[ january ii log ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone
What: The end of quarantine, a breath of fresh air, and the first taste of action
When: January 18th - 31st
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD


Quick links:
Barrayar: Piotr Vorkosigan / Barrayaran camp / Missions
Cetaganda: Zahal ghem-Zefyst / Cetagandan base / Missions
Special thanks to Ana for last-minute PB hunting!

It's been a little over two weeks since you first arrived on Barrayar. As the month wears on, the weather shifts a little colder, and snowstorms come, dumping over a foot of snow on the ground over the next couple of weeks.

barrayar
So far, the outsiders tent has only been visited by the Countess and the Princess. But on the morning of the 18th, the General Count himself makes an appearance. Piotr Vorkosigan is a lean, hard-faced man, battle-worn and fierce, but despite his reputation as a master strategist and the bane of the Cetagandan existence in the southern half of the continent, he looks to be no older than his early thirties, and he's held the rank of General for nearly a decade. When he comes to speak, the guards make way immediately, and he doesn't waste time mincing words.

"My name is Piotr Vorkosigan. I am the commanding officer of this camp." Hands clasped behind his back in a parade rest, he surveys the outsiders at a glance. "I hope it's been clear to you all that you aren't under arrest here. We had to detain you until we could find out what you were, because you clearly were not our enemy. I'm sure you've heard by now that we're at war, and not on the winning side. This planet -- Barrayar -- was cut off from the rest of galactic society for seven hundred years, until just thirty years ago. Until then we had no plasma weapons, no spaceships, no electricity. We had just barely begun to absorb the changes that had eclipsed us when we were attacked without word or warning by the Cetagandan Empire. Eight planets already conquered, and they sought to strike us while we were vulnerable. They claim to be saving us from ourselves, to bring us the light of civilization, as though we are dogs being taught a new trick."

His lip curls. "Komarr -- the planet that controls the only wormhole entrance to this system -- allowed itself to be bribed by the Cetagandans so that they could get their warships through the other side. They demanded unconditional surrender -- no treaty, no convention -- but we answer to one Emperor only, and our refusal to surrender under any conditions was met with warfare and occupation. Some Counts, traitorous collaborators with no honor, have surrendered, but our Emperor refuses. And Vorkosigan's District is loyal to the Emperor. Our only chance at outside help is through his son, Prince Xav, using his position as ambassador to Beta Colony to try and drum up support and get supplies through the blockade. With ghem patrols on every street of our cities, we've gone to ground to fight on our terms, wherever we can, lest we fail to remind the Cetagandans that this is our planet. They don't know these mountains, this land the way we do -- staying hidden is the only way we survive."

He gestures at the camp with one hand, the worn tents, the campfires, the weapons long-antequated by galactic standards. "If we used any galactic technology, the Cetagandans would be able to trace our location as easily as if we'd sent up a flare, so we are relegated to our own traditional weaponry, to fighting from the shadows. And our location has been compromised before." His face is mostly hard and impassive, but his eyes flash briefly. "A scant month before you arrived. How, we still don't know. But we were forced to split our forces and flee. We're operating at half our usual manpower and supplies, and we can afford to take few risks, so you must understand why we had to be so cautious with you. We still don't have a clue how you wound up here, or why; that's beyond even the imagination of galactic scientists, I think. But I do understand that you had no chance in the matter, none of you, nor have any of you given any reason to suspect you might be a threat to our effort. So, effective today, I am lifting the guard around your tent. You are free to walk the camp as you please -- save for the areas restricted for military use. But as you know, we are short on resources -- manpower included. We have no room for freeloaders or empty hands. If you wish to stay, you'll work like the rest of us. We could always use extra hands around camp." He surveys the outsiders once again with an even sharper eye. "We might be able to use a few extra hands elsewhere, too, if you can prove yourself trustworthy.

"I won't hold anyone in this camp against his will. Anyone who wishes to leave my do so -- but know that there is no protection in a war zone. All of our cities are occupied by the enemy, and their soldiers won't hesitate to shoot any man wandering down from the mountains. If you do want to leave, you'll be escorted by one of our scouts down to the foothills, to as safe a space as possible -- and to make sure you won't be able to trace back your route. We cannot afford to let our location fall into the hands of those face-painted bastards, however remote the chance."

