[ february i log ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone
What: New arrivals, desperate times, whispers down the hall.
When: February 1st - 18th
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD


Quick links:
Barrayar: Barrayaran camp / Missions
Cetaganda: Cetagandan base / Missions



welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to in the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling -- in fact, it's dangerously cold, and all you have is the clothes on your back.. A steep mountain range towers just ahead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons. Whatever you last remember, it isn't how you got here, and you feel oddly jetlagged, slightly queasy.

And you're not alone. There are a few other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.
There's a war on, they say, and you unlucky bastards have just been dropped right smack in the middle of it.

barrayar
The cold snap hits the guerrilla camp hard, especially with a handful of new people to care for. On the 1st, a few people from Riverfall Village come to the camp, Village Speaker Yakiv Gura among them, who seems to have a rapport with Piotr. They bring extra supplies with them, such as clothing, heavy wool blankets and bedrolls, as well as extra firewood to help fend off the cold. The new outsiders are accommodated the best they can -- they're all provided bedrolls and any extra clothing they (probably) need -- but the Barrayarans don't have an extra tent to spare, so that means all twelve outsiders are force to share a tent that ordinarily sleeps ten. On the plus side, it should provide some warmth. The cold is

A young boy comes in tow of the villagers; Speaker Gura tells Piotr that the boy turned up a week ago and insisted on helping them with the supply haul, despite his small size. He's clearly Barrayaran, and looks as though he might have been living on hisown for a while. He doesn't speak mcuh, and when asked his name, will only give it as Negri -- first or last, no one's sure, but the boy doesn't seem easily fazed. Piotr tells the villagers he has no room in his camp for lost children, but somehow the day after the villagers leave, Negri turns up in camp again. He's curious, but quiet and unobtrusive, wherever he is in camp. He's a very good listener…even when you might not want him to be.



On the 3rd, the Barrayarans and outsiders awake to discover that the part of the cave where they've kept the majority of their food supply has collapsed, either blocking their access to the cache or destroying it entirely. It's impossible to tell. The villagers can't spare much more than they already have been -- certainly not enough to feed the hundred and fifty-odd soldiers in the camp -- so while they try to find out a way to recoup their food supply, they have no choice but to slaughter their own horses for food. Food will be heavily rationed, but fairly -- the outsiders receive no less than the rest. The prisoners, on the other hand, get nothing. There probably isn't enough wild game in the area to sustain the camp, but Piotr sends out hunting parties, and when they get wind of a Cetagandan supply drop on its way, they organize a raid on the supply lines.

camp
With temperatures well below freezing, no food, and excruciatingly little in the way of advantage against the Cetagandans after their last infiltration attempt, morale is beginning to drop. Piotr and Olivia remain bastions of perseverance as always, but Sonia is beginning to buckle and wilt as the days go on. The soldiers do their best to entertain themselves and keep morale up, but all they've got are maple mead, and old card and dice games. They could use some new forms of entertainment. Maybe a snowball fight might get the blood moving -- assuming you can stand the wind chill. Thankfully, there's no shortage of warm clothes and wool scarves.

The cave isn't big enough to simply move all of camp inside, but the sickbay and mess tents are moved where it's a little warmer and out of the harsh wind. It's generally crowded with off-duty soldiers despite the food shortage, because no one wants to be out in the cold right now. Things get a little better after the mostly successful raids, but food is still heavily rationed.



missions
The hunting parties are only moderately successful; there isn't much wild game out there right now, and while the soldiers fare alright, the outsiders' hunting party fails miserably. The raiding parties yield a little more in the way of relief, enough now that they don't have to keep eating horse meat, but Pearl was captured by enemy forces in the chaos.

Maine helps Piotr with a very successful final interrogation of ghem-Miko, the Cetagandan scientist taken prisoner last month. He reveals that the Cetagandans have been studying the locations where exotics appeared, as it seems to be linked to wormhole technology, and that the Cetagandans are planning on building a device to control it. They have the technology, they're almost sure, but it's a puzzle they haven't solved yet. Ghem-Miko doesn't live long past his interrogation -- public execution by decapitation is his sentence, and when it's done, a few soldiers carry off his body and severed head.

Piotr's interrogation of Duv Galeni goes about as well but, blessedly, less fatally. It becomes known that Duv is from Komarr, the planet that sold Barrayar out to the Cetagandans, and that Duv Galeni is really David Galen, a relative of a few Counselors in the head of Komarran government. However, he's able to successfully convince Piotr that he isn't allied with the Cetagandans, and after a few days of agony, Duv is granted parole at Piotr's discretion.

