[ 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

POWER SUPPLY SCOUTING TEAM BRAVO - 1/28

[for_honor]

The night is dark under the new moon, snow coming down in drafts. Lieutenant Boris Vortala, dour and a little edgy, leads the squad of two other men in addition to Erik Grey, Maine, and Lakshmi. The Barrayarans seem a little skeptical about Lakshmi. As planned, you take out the guards and take over the west gate, leaving Erik and one of the other soldiers to maintain your exit, with a window of two hours. The rest of you head into the base, heading for the backup generator.

[ hit me up if you need any mod puppeting, but feel free to puppet the NPCs to your needs! ]

[shri]

[ She's mostly intent on ignoring the looks she's getting, as she falls into line beside the other men. There was no use fighting them about it, they would only respect her worth on the field rather than off once she has given them reason to. Her gaze sharp and direct as the information is laid out to them and where they are to go. Explains that no, she doesn't have much experience with technology, but she knows a thing or sixty about getting in and out of a building unseen. After all, she's been assured that no one is a Lycan, and to that - she is more than apt as subduing men. The vial of blackwater hung heavy and silver around her neck and tucked into her shirt out of prying eyes ( not to her knowledge that it no longer has an effect, but she's lean and hard after a lifetime of fighting things this side of nightmares ).

Gives the same respect she expects in turn, takes her cues from her commander, doesn't break rank and - makes sure to keep an eye on Maine when and where it was possible. Better that he was at her back more than anyone else, she's found a trust in mutuality, in knowing another soldier and what was built on that. It's not their war, she must insist to herself, and she was not in command. So she waits as the two are left behind to secure their exit, before she's gestured forward in turn. Steels herself with a breath, light in her movements. Body slung long and tight against the wall as she moves forward, checks the coast is clear in quick ducking motions. Once she's sure, she turns back and in turn gestures him forward to her side, to keep moving forward in these quick darts between stillness. Her back pressed in hard to the wall, breathing slow and quiet as she can. Habits that don't belong to here and now but certainly don't hinder her. She's used to being this side of a shadow when she must. ]

[traitorous]

[ the strange looks haven't gone completely unnoticed by maine, either.

he finds the barrayans' skepticism to be more of an annoying hindrance than anything else, an unnecessary distraction that would only slow their progress through the blinding snow. as lakshmi moves forward with lieutenants vortala and grey, maine lags behind with the rest of the soldiers. once or twice he catches a soldier's gaze lingering uncertainly on lakshmi's turned back, and each time maine makes a point to catch his eye with a hard stare, a small jerk of his chin toward the area ahead, and a mouthed focus.

the looks he receives in return are less than complimentary. whatever. this isn't his war, his planet, or even his problem. maine volunteered mostly because carolina volunteered, and a little because he didn't have anything better to do. might as well be a thorn in someone's ( or a lot of someones, in this case; another fucking empire, built entirely of misanthropic humans instead of misanthropic aliens ) side, while he's stuck here.

they hit the west gate, dispatching the soldiers standing guard, and then venture over the wall into the cetagandan base. maine follows a few paces behind lakshmi, not nearly as graceful in his trudge through the thick snow but silent enough. visibility is shit; he can maybe see twenty-to-thirty meters in front of him, enough to barely make out the outline of each nearby building within the base.

he joins lakshmi when she gestures him forward. before she can move again, he squeezes a hand over her shoulder to draw her attention. if she looks, he'll nod to a group of men passing by a short distance away, two shrinking forms disappearing into a flurry of white. ]

[shri]

[ He makes an easy shadow to hide in. Oblivious to how he might be casting looks on her behalf to keep them from bothering her too much - her concern remains doing her task. Even if the buildings are not like the camp, strange and foreign. Not a way she is used to seeing, not like the camp, a time closer to hers than anything she looks at now. Or even the guns they're holding.

Things she trusts he knows better than she does. Taking his cues as he puts a hand to her shoulder to pull herself back hard into his side out of reflex before she catches sight of what he means. A nod of acknowledgement brief as she stays still. Hand settling at her hip, the blade that she's been given comfortably set at her side. Ready the draw it the moment they're spotted.

But when it doesn't happen - she lets out a breath. That's their cue, the shift that gives them two hours to get in.