He'll leave it at that, and when he takes leave, so do the guards who have been posted around the outsiders' tent. The detainment is over.

camp
Now that you're free to roam about the camp as you please, except for the restricted military areas, the atmosphere has changed a little. Some of the soldiers still regard the outsiders with wariness or diffidence, particularly those who might not look not quite normal. Barrayarans don't take especially well to the unnatural. But they are ultimately social and outgoing by nature, and they’ll especially gravitate toward other soldierly types, although they're sort of dubious about the women who claim to be warriors or soldiers in their own right. Still, their disposition is tentatively friendly if on the gruff side. Now that you're no longer under quarantine, they might strike up a conversation or invite you to play card or dice games with them, even if just out of curiosity if nothing else. But Barrayarans are stubborn as well: arguments might escalate quickly, and you might find yourself in a confrontation.

Now that you're no longer confined, you eat at the mess at designated mealtimes like everybody else, and you'll find that the soldiers don't eat much better than you were these last couple of weeks. You also get access to the bath tent for the first time since you arrived, if you'd like to take your chances, but bathing in the winter is always risky business. Near the bath tent are the stables, which always have a soldier or two on duty as stablehand. If you need medical attention of any kind, sickbay is the place to go, although don't expect much in the way of bedside manner from the medical officers.

Lower-ranking officers and the little old Dendarii ladies who help with the camp direct you to your jobs, a variety of mostly menial but necessary tasks. The work isn't extraordinarily demanding, and it's hardly slave labor – you're doing no more work than the average soldier here. If you're decent with knives or know anything halfway about cooking they might requisition you for the mess, if you know anything about horses, you'll probably be assigned to the stables, if you're just plain strong they'll set you to chopping firewood, and no one needs any special skills to help with the washing. But no one is assigned to just one job – when something needs doing, they'll find one of you to do it.

Life among the guerrillas is tough – none of them have it easy, and neither do you – but it isn't all bleak and miserable. When it starts to get dark and the winter chill sets in for the night, the off-duty soldiers gather close around the campfires to socialize and swap stories, maybe even share a little wine or maple mead if they've got any. Once in a while a particularly courageous (or drunk) soldier will even start a round of one of Barrayar's many traditional drinking songs, a few of which have had their lyrics adjusted with more contemporary references. However war-worn, wary, and rough they may be, the Barrayarans have an unmistakable sense of family and unity among them.

missions
After Piotr's speech on the 18th, the outsiders will be offered an opportunity: they're short on manpower, but they can't afford to waste time. Their intelligence on Cetagandan security is out of date, and the operations are risky, but if you're willing to stick your neck out for the Barrrayaran cause, it'll start to establish a bond of trust.

Piotr orders Captain Aaron Vorbataille and Captain Alexei Vorinnis to organize two recon missions to scope out the base's perimeter security, and two more to infiltrate the base and scope out the power supply. On January 22nd, the first perimeter scouting teams return more or less successfully, but with some unfortunate bonus information: there's a traitor in Piotr's camp. On January 23rd, the second perimeter scouting teams have even better success with gaining intelligence, as well as happening on a Cetagandan field science team. Adrien and Beth's squad does not engage, but another squad chances an attack on the Cetagandan team, and manages to capture one of their scientists.

With the discomfiting knowledge that there is a traitor among them, Captains Vorbataille and Vorinnis choose their infiltration teams for the power supply recon carefully. Lieutenants Dmitri Vorhalas and Boris Vortala are ultimately selected to lead the teams, though there is some heated disagreement between the captains on whether they should be bringing in more personnel at all. The power supply recon mission on January 28th has mixed results: intel gathering was mostly a success, but otherwise it was a failure. Not only were the Cetagandans alerted to their presence, but Lieutenant Erik Grey was KIA, and Lakshmi Bai and Lieutenant Vortala were both taken prisoner. No one in either squad seems to be able to provide an answer as to how or why the alarms were tripped so early. The only upside is that Lieutenant Vorhalas has taken a prisoner: Duv Galeni.

Needless to say, the implications of a traitor being in camp are troubling, but with two prisoners from the Cetagandan side, hopefully they'll be getting some answers.