On the evening of the 15th, Maine, Beth and Byerly inadvertently catch Vorhalas in the act of trying to sabotage what little of their food supply they've been able to recoup. He tries both fight and flight, but the three outsiders are able to take him down and drag him to Piotr's doorstep. It quickly becomes apparent that Vorhalas was responsible for the cave-in earlier in the month. Piotr is both furious and victorious; he now has a lead on the traitor conspiracy among his men, and his esteem of Beth, Maine and Byerly has gone up considerably for their part. Vorhalas is up next in the interrogation chair, and this one won't be pretty.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

cetaganda
The recent supply drop not only provides resources for the base and for distribution to their other outposts, but also brings fresh species for transplant into the gardens at the Grow Labs. The arrival of a handful of new exotics gives rise to a fresh wave of buzzing curiosity around the base. All of the new exotics are given thorough physicals, just as the first wave were, and provided with fatigues and anything else they might need. They make an even dozen now, their bunk at capacity. The Cetagandans are beginning to become accustomed to having the exotics on base, some of them even forward enough with their curiosity to be friendly. Darkstalker now has a small following of ghem lady scientists who regularly feature him as a subject in their art.

New arrivals will be processed as the first were -- once everyone has been whisked out of the extreme cold, everyone is subject to a thorough physical, including a number of scans that may or may not seem totally arcane to you. Other than a blood sample, nothing they're doing is at all invasive. Lady Diya d'Zefyst, while not a physician, is present at all physicals. She is easily notable not only for her striking, almost ethereal beauty as is typical of the haut, but, as the only haut on base, she is easily distinguishable by her lack of facepaint.

While the exotics still have freedom of movement around the base, the recent extreme temperatures have their hosts diplomatically suggesting they travel as much as possible, they are provided cold weather wear, as the mess hall and medbay are in separate buildings from the barracks. Weather warning aside, they encourage the exotics to take advantage of the non-restricted recreational facilities -- exercise rooms, art rooms, the lush gardens in the Grow Labs -- and will satisfy any reasonable curiosities.

base
In an effort to make the exotics feel more at home, the Cetagandans decide to put on the sort of function they might for visiting diplomats, full of art of all sorts, to show that they're just as willing to share their culture with the exotics as they're asking the exotics to share with them. The function is hosted on the evening of the 7th in an annex to the Grow Labs apparently meant for this express purpose, as it shows off the most beautiful and elegant of the Grow Labs' specimens, and acts as a live arboretum in and of itself, and quite vibrantly beautiful.



If there's one thing the Cetagandans are good at (besides art, and language, and genetics) it's throwing a good party. Functions like this are always an opportunity for Cetagandans to try and socially one-up one another; everyone is in their most fashionable dress in the latest fashions they manage to keep off-planet, or at least a dress uniform, wearing fanciful scents and vibrant facepaint they might not otherwise on the job. For the artistically inclined ghem (read: a lot of them), this is the chance to show off their artistic endeavors as well -- large sculptures of unusual and improbable materials, walkable installations meant to engage every sense, and of course the living art engineered by the ghem ladies, ranging from relatively simple and tame pieces such as koi fish patterned with clan insignia or black roses and blue orchids, to complex combinations of non-human DNA to create some genetic sculpture. There is, of course, food and drink -- in the usual flagrant Cetagandan style, although the hors d'oeuvres and drinks are even more ecletic than the usual mess hall fare. It seems as though the Cetagandan passion for genetic art extends even into the culinary realm.

At the center of the party is a particular kind of art installation called a discernment garden. Housed in a beautiful, improbably architectural tent, the discernment garden consists of a series of rooms, each meant to test the refinement of the senses -- not unlike a varietal wine tasting. Each room is dedicated to a single sense, inviting participants to judge a collection of samples and suss out the differences, or match tastes and smells and textures to labels; the end of the garden presents its visitors with a final art piece incorporating all five senses, as a final test of one's refinement. Some of the ghem might (a bit wryly) confess that this is actually more of an education tool used for Cetagandan children, but this is meant as a gesture of good will toward the exotics.



missions
On the evenings of the 6th and the 8th, some of the exotics do a little sneaking around, and not for the first time. York lends Kaidan his access badge to the R&D Lab on the 6th and Kaidan, along with Sans and Symmetra, stumble onto a whole lot of wormhole data and schematics to construct a device capable of controlling the phenomena of the exotics' appearance. On the 8th, Deanna and Natasha sneak around to the tactical buildings and overhear some marital discord between Zahal and Diya, and a troubling glimpse at their diverging plans.

