"You'd be useless if you were too drunk," Sonia says pointedly, grinning over her shoulder at him. People are starting to look, and not just because of Tucker, and so she threads quickly through scattered crowds of mostly-drunk soldiers clustered around small campfires, too quick, hopefully, for her bodyguard to catch up with her. He'll probably be unhappy with her later, but -- pfff. A princess trapped in a war has to have a little fun sometime.
She neatly plucks an open bottle out from a soldier's hands as she passes him by. "Hey!" he protests, but Sonia flashes him a smile before he can get up.
"His Countship thanks you for your service," she calls back at him, which seems to keep him from coming after them, at any rate. Time to duck away from the big crowds, although, with the weather, not too far from the fires. She grins at Tucker, swinging the bottle by the neck.
"If you want good tequila," she says, very matter-of-factly, "you go to Escobar. If you want good gin, you go to Earth. If you want absinthe, Tau Verde. But if you want really, really good vodka..."
She brushes a bit of snow off a mostly-flat rock and perches on it, shaking her hair from her face. She pours a generous shot into Tucker's empty cup and holds it out to him with a sharp grin. "Fifty-thousand colonists, most of them Russian, trapped in isolation for seven hundred years on a half-irradiated planet. Barrayarans have understandable priorities."
sonia vorbarra is made of trouble, i feel sorry for tucker
She neatly plucks an open bottle out from a soldier's hands as she passes him by. "Hey!" he protests, but Sonia flashes him a smile before he can get up.
"His Countship thanks you for your service," she calls back at him, which seems to keep him from coming after them, at any rate. Time to duck away from the big crowds, although, with the weather, not too far from the fires. She grins at Tucker, swinging the bottle by the neck.
"If you want good tequila," she says, very matter-of-factly, "you go to Escobar. If you want good gin, you go to Earth. If you want absinthe, Tau Verde. But if you want really, really good vodka..."
She brushes a bit of snow off a mostly-flat rock and perches on it, shaking her hair from her face. She pours a generous shot into Tucker's empty cup and holds it out to him with a sharp grin. "Fifty-thousand colonists, most of them Russian, trapped in isolation for seven hundred years on a half-irradiated planet. Barrayarans have understandable priorities."