The unabridged event writeup is here.


cetaganda
Zahal ghem-Zefyst approaches the gathered exotics with a welcoming smile, and a near bounce in his step – face fully painted in a more intricate manner than any of the other soldiers present. Unlike the rest of the Cetagandan soldiers, he's dressed in multiple layers of robes, all in colors matching his face paint to the exact shade. To the casual observer he looks unarmed and relaxed, but those who know what to look for will find that some of the folds of fabric are designed to keep things hidden, especially at the hip. Once he's certain he has the attention of every exotic, he gestures, open armed, as his smile grows.

"Good day. I am General Zahal ghem-Zefyst, commanding officer of this base and all operations, and I would like to first offer my sincere apologies for what has occurred – ending up here from wherever," and here his eyes light upon the most non-human of the group gathered before him, "you originated from must have been a shock. You've been told little of what is going on, but I see no reason why that should continue. You are currently on a planet known as Barrayar – but we," he gestures to himself, his wife, and the assembled soldiers with him, "are from the Cetagandan Empire. Nine planets wide, the Cetagandan Empire has existed for centuries, and flourished for all of them. There is nowhere else in the galactic Nexus that can rival our standards of living, our level of technology, and our way of life.

"This planet," he continues, cheerful voice taking on an edge of scorn and sadness, "has been left in the dark for seven hundred years. You can imagine what befell them without modern technology – society could not handle the strain, and these past eight centuries have been filled with bloodshed and fighting. Only recently has the government become truly centralized, and even then it is a tenuous peace, enforced by more bloodshed. Cetaganda's hope – our hope – is to bring them back into the Nexus as a whole. We wish them no harm, and some of their district Counts have willingly joined us, having seen the value of our cause.

"But the Barrayaran Emperor – Dorca Vorbarra – has resisted us, and there are still some districts where the population refuses to acknowledge the value of galactic technology. Of what it can do for them, of what we can do for them. This fracture between Emperor and Counts, of subjects and their ruling class, is only proof as to how fragile this society is, and how desperately it needs to be guided. We wish to be that guiding hand, and want nothing more but to live side by side with the Barrayarans."

The statement is made with a soft gesture of togetherness, before Zahal continues, smiling again. "Again, I apologize for your quarantine. We know you are here not by choice, and are taking steps towards understanding how you arrived and perhaps, how to send you home again. Until that time, however, you are free to go wherever you wish on base, respecting those areas set aside for military use. Some of you have expressed interest on learning about our culture – if you desire more in-depth information, that will be provided on request. You need not do anything beyond respect the boundaries and continue to be as civil and courteous as you have been. There are all only ten of you, and we have plenty resources to spare.

"Lastly – none of you are required to stay here with us. If you would rather brave the elements and undiscerning Barrayarans, we will escort you out, so long as you leave any technology you acquired here behind. Thank you, all of you." He bows, then, and turns to leave – gesturing the guard to follow him out of the room.

base
Now that you're free to roam about the base. as you please, aside from the restricted areas, the atmosphere has changed a little. It's still heavily military -- they are at war, after all -- but the genteel, almost delicate air hinted at during the exotics' quarantine seems to permeate the entire base, a certain fundamental Cetagandan sensibility. On a military level, everything here is built with function in mind -- but to the Cetagandan eye, form can rule supreme even in utilitarian contexts. Even such ordinarily mundane areas as the mess or the washrooms are dotted with art and designed to please the eye, even if subtly. You couldn't mistake it for anything but a military installation, but it's probably the most beautiful military installation you've ever seen.

The ghem troops are nothing short of civil, same as everyone has been. Some of them are even quite interested in the exotics -- whether seeking camaraderie or merely partaking in a novelty, it may be difficult to gauge, but there's no getting around the fact that anyone who doesn't look quite human, or anyone with an especially aesthetically pleasing form, is getting a little extra attention. However, they are all quite polite, in a way that is clearly cultural rather than circumstantial. The ghem ladies are a bit more elusive and much fewer in number, but they're even more outgoing than the soldiers, and any of the ghem on base might be pleased to share with you any Cetagandan cultural pastimes or teach you about Cetagandan art, although there may be a few polite laughs at the expense of anyone particularly "uncultured". 