On the evening of the 13th, Jasper, York and Daryl are all in the medbay when a biocontainment breach sends it into automatic lockdown, trapping them inside. They overhear Diya arguing with one of her subordinates over unauthorized use of ba genetic material, whatever that is.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

Comments

barrayar: beth greene

[littlemissfutility]

[execution]

Just because it's not a formal gathering doesn't mean they don't gather.

It's a commotion at the center of camp, and she's already passing through. Beth pauses to watch as somebody she hardly recognizes is bullied forward to a clear spot amid the tents. He's forced to his knees, and furrows her brow, trying to place him. Not one of the Barrayarans, that's for sure. She's been here long enough to recognize the other people of the camp on sight, even when she doesn't know them. He must be one of the Cetagandans--he looks like he's been through the wringer.

The prisoner's head is lopped off, and she flinches, her hands balling into fists at either side. Sure, it's the enemy, but it's not her enemy. That might've been somebody's father.

[around camp]

She's hungry and cold and tired, but hungry and tired isn't new. Cold, she's pretty sure she'll never get used to. You can find her rubbing at her fingers and blowing on them, or burying them in the mane of one of the stable's horses, just about any time she has to remove her mittens. Sometimes even when they're still on, even--this weather is unbearable by the standards of someone who rarely saw the thermometer dip below freezing at home.

You'll find her in the mess tent frequently, helping cook and trying to keep warm. She studies her horse meat with a furrowed brow before taking a hesitant bite. "This just feels wrong."

Eating horse makes her want to visit the other horses more, like it might make up for the fact that they slaughtered the others. And as riding is one of the few pastimes available, she's always willing to use some of her day on it. So at some point, she might well turn your way and say, "If we had a watch, we could race."

She'll also be at the armory, trying to get the hang of the swords the Barrayarans use so frequently. As used to small blades and firearms as she is, she's confident carrying the weapons--but before this month, she's always left swords to Michonne. Help is always appreciated, or other beginners willing to do silly movie sword fights.

[wildcard]

[There are always other options! Write something up or reach out by PM or prettydoes to plan.]

execution because why the hell not

[vorrutyer]

Byerly is watching, too. His expression is, for once, not mocking or ironic or fey. Or drunk. Instead it's dull, exhausted, but steely. He doesn't look away when the blade comes down. He barely even flinches - just gives a little twitch of his eyelids. A fop he might be, a useless drunk with a loud and obnoxious sense of humor, but he's also Barrayaran. They aren't born to this sort of violence, exactly, but it's a part of the culture. Even in his day.

He gives a small sigh once it's done, and relaxes, a bit of the iron resolve going out of his face once the body is taken away. He turns away and catches sight of Beth - Beth, looking furious and frightened and miserable. He offers only a single comment, a simple, "Competent executioners."

[littlemissfutility]

Beth turns her gaze toward the voice, and of course it's Byerly. She knew it was him speaking, but she wanted to think it was somebody--anybody--else in camp. Ideally, she'd just like to be left alone right now, but barring that, she doesn't want her witness to this moment to be Byerly Vorrutyer. Even if he's been more tolerable than not over the last week or so.

"If you like executions," she answers bitterly, doing everything she can to keep from watching the soldiers picking up the remains. At least they aren't just leaving him there. Not like--she crosses her arms in front of her.

[vorrutyer]

"Mm." He acknowledges this with a lift of his eyebrows, a tilt of his head. Then he casts his glance over at her and asks, a little dryly, "Are you?" As though the answer were not already, of course, perfectly obvious.

[littlemissfutility]

She screws up her mouth, stymied by the question. Anything besides no is an obvious lie, but actually admitting it to him has a tinge of vulnerability to it that she doesn't like. The real temptation is lashing out at him with that's how they killed my father, what do you think?, but it probably wouldn't actually get him to leave her alone. And she doesn't want to use Daddy's death that way, like it's something to shock other people into silence.

Why is it she and Byerly can't run across each other when nothing's happening and nobody's drunk? She should leave, just leave right now. And watch him run after you again, and bug you until you're half crazy. Just get it over with and visit the horses after.

"We take people in at home," she tells him coolly. "Give them a chance to be something besides the enemy."

