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How could this have happened? I am covered in shame.
So yesterday and today I reread The Vor Game for, you know, research purposes--and I discovered that my little text file that holds all the canon there is about Jole apart from the four words from Cryoburn was missing TWO ENTIRE SENTENCES. D:
In case you were wondering, there are (depending, I guess, on what exactly you count and whether you trust Word to do your counting for you) 253 words of canon about Jole. The text I keep in the file is a little longer, since there's a good description of Aral and then a bit of scene-setting. Here, I will share:
Prime Minister Admiral Count Aral Vorkosigan wore the uniform as naturally as an animal wears its fur. He was a man of no more than middle height, stocky, grey-haired, heavy-jawed, scarred, almost a thug's body and yet with the most penetrating grey eyes Miles had ever encountered. He was flanked by his aide, a tall blond lieutenant named Jole. Miles had met Jole on his last home leave. Now, there was a perfect officer, brave and brilliant--he'd served in space, been decorated for some courage and quick thinking during a horrendous on-board accident, been rotated through HQ while recovering from his injuries, and promptly been snabbled up as his military secretary by the Prime Minister, who had a sharp eye for hot new talent. Jaw-dropping gorgeous, to boot, he ought to be making recruiting vids. Miles sighed in hopeless jealousy every time he ran across him. Jole was even worse than Ivan, who while darkly handsome had never been accused of brilliance.
"Thanks, Jole," Count Vorkosigan murmured to his aide, as his eye found Miles. "I'll see you back at the office."
"Yes, sir." So dismissed, Jole ducked back out, glancing back at Miles and his superior with worried eyes, and the door hissed closed again.
And, including the final two sentences, which I had previously totally neglected to obsessively study. They ... don't actually change anything, except giving me the glimmer of an idea about something for one of the future stories in the The World That You Need series....
Lieutenant Yegorov, cut off in mid-announcement of their arrival (Miles hadn't heard him speaking, and he doubted his father had either), was standing with his mouth still open, looking perfectly stunned. Lieutenant Jole, suppressing a grin himself, arose from the other side of the comconsole desk and guided Yegorov gently and mercifully back out the door. "Thank you, Lieutenant. The Admiral appreciates your services, that will be all. . . ." Jole glanced back over his shoulder, quirked a pensive brow, and followed Yegorov out. Miles just glimpsed the blond lieutenant drape himself across a chair in the antechamber, head back in the relaxed posture of a man anticipating a long wait, before the door slid closed. Jole could be supernaturally courteous at times.
I have to admit, though--apart from the unnecessarily suggestive verb "snabbled"--I don't really start getting insanely tin-hatted in my analysis of any of this text. (I save that for the four words in Cryoburn.)
In case you were wondering, there are (depending, I guess, on what exactly you count and whether you trust Word to do your counting for you) 253 words of canon about Jole. The text I keep in the file is a little longer, since there's a good description of Aral and then a bit of scene-setting. Here, I will share:
Prime Minister Admiral Count Aral Vorkosigan wore the uniform as naturally as an animal wears its fur. He was a man of no more than middle height, stocky, grey-haired, heavy-jawed, scarred, almost a thug's body and yet with the most penetrating grey eyes Miles had ever encountered. He was flanked by his aide, a tall blond lieutenant named Jole. Miles had met Jole on his last home leave. Now, there was a perfect officer, brave and brilliant--he'd served in space, been decorated for some courage and quick thinking during a horrendous on-board accident, been rotated through HQ while recovering from his injuries, and promptly been snabbled up as his military secretary by the Prime Minister, who had a sharp eye for hot new talent. Jaw-dropping gorgeous, to boot, he ought to be making recruiting vids. Miles sighed in hopeless jealousy every time he ran across him. Jole was even worse than Ivan, who while darkly handsome had never been accused of brilliance.
"Thanks, Jole," Count Vorkosigan murmured to his aide, as his eye found Miles. "I'll see you back at the office."
"Yes, sir." So dismissed, Jole ducked back out, glancing back at Miles and his superior with worried eyes, and the door hissed closed again.
And, including the final two sentences, which I had previously totally neglected to obsessively study. They ... don't actually change anything, except giving me the glimmer of an idea about something for one of the future stories in the The World That You Need series....
Lieutenant Yegorov, cut off in mid-announcement of their arrival (Miles hadn't heard him speaking, and he doubted his father had either), was standing with his mouth still open, looking perfectly stunned. Lieutenant Jole, suppressing a grin himself, arose from the other side of the comconsole desk and guided Yegorov gently and mercifully back out the door. "Thank you, Lieutenant. The Admiral appreciates your services, that will be all. . . ." Jole glanced back over his shoulder, quirked a pensive brow, and followed Yegorov out. Miles just glimpsed the blond lieutenant drape himself across a chair in the antechamber, head back in the relaxed posture of a man anticipating a long wait, before the door slid closed. Jole could be supernaturally courteous at times.
I have to admit, though--apart from the unnecessarily suggestive verb "snabbled"--I don't really start getting insanely tin-hatted in my analysis of any of this text. (I save that for the four words in Cryoburn.)
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Clearly the only way to atone for this travesty is to write more fic about Jole.
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"Aside from Galen, does Aral's private orientation matter? To you?"
"I don't know. Truth matters."
"So it does. Well, in truth . . . I judge him to be bisexual, but subconsciously more attracted to men than to women. Or rather—to soldiers. Not to men generally, I don't think. I am, by Barrayaran standards, a rather extreme, er, tomboy, and thus became the solution to his dilemmas. The first time he met me I was in uniform, in the middle of a nasty armed encounter. He thought it was love at first sight. I've never bothered explaining to him that it was his compulsions leaping up." Her lips twitched.
"Why not? Or were your compulsions leaping up too?"
"No, it took me, oh, four or five more days to come completely unglued. Well, three days, anyway." Her eyes were alight with memory. "I wish you could have seen him then, in his forties. At the top of his form."
That totally had me squealing and giggling about Jole.
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But the thing about Aral being soldier-sexual... oh yes. :)
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