Now that you're no longer confined, you eat at the mess at designated mealtimes like everybody else, and you'll find that the artfully prepared fresh cuisine served along equally (somehow) artfully prepared meal rations you've been getting are the standard here. There are no longer any guards posted around the exotics' room, which has been officially dubbed as your living quarters, and you share a communal bathroom with the rest of the hall. There's a common room on each floor where soldiers often go to spend their off-duty hours, with the appropriately recreational accoutrements: the materials for a few kinds of games popular on Cetaganda, a couple of sizeable vid plates for watching holofilms, as well as the supplies for a variety of Cetagandan art forms. There's also an exercise room in each barracks building with about what you'd expect, but probably prettier and more future.

You aren't asked to do any work, just politely told to keep away from restricted areas. A couple of ghem officers appointed by Zahal take you in individually for interviews of a sort, a couple of times a week. They're perfectly civil, and the interviews themselves are tame -- the Cetagandans are merely trying to collect some more information to better understand this phenomenon. So while there might be some questions in the personal sphere, they're primarily interested in where you come from. They won't try to force you to answer in any way -- if you sit there in stubborn silence for the hour, they will endure it politely, if in exasperation.

missions
We're using that word loosely, because none of this is official or even remotely organized.

Now that the exotics' room is no longer guarded, curiosity gives rise to temptation. On the night of January 22nd, Ratchet and Kaidan sneak out to the science/medical complex and overhear Zahal and one of his science officers talking about signs of wormhole activity as they try to puzzle out what happened. On the following night, January 23rd, Lapis and Darkstalker make their way near the war rooms and listen in on Zahal and one of his intelligence officers discussing the Barrayaran information leak and confirming that there are 'exotics' among the Barrayarans too. They have also learned that the Barrayarans are planning a raid sometime in the next week.

Things get a little chaotic on January 28th, when security alarms are suddenly tripped and a few curfew-cutting exotics run into outsiders from the other side. The evening is sort of a mixed bag for everyone involved -- Duv is captured by one of the Barrayarans and this time, no one gets back to the barracks without getting caught. On the other hand, Wash and York manage to capture Lieutenant Vortala, for which the soldiers thank them in appreciation as they take him into their custody.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

Comments

beth greene | barrayar

[littlemissfutility]

[bath tent]

She takes one look at the bathtub and shivers a little. It's hard to imagine wanting to strip down in weather like this anyway, but there's something about bathing with a fire right under you that seems like an especially terrible idea.

"Maybe we could just...heat up a little water." She glances around, looking for a smaller basin. Anything that won't make her feel like a cannibal's soup. "Just wash our faces."

[mess tent]

There are things Beth's good at--strumming guitar, getting babies to fall asleep--but cooking isn't really one of them. Luckily, the mess tent isn't fine dining. How much work can really go into the groats and meat they eat here?

Enough, it turns out, and it's pretty boring. She misses Carol all over again, along with everyone else who used to cook for their group.

If anything had made the time go faster on her meal shifts at home, it was having company, and the thing about cooking for dozens of people is that they don't make you do it alone. While she's stirring a huge pot of groats, she asks, "Did you cook much at home?"

[fireside]

Beth's not much of a drinker, but she loves evenings in the Barrayar camp anyway. As cold as it is, the company is wonderful. The stories people share tend to be funny, and better yet, there's singing. As soon as she catches the melodies and the words of the choruses, she sings along, her voice high and clear in the night.

She's not about to tell stories of home--it'll just make her miss it more--but she's happy to encourage the people around her. Whether it's asking what things were like where you're from or if you want to tell one, too, she'll gently goad people into a story or two.

And, eventually, when everyone's so drunk that it doesn't matter what anybody she says, she asks, "Do you guys know Tom Waits?"

[wildcard]

[Beth's so happy to be able to go where she wants that you'll be able to find her just about anywhere at some point. To make other, specific plans, please send a PM to littlemissfutility or a private plurk to prettydoes.]

mess tent

[shri]

Her answer comes shot over her shoulder as she's cutting up meat. Not her favourite - when she had been in a position to cook, it had been for her Brahmin Caste husband, and his diet was strictly vegetarian. No meat at all. It wasn't really until she'd had to take food where she could get it, that she started to eat it. It still wasn't her favourite, but she was hardly complaining for a decent meal here.