Sees the nod from the Lieutenant - she pulls herself up, still low, but dropped on her haunches. Said she knew her way through sneaking about, and it comes easy as breathing now. ( A soft snort, if nothing else, she'll be spotted after him, if she were the kind to throw other people to the wolves. ) ]

Ready? They said it'll be through to the right.

[ It's a formality, really, knows he will be - but it's the moment to gather breath between the rush forward. Waits for his nod, sure that he will follow - and the Lieutenant ahead of them, she moves. The snow making their footsteps quieter for the snow that muffles them. ]

[traitorous]

[ maine's slight nod comes a second after she speaks. always ready. he lingers closer, this time, as they cut through the snow toward their target building. the building itself is larger than he expected, but the entrance is thankfully shrouded in shadows.

or not so thankfully, maybe. on a square panel next to the door, there's both a lock and a key code he'll need to bypass in order to get into the building, and the lack of a reliable light source isn't going to do him any favors. he sets his sword ( hardly a sword, but also the only weapon the barrayans so generously provided him with ) against the wall, then sinks to his knees in front of the door to squint momentarily at the lock.

he glances up at vortala, mouths the word flashlight?, and is granted only with a blank stare for an answer. right. stupid question. jesus christ, these people. next question, then: dagger? knife? and when that doesn't immediately work, maine makes a fist and stabs through the air for emphasis in probably the worst game of charades ever.

vortala seems to get the picture, either way. maine gets his knife, and he turns his attention back to the lock, slipping the knife's edge into the seam of the panel to pop it off the wall. once he's had a few seconds to study the wiring underneath, he looks back at lakshmi, lightly touches her arm, and holds up two fingers.

two minutes. keep watch.

better to have her watching his back than a man he just met only a few hours ago. ]

[shri]

[ If they get through this in one piece - she's doing her best to find him a proper piece for his own needs. A talwar - or whatever the closest she could find was - all dry amusement, a bastard sword ought to do. He might appreciate something so brutish.

Granted, she's not much help to the words - a flashlight, she might know, but it's - well, miners use those huge machines. Tesla was fond of making smaller ones and she has no idea at least where to get something like that - maybe one of the men they'd knocked out?

Nevermind, he made do, she waits. Tense, half-cocked to the slightest sound and the snow had such a strange habit of echoing. Glancing from him to back around to him as needed. Cue for whatever he might need and when he indicates she nods stiffly the once, slipping back into the shadows as easily as breathing, to go take up a post at the edge of the building. Not so far that she cannot be called to attention as quickly as needed. Ready, always, the soft hiss of her blade being drawn, slithering metal she turns over in her hand and hunkers down to wait until she's called for. As happy to lead as she is to be lead, when he's doing the thing she has no idea about. ]

[traitorous]

[ lakshmi disappears into the shadows almost instantaneously, and maine is slightly disappointed that he doesn't have more time to watch her work. she moves unlike anyone he's ever met, graceful and quiet but dangerous, too, the kind of quiet you don't hear coming until you've already got a knife at your neck.

no one in freelancer was particularly stealthy, not like this, not in their hundreds of pounds of armor, blasting into insurrectionist hideouts with shotguns and rifles and fistfuls of frags. subtlety didn't get the job done quickly, subtlety wasn't as effective as completely blowing the shit out of everything, subtlety wouldn't help them against 8-foot covenant elites. body count was what mattered most, in the end.

maine exhales and yanks one of his gloves off with his teeth before he begins carefully picking through the wires in the panel. the first wire he cuts isn't the right one, but it's apparently not the wrong one, either, because nothing awful happens in response. maine casually glances up at vortala to make sure he isn't watching. he's not. his attention is elsewhere, on the rest of the base, watching for movement.

his second attempt goes a little better than the first: the lock briefly lights up green as soon as the wire is cut, a good sign. maine rocks forward onto his feet, fitting the panel onto the wall with a click and a snap, and turns to gesture lakshmi over with a low whistle and a nod. ]

[shri]

[ She can see one guard - though he hasn't seen her yet. His back turned, gazing out into the snow. Not realised that there are enemies already inside the walls. Something thrilling to it, she has to admit, being where she should not. A wideness of everything that crawls through her skin, warms her even where the air is so blisteringly cold.

Gone again, when she hears the whistle to come back and she's moving again, one last look at the guard before she comes forward. Her hand settling onto Vortala's shoulder as she comes up beside him to announce her presence, and it's him who waves them on. Maine will know what to look for, is the assurance, and she's better at his back, or so she's insisted.