We don't torture them and throw the remains out for the walkers to get.

[vorrutyer]

"How civilized," he comments; for once there's nothing mocking or ironic about it. There's still something dry in his tone, yes, but it's not directed at her. More at the universe at large.

He reaches up to turn up the collar of his coat. "And does that ever come back to haunt you? Enemies that have always been enemies, revealing their true colors. All of that."

[littlemissfutility]

"Sometimes," she admits. But somehow, it's Shane she thinks of--Shane, who was always part of the group and always, somehow, somebody's enemy. There's no guarantee that somebody you take in won't hurt you; there's also no guarantee that somebody who's always been there won't. "It's too cold to stand around out here. I'm going to the mess."

It's not actually an invitation, but it's a public tent--and there's something about the way he answers her that doesn't seem nearly as obnoxious as some of their other conversations have been. It might be something worth talking about, maybe even with Byerly. It's just not worth it out in the wind.

[vorrutyer]

"Hm." He tilts his head slightly to the side. And, miracle of miracles, he doesn't just impose himself. Though he certainly thinks about doing so, make no mistake. No: instead, he lowers his head in a slight, minuscule bow and asks her, "May I join you?"

[littlemissfutility]

She still wants to say no. But it's this small, petty sensation, nothing to be proud of. It's not what Daddy would do, and as he's at the front of her mind just now, it's hard to disregard that fact. He's not being an asshole. Give him a reason to keep being nice.

"Okay," she says, after a moment. And then she turns away, heading for the mess.

execution, obvs

[omniavincit]

He's not surprised that it comes to this.

William doesn't watch the sword fall. What is there to see? A spray of blood, the head rolling once so its eyes can stare vacant at a gray sky, all for shock value. No, as the prisoner meets his end, it's the crowd William observes—the leers and the expressions held at strict attention, the way death sags their posture or leaves them in a sigh.

He's not sure what he's looking for. (He's looking for Dolores. Dolores in someone else's anguish.) He hopes he'll know it when he sees it.

A girl flinches. She clenches her fists as if to hold herself back, and William remembers Logan's men tightening the knots at his ankles. Logan's 100-proof breath in his face. He looks back at the scene, the body being cleared away, long enough to satisfy himself that it's over.

He doesn't decide to do it—just takes a few steps and rests a hand on her shoulder.

Re: execution, obvs

[littlemissfutility]

Her shoulders tighten perceptibly when a hand settles on them. When she glances back, it's someone she recognizes only vaguely. An outsider, like her, but one of the new ones. She'd know that much even if they weren't all crammed in a single tent; he's much fairer than the Barrayarans.

Beth shrugs the hand off, kind though the gesture appears. A stranger's comfort isn't much comfort at all; it isn't trustworthy, just something that makes her lonely for people she loves. The look she gives the man is quietly searching, too guarded to be angry.

[omniavincit]

He lets his hand drop, but the look on her face isn't something he can excuse himself from. "You—" Maybe she's right to shrug him off, because he can't make it past that word.

William swallows. His gaze twitches away from her to soldiers already shuffling off, murmuring to each other. Soon they'll be laughing. He finds his feelings have run dry.

He was moved. Now he's not.

He lowers his voice—for her sake. It doesn't matter to the rest of them. "Are you gonna be okay?"

[littlemissfutility]

"Yeah," she says, swallowing hard. Nobody should have to be stoic at an execution, she's sure of that. Watching people die, not knowing whether it's some kind of reckoning that really adds up or just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, that shouldn't be an easy thing to do. But that doesn't mean she wants strangers to notice it. "Just--it doesn't get easier to watch."

Even if she learns to harden her heart to everything else in the world, she thinks beheadings are always going to make something low in her chest ache. It's still too soon, and they never got to do anything about it after. Her father's head and his body are still out there, or scavengers got to them. She can't decide which is worse.

[omniavincit]

The night hasn't yet passed into memory—like the comfortable weight of Logan's knife in his hand, it lingers. It had been work, by the end, cutting them up. The sound of rending fabric—he couldn't let them scream—stopped bothering him. When he hit metal, the intricate framework they were stretched over, it'd been an inconvenience. Work, then something like euphoria.

What did that say? What does it say?

He studies her, dragging out the moment to see how her words hold up. “Maybe not.” He believes her; that's not what hollows out his voice. “But it won't make any difference to him.” He lets out a breath. The sky overhead seems boundless, the cold intimate, pressed up close. William suppresses a shiver.