Besides, it rather proves her point to everyone that keeps insisting that a woman has no business near sharp object, she's definitely quick with them. Get the meat away from bone and dicing it smaller. "Once, yes. The kitchen is a wife's right, so I cooked for my husband at least." At least on the holy days, she mused, they would share a meal together. Her husband loved to lavish her then, and she allowed the praise. A pang there - how different life had been. When she thought it would stretch on like that, where now it's just a flittering memory, light as a banner tossed in the wind.

[littlemissfutility]

"I didn't know you were married." Of course you didn't. You do't know anything about her. Only that once, she offered Beth a sash of some kind. Since then, Beth's kept a quiet eye on her, but there's been nothing about the woman that's seemed all that suspicious. To the contrary, she's starting to seem like the kind of person Rick would've asked the three questions to.

It's not a big camp; it's not surprising that eventually, they end up working next to each other. So far, she doesn't mind it, either. The woman's as hard a worker in the kitchen as anywhere else.

[shri]

That same sash is wrapped around her waist still, and she uses it in simply utility, when the grease from the fast makes it tricky to hold onto the blade, she wipes her hands down with it before she resumes cutting at the meat. A thought hum as she goes for the question.

"For many years, yes." She looks over at her again, and she's - old enough, definitely. "Are you?"

[littlemissfutility]

"No." Beth's a little incredulous at the thought. Maybe to this lady, she looks old enough, but it feels absurd to her. Marriage is the kind of thing best left to her big sister; if the world hadn't turned, Beth'd barely be in college right now, doing a lot of dumb things only tangentially related to matrimony. "It doesn't really...work out, when I date guys."

She can't just say every boy I've ever kissed is dead to a stranger, and not just because the thought of saying it makes her chest tighten. The general explanation is safer, and safer still is pushing the subject away from her entirely. "It must be awful to be separated. I'm sorry."

[shri]

Which would be perfectly fine a response if...... Lakshmi hadn't be born to the dying throws of feudal times and had never actually dated anyone in her life.

"If that's the case, surely your family can arrange something suitable to you?" This girl was well spoken, quiet, skittish perhaps, from their brief interactions. But she didn't have the mess and crudeness of living as some women did on the streets. Someone had loved her dearly enough to teach her to speak well.

[littlemissfutility]

"Arrange something?" Beth turns away from the groats--they can handle a couple seconds without stirring, surely--to stare at the woman. The idea's so far from anything she's ever considered that she doesn't even know how to respond to it. "You mean, like inviting somebody over for dinner, or...?"

That's what happens in romantic comedies, right? Pushy family members inviting over friends or friends' sons and trying to set up their single relatives. She can't imagine it of Mama or Daddy or Maggie--and Shawn would probably have preferred it if he could've barred potential boyfriends from Sunday lunch, given the choice.

[shri]

Lakshmi looks up when she sees her pull away, a little confused as to what she might have said - it's nothing strange to her after all. "Well, often dinner is first after the agreements have been made, but I meant arranging you a marriage."

She gestures with her knife as she talks, like she's following along a very plain train of thought.

[littlemissfutility]

Beth does the only sensible thing available to a true 90s kid from Georgia: she bursts out laughing. Back to the groats she goes, confusion (beyond why would this even be an option) mostly gone. "Do people even do arranged marriages anymore?"

Or did they, before the turn? She has the vague sense that they existed in other parts of the world, and that maybe for royalty, but not for average people living in the South.

[shri]

That... she wasn't even expecting. To follow it, she sounds almost defensive. "Yes. It was how I was married."

Granted that's some fifty years ago, but she knows that it's still common. She had given many rupees to whoever so asked her for them for a bride price, or to help a father build a suitable dowry for his daughter. That was just her, in England, for all their modern pretensions about such things, dictated matters much the same.

[littlemissfutility]

"Oh." Oops. Maybe she's from one of the places that still lets parents do that. Beth's cheeks turn a little pink, because really, the fact that it's ludicrous doesn't mean she has to be a jerk about it. "Sorry. It's just...not really something we did at home. You married someone because you love them, not because your daddy said to."

