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Ivan has just recently been assigned to Earth. It's very cultural. He has already explained Vor to groups of natives four separate times. Some of them seem to find it really hilarious to call him Lord Vorpatril. He doesn't mind; some of those people are girls who giggle it and bat their eyelashes. He likes it here just fine.
After he finishes with his day-job duties (separate from attending diplomatic functions to stand around and look handsome) he attempts to let himself out of the room with the comconsole and all its data to sift through, only to find that the hallway has turned into a bar.
He looks over his shoulder. The office is still normal. Which is to say there are no other exits.
Ivan goes into the bar, squinting.
middlingalong
middlingalong
"I suspect you'd find not being hugged on a routine basis kind of inconvenient, correct me if I'm wrong."
middlingalong
Hug. And down again.
"Don't you worry, Miles, I can tell you apart even when he's putting you on."
"Don't you worry, Miles, I can tell you apart even when he's putting you on."
middlingalong
"They'll probably put you next door. Unless they've got a reason to prefer moving Mark."