Waits for him to trigger the door to open - still so strange, to not just be able to kick the damn things open - or Devi's trick of citing a Lycan into anything too strong for normal methods. Once it is, she moves forward ahead of them, until she sees one last stray guard, clearly bored with his night's work and not expecting company.

She turns her head and no more, her finger raising her lips in a request for them to quiet and the blade fast in her fingers turned over, changing her grip. Turning the edge of the curved blade she favoured until it faced out in a tossed little motion, her body lowering, her breath going slow. Darts inside the entrance and finds his eyes again.

It's mouthed back - distract him. Jerks with her head, indicating. She just needs a second to get the jump on him. ]

[traitorous]

[ the door doesn't open the way it should — or at all, really. whoops, guess that first wire had been important after all. vortala levels him with a look that's equal parts annoyed and concerned, and maine shrugs, wiggling the knife into the crease between door and frame and pushing until he has an inch to work his fingers into the empty space.

one tug later and everything's fine again, metal creaking quietly as the door slides away from the frame. he glances at vortala, lifting his brows. see? easy peasy.

vortala switches places with him, hefting his back against the door to hold it open for maine and lakshmi as they slip inside the compartment. he's about to step back to presumably leave them to their work when lakshmi goes tense, dropping low on her haunches. maine follows her eyes, out into the cold snowy yard, to the lone cetagandan soldier wandering closer. his eyes are downcast, chin tucked toward his chest to guard his face from the biting wind; he hasn't noticed them yet.

maine flips the knife still in his hand, all too ready to give it a toss into the man's chest and pierce a lung before he can call for help. lakshmi has other ideas, slinking past him and blending back into the shadows like she's a lioness on a hunt, stalking ever close to sink teeth and claw into her prey.

distract him. sure. he can do distractions.

he crouches to dig a pebble out from under the snow, standing and stepping forward to heft it directly at the soldier's face. half a second for him to look, another five to six seconds for him to realize what the fuck he's looking at, hopefully giving lakshmi the time she needs to reach him. maine leans into the wall, greeting the soldier's bewildered stare with two fingers to his temple in a mock salute. ]

[shri]

[ If she weren't so focused, she might laugh, watching him, waiting for whatever he elected to do. As it is, something flickers amused at the corner of her eyes before she takes the opportunity he has given her. Arrogant sod, isn't he?

Then it's quick. One second she's there, back into the wall. Still, still, still, blade sweeping in her hand, footsteps careful. The next she's moving forward with a sharp dart, it's enough that he's caught in his surprise to muffle her movement behind him as her hand comes up and around his mouth. He's hardly as tall as Maine or even the Barrayarans, thank the Gods for that or it might be tricky as she wrestles him down. His cries muffled, desperate against her hand, biting into the old leather, where she's silenced the cries of hundreds of men before. Feels his desperation and confusion as he tries to wrest her from him. She ought to feel something other than just a irritation and a need to silence him.

The blade comes into his throat in a forceful swing, doesn't slit it because these blades weren't made for that kind of work and she knows where to strike as she drives in. Wrenches the blade forward to make sure none of those vocal cords were working. A wet, whistling choking noise that comes with the reek of acrid and metal as she gets him down onto his knees under her, hunched over him, actions that come as familiar, holding him through the last of it. A too personal way of killing. Silent mostly for all it thunders loud in her ears like drums of heartbeat and breath. The mess and slick of blood he coughs up against her palm, staining around her fingers, warm on her arm. Going slack as she pulls the blade from his throat at long last. Perhaps she'd feel bad if she didn't know them all to be the same colonising empire she'd been fighting since it felt like she first drew breath. All twisted up and sneering for it in the mess that is killing.

He's dead a second later.

( Too late, she's realising, she's already invested in this war, isn't she? What did she think she was doing, she bites at herself, saving them wouldn't save her own people. Wouldn't save - enough of that, leave the ghosts in their grave, Lakshmi, she knew better.