And then, as a little extra penance--and a sort of test, can I trust her or not?--she adds, "Wouldn't matter either way. My parents died a while back."

[shri]

She's a - ?

This conversation just took an immediate turn and she's far more considered about how she sets her hands down. Her fingers tapping as she considers her differently again. The fear in her face when they had met, how unwilling she was to take even a scarf when she'd all but thrown it at her.

"... did you grow up learning a particular skill? Singing, weapons, something of that sort? Perhaps you draw well?"

[littlemissfutility]

Beth's brow furrows as the woman's attention settles on her. It's strange, how her demeanor shifts--all because of her parents? Probably not because she doesn't believe in arranged marriages.

"I sing." Saying so reminds her of Dr. Edwards and his rescued Caravaggio. This place is more proof. Art survives, if people want it to. Her attention strays from the groats, but they don't need a lot of thought right now, anyway. She counts off on her fingers, saying, "And I know how to use...oh, knives, guns, kind of a crossbow. Enough to get by."

[shri]

She nods as she listens, she's quick with the rest of the work. Cuts the meat, slicing it even and quick as she explains, taking it in, the formulation of a plan and she hasn't had time to iron out all the details.

"Sing for me, now, if you will."

Though her tone is less - requesting, it's a hair's breadth away from being an order, for all she asks rather than out and out direct. "Anything that you please."

[littlemissfutility]

"Um. Okay." She didn't come to the mess tent expecting to have to sing something, but she's sung in weirder places. Whatever the point of this exercise is, she's willing to take part. Taking a breath, she starts in on the first song she thinks of:

"Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
Like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee."

Her voice moves easily through the melody, the sound rising up through the tent. It's nothing like classical music or a song-and-supper performance, more birdsong than anything. She'll sing as long as her audience cares to listen, her hand stilling on the big wooden groats spoon.

[shri]

It's sweet - it's the sort of thing that a camp like this craves. Light, easiness, it calls for home and easiness and a reprieve for just a moment when listening from the misery and death that awaits them all come morning. At home here in the smell of cooking meals, it's as it should be.

She sings beautifully, simply put.

Lakshmi finishes cutting the meat, sliced in rows, and then slice again until they're diced even chunks. Then she picks it up and tosses it into the pot to let it broil as per her instructions. A good place to leave it for now. She looks up, wiping a hands on her scarf again in a practised motion, ringing her fingers out. "Leave your work, come with me."

It's a brief gesture, as she waves over another of the older women that attend the work. They both work hard at least, that they're not exactly skirting responsibilities.

[littlemissfutility]

Beth gives the pot of groats one more glance, but it's not like she wants to be here. Feeling oddly like she just auditioned for a show she didn't ask to be part of (and who knows if she got the part), she shrugs and abandons the work to the others on kitchen duty. Sorry, she mouths at one of the other women on her way out.

None of this makes any sense to her. From the outside, she can see the woman's certainty; she's the kind of person who does everything without the slightest hint of doubt, as far as Beth can tell. But there's nothing that explains what all that purpose is being put to.

"What's going on?" she asks, when they've left the mess tent for the frigid air beyond. She's a step or two behind her new...what, companion?...but her feet catch her up soon enough. "Where are we going?"

[shri]

She leads her along with a gesture, when she feels her lag behind her, and no - she doesn't trust men in a war camp. With no reflection to her or the Count or Countess, but men were men, and being pretty and sweet and fond reminders of home was nothing less than a death sentence when they turned hungry and lonely.

"To see the Countess," she intones it briefly. Eyes up - she never settles, an alertness like she's always waiting for something. "Your name again? Your full name? Was your father or mother noted for anything?"

[littlemissfutility]

Beth's learned to withhold her trust of lonely men, herself, though she's never very worried about it in the middle of the day. There are greater things to puzzle over, especially right now.

"Beth Greene. Nobody ever calls me Elizabeth. And--" She still doesn't understand this. Who gets this worked up over the fact that somebody they barely know might not have family? None of the outsiders have family here. And if Beth can only get home (and maybe back again), she'll have a sister and brother-in-law, plus everyone else in their group. "We were farmers. Why are we going to see the Countess?"

