leads him there, and takes a seat.

"And what'd you find? Terraforming is less common in the other galaxy - we should probably name it, too - what with hyperspace technology, but occasionally it happens."

The nearest seat to her armchair is one end of a couch. Miles sits. It's very comfy.

"Your galaxy doesn't have a name? This one's called the Milky Way in English, so named because early humans looking toward the galactic plane at night saw it as a dim white path across the sky. At least, so I've heard."

"Ah, well," she says, looking embarrassed on the behalf of her home galaxy. "It doesn't have one, no. There are a number of nearby dwarf galaxies that have names, if incredibly uncreative ones, but as far as I know no one's been able to agree on a galactic name. And I would know. There are a few terms for it, but they all tend to translate as the, ah. 'Main' galaxy. Because clearly none of the others are the main one."

Pause. "Milky Way is... cute. Strange, but cute."

He laughs. "Well, I'm glad you think my galaxy is cute."

"It is! Perhaps Barrayar has biased me, but your galaxy is very cute. And filled with such wonderful people. Not perhaps all of them, but."

"I'm glad you seem to feel so at home on Barrayar," he says sincerely. "By galactic - well, by Milky Way standards, we're thought of as - backwater barbarians, mostly. I'm not used to people liking it here."

"No? That's disappointing. There's a lot to like about it. Admittedly I haven't seen the rest of the Milky Way, so perhaps I am missing some vital piece of the puzzle. I could see how that could come about from how you were isolated for so long and needed to catch up, technologically, but. Technology level wasn't really the criteria I was focusing on. Is the rest of the galaxy more, more - practical, straightforward, honorable?"

"They... value different things, I think. And you've mostly been exposed to the best Barrayar has to offer. I love my planet and its culture, don't get me wrong, but if I want to be reminded of our imperfections all I have to do is walk into the wrong part of town looking like this. There's people who'd tell my mother to her face that she should've killed me at birth."

"Ah," she says, looking down. "Yes, your father warned me about - that. There are several people in my fleet that I am rather concerned for on account of it. But it is rather more visceral to hear you give specifics, instead of it being a vague nebulous concept in my head."

"Sorry," he says wryly. "I'm working on it."

She smiles at him, a little wistfully.

"Is it ironic or thematic that some of the worst examples of Barrayaran citizens would want to kill one of the best?"

"Oh, am I your favourite Barrayaran?" he asks, grinning; but then he shakes his head, the grin fading to a mere trace of a smile.

"I honestly wouldn't even call them the worst. Unthinking adherence to culturally ingrained prejudice is... far from the worst failing a person can have. And like I said, I'm working on it. People can learn, and they are. My own grandfather, General Piotr - you've probably encountered him if you've read more than a page about the Cetagandan Wars - he actually tried to kill me, when I was still in the replicator, and I changed his mind pretty thoroughly."

"Fair enough," she decides, wondering if this is what it feels like to be on the other end of her 'not all Sith are 100% terrible' speeches. Probably not. More people would probably stare at her lovingly, Sith Lord or no. "I apologize for the assertion."

... Did she just not even flinch at 'my grandfather tried to kill me'? She did, didn't she. Well. Okay then.

"Apology accepted. Don't worry about it. Like I said, I've heard much worse."

He really needs to just smile at her all the time it's great.

"Thank you for your amnesty."

"Think nothing of it."

"No? But if I think nothing of it, how will you climb your way to the place in my heart reserved for my favorite Barrayaran?"

"If I'm going to be your favourite Barrayaran, let it be for something more impressive than forgiving you for trivial slights on the character of my competitors."

"Perhaps it is not a single impressive action that earns your way into my heart, but a series of them. Would you remove the minor handholds while climbing to the top of a cliff?"

"If I thought I could make it without them. Which reminds me of a story, actually..."