He didn't really need that mental image right now, damn you Miles Vorkosigan. His own laugh in response is little more than a strangled noise. It's a good thing he's drifting into being super drunk here, courtesy of all the mead he's had, or he might just implode.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters darkly. "Worst fucking place to even consider that kind of honesty." Because holy shit he does not want to contemplate finding himself in the middle of the fucking Occupation.