[shri]

"We will discuss it when we are with her. It is nothing you need worry yourself too much over." A hum, as they weave through the camp, the bustle of men moving about, the call of horses, birds and the soft crunch of snow that has fallen again where the previous fall has turned to muddy earth under the constant bustle of people.

"Were they landed?" A pause, and it's quite possible she has no notion of that meant, given she honestly seemed to have no clue about arranged marriages. "I mean, were they simply farmers, or was your family the landowners?"

[littlemissfutility]

"The farm was ours." Talking about it doesn't hurt the way it seems like it should. They lost it so long ago--a few years, years that feel more like decades with all that's happened. "For more than a hundred-fifty years."

And now it's nothing at all, just muck and blood and walkers. She pushes the thought of its present away; it's better to remember what it was. "This is a lot of questions for something that I don't need to worry about."

[shri]

Another stiff nod, good - respectable. More importantly, easy to how to phrase as respectable. Because she's right, it is a lot of questions that she has every right to worry about. Though Lakshmi's intentions are hardly awful, Beth had already proven suspicious.

They get to the tent, and she holds up her hand briefly to halt Beth and her words and questions beside her. Means she'll answer, at least in a second.

She turns to the guard at the front of the tent, and her shoulders roll, her gaze is direct and up at the ( always, here ) taller man. "I wish an audience, immediately, with the Countess." It brooks no argument, an art to looking down at those taller than her - but she does it well.

See it in the guard's face, only nobles talk like that and she pushes hard on it. Waiting for him to decide that it's above his level, stubborn as they all were before he nods and disappears into the tent. She watches him go before she turns back, lowering her head that little bit so she can talk quick and quiet.

"I need you to listen to me, I can tell you've never... dealt with these sort of systems before. But this is a matter of how to keep you alive, do you understand? It will seem a game, but it's the kind that men have lost their heads over."

[littlemissfutility]

Beth falls silent as they approach the tent, in part because the woman makes it clear that she should and in part so she can watch this play out. The guards don't look especially impressed, right up 'til they're told to let them in.

It reminds her, a little, of Maggie. Haughtier, maybe, and a very different accent, but it's that same won't take no for an answer voice and gaze.

"I'd understand better," she answers, when the woman's attention returns to her, "if I knew what was going on."

Her voice is pitched quietly, her expression neutral, but there's a slight pointedness to the words. She's not going to nod and smile over a deal when she doesn't know the terms.

[shri]

"Alright." She can work with that.

Hums a second, before she picks the place to begin. Nobility, their customs, true these are most definitely no lords of her home, and they're a little too comfortable with their own bloodshed for the worst of Victoria's Lords, with their petty false hisses. A mess of bureaucracy and lies.

No, these men were much different to that, better and worse because of it in ways she doesn't know completely yet, but most of the rules still applied the same. "Everything here is about who you know, and who you answer to." Licks her lips against the cold as she continues. "At the moment, we are strangers to them, it means they'll give us our space out of distrust alone." It won't last though, she knows, as they integrate themselves further, as this war goes on. "Eventually however, that won't be enough."

A pause, as others pass them, watching them carefully as she takes her breath. "Unfortunately, you are an unmarried young girl, and orphaned no less. I would not suggest joking about it again near them. It doesn't put you in a particularly good... position. It's ridiculous and foolish, I know, but in such cases, it matters who you belong to especially. A woman is only worth what her family values her as."

Waits, watching her face. It's nothing pleasant to hear, she knows. "Do you follow so far?"

[littlemissfutility]

"I'm not--" Orphaned, she wants to say, except technically, she is. But orphaned sounds like Oliver Twist. It's not my parents are dead, but my sister and our group are alive. Beth shakes her head. "I think I gave you the wrong idea. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

She knows better than to trust that everyone here has her best interests at heart. Even if she hadn't just come from a hospital that was more like a prison, she would've been disabused of the notion as soon as they were shown to their tent. As long as they're outsiders to the Barrayarans, the number of people that they can rely on--that she can rely on--is going to be low.

But she's been in worse places than this camp, and she's seen (and done, a little voice reminds her) worse things. As well-meant as the speech she's being given seems to be, Beth's still not clear on how coming from a decent family and knowing how to sing is going to keep her safe. Or why it has to, for that matter. She'd be a lot happier to protect herself with a knife.