[littlemissfutility]

"Maybe not." She's not sure about that. Somewhere, she'd like to think, his soul lives on. Somewhere safe, hopefully somewhere warmer than Barrayar. But even if it doesn't, and everything that made the Cetagandan him bled out, what happens matters to him a little, if only his memory. Corpses whose dignity has been taken away from them are wrong, even if there's no one inside them anymore. "But it should matter to us."

Beth looks up at him, spending a moment or two taking him in. She can't begin to guess what he's thinking. "You're one of the new outsiders, right? What's your name?"

It's stupid, as far as small talk goes--they sleep in the same tent, he's obviously one of the new outsiders--but she's not sure how else to begin. The last thing she wants is to keep talking about the execution to anyone, not just this man.

/rolls to dodge small talk

[omniavincit]

Eyes narrowing, William scratches at the scraggly accumulation of beard along his jaw. He's dimly aware that he's angry, getting angry, homing in on it. How can she look him in the eye and say that? Where was she when Logan tore Dolores open?

"Why?" By the time he dredges up his voice, she's moved on to more agreeable conversation. Pleasantries. They can do that later, if they have to—right now he has to do this.

"Why should it matter? There'll be another"—his arm shoots out, as though he's introducing the bloodstain where the man just stood—"along in a week."

NORMAL PEOPLE HAVE CONVERSATIONS, WILLIAM

[littlemissfutility]

She stares at him--first confused, then appalled, as Because it's your name becomes...well. "Because that was a person."

Being on the other side of the war doesn't change that. He might have had a family. He probably had dreams for the future. Just because he sneaked too close to their camp doesn't mean he wasn't a human being.

Around camp!

[terrifyingrenegade]

[Silly movie sword fights are pretty much the opposite of what Pearl's here for. For her, swordplay is a sort of comfort; something to focus her mind an energy upon, to distract from the woes of her unfortunate transformation to human.

Something else is distracting her from her distraction, though. And it's Beth. Pearl's definitely watching (rather critically) as she swings that sword around in a rather artless manner. She's at least polite enough not to butt in and offer advice where it hasn't been asked, but she is DEFINITELY staring. It'd be near impossible for her not to.]

[littlemissfutility]

[Beth got some training with guns, at least, but she picked up knives by watching others, for the most part. Swords, she assumes, are going to go the same way. You learn to heave them around, you get better at hitting the place you're aiming for, and that's basically good enough. Humans are better at dodging than walkers, but swords are sharp. Even if you miss, you're going to do some damage.

It would be, anyway, if a pale, sharp-featured woman wasn't looking at her like she's crazy. Beth gives up on a lunge-like move, her blade lowering. Under that gaze, she feels a little crazy--silly, at the very least.]

Can I help you?

[terrifyingrenegade]

[Pearl jolts when addressed, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.] O-Oh! I'm so sorry, I was... Staring, wasn't I. [She heaves a sigh.] Forgive me, I can get a bit... caught up, in watching other people's techniques.

[littlemissfutility]

It's okay. [Beth shrugs, relaxing a little further from...whatever it is she was doing. It's all been a case of make it up as you go along, and she hasn't bothered to name any of the moves she's tried.] Did you use swords at home?

[terrifyingrenegade]

[Just saying she 'used swords' would be a bit of an understatement, but Pearl's not about to go saying that. She smiles politely.] You could say that I'm well versed, yes. And you...?

[She trails off. It sort of sounds like she was about to lead into saying something along the lines of "must be new at this" or "obviously did not", but. Probably better to keep that to herself!]

[littlemissfutility]

[The implication's obvious, even if the woman's just polite enough not to say it. If it weren't already so cold out, Beth's cheeks would probably be newly pink.]

I usually use knives. Or guns. [She'd like to mention that she had a Glock, had a hunting knife, shot a machine gun. It's not a good idea.] I've never had a sword before.

[terrifyingrenegade]

[Pearl gives her a reassuring smile.] That's alright, I mean I suppose it's not really that surprising that you haven't... [And she's being quite earnest.] Most humans don't seem to have much interest in them anymore, I'm actually rather surprised that they're relied upon so heavily here.

[littlemissfutility]

I know someone who does. Knew someone, I mean. [She's not sure if Michonne is still alive, but if anyone is, she has to be. Michonne survives. And then her brow furrows.] Wait. You're not saying...I mean, you said "humans."