-- and it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she moves without asking, to do these things alone not because he can't handle himself or she doesn't trust him, but that she can't bear to let him be put in harms way even after so short a time. )

She pulls up as the body falls as a mess at her feet. Beckons him forward into the room with a curl of blood stained fingers. Wiping at her cheek to smear what little had splattered on her face across in a messy streak as she waits for him. ]

[traitorous]

[ maine can't remember the last time he was so idle on a mission. the barrayans brought him along primarily because he told them he was good with tech, and the self-boasting, competitive part of him wonders if they know where his actual talents lie. doubtful. why would they? he's been relatively well-behaved within the barrayan encampment, hasn't picked a single fight since his arrival to barrayar.

there was a point, during his second week on the planet, where he hauled nearly 400 pounds of bundled firewood over his shoulder, and all he received in return for his efforts was a skeptical, doubtful look from the nearby barrayan soldiers. as if his show of strength was an act and not a feat; as if he hadn't spent ten years carting titanium ore across a desert landscape, or eleven years carrying the motionless bodies of his injured teammates — soldiers, like him, like the barrayans, like lakshmi — through blood-muddy battlefields.

instead of taking the firewood to its proper place, he walked a brisk three minutes south and dropped it off on the opposite end of the encampment. endlessly petty, even here.

his fingers twitch toward his palms as he watches lakshmi descend on the soldier with a quiet, elegant efficiency. he's dead before he can open his mouth to call for help, blood pooling down his uniform and arms to drip off the tips of his fingers. the scent of his death hits the air a few seconds later — metallic, so warm — and maine is hungry and restless for it, shifting his weight anxiously, a dog in disguise of a man.

an obedient dog, at least. he steps forward into the compartment when lakshmi beckons him, reaching up with bare fingers to brush a streak of blood from her cheek. it's thoughtless, reflexive, and he realizes his mistake the moment he touches her, his hand dropping like lead against his side. he huffs softly ( it'd be a laugh, self-deprecating and edging on vulnerable, if he could still laugh ) and slips past her to move toward the generator.

clock is ticking. their two hours started a while ago, and maine needs time to pore over the generator, to memorize details both foreign and familiar. ]

[shri]

[ It's such a slight thing, and greedy, she knows - a warning from years ago. When they had come up the walls of Jhansi - the prowling beasts of the United India Company where she screamed herself hoarse in command after command, hold the wall, hold it, hold it until morning - the dawn will come, so they must hold - and when they couldn't, she had cut Lycan and red coat alike in the same swing, until she couldn't tell the difference, until breathless, until every muscle screamed in so much pain if felt like elation, someone had found her, yanked at her - Rani, do you want to die like this? Your people need you. Do not lose yourself now.

Gods that she had, it might have been better way to go than the long drawn out of centuries. Perhaps she still will, for every battlefield has become the same. It is always Jhansi, even when it's not, it's always the rush of her horse under her, even when it's the hum of London's newest inventions to drive the poorest from their homes. The Cetagandans are the British are the Lycans and the Vampires.

Then, like now, to be called back from it is to be called back from swimming in deep waters, that when he brushes against her cheek, it's not rejection - save that no one dares, for she is Jhansi ki Rani, and no one has broached her past her closest for years ( well, and Byerly in his arrogance, sharp lesson she had given him for that, Miles in their words of fealty ) - it's that when she feels only the heat of this burning need to fight until she has nothing left to fight for, the little things give you away, and he dares - so unafraid of her - to touch her. Why shouldn't he of course? She's quite sure someone has given her an incredulous look for how she treats him when he's more than capable of breaking most of her limbs if it crossed his mind. The man, after all, looks like he could haul a tree like it was made of dust. But in the same that she wouldn't - be like this near any of them either. Revelling, thin of breath from so little exertion, and it's not about what she did, it's about the movement coming up her lungs, thick as honey, ugly as bile. Not that she is lost control, but that she is sure of every part of herself.

It's that same heat that sits like mirrors behind the eyes, all metal left too long in a fire as she looks up at him, bright like the gold that hangs by her face, bloody and her fingers curling around the blade like his curl against her cheek. Messy and alive. It's nothing she shows anyone, she cannot, not for more than a moment where her breath comes out of her slower as he touches rough fingers to her cheek. Come apart or together under so simple a thing when she's just there - just under the surface and not behind her walls of royalty and duty.

She says nothing, there was nothing to say. Only be drawn back.

His hand drops. He makes a sound that might be laughter. ( counts these little communications to tuck them away like they are things to be hoarded as precious as jewels ). Her eyes lower as she blinks and turns her face away. She swallows and she huffs the same laughter back. It's nothing, it's blood and it's living and it's nothing. Rather, she falls into step behind him, watching his back, a glance behind her to make sure no one else was coming or heard that.

It's only then that she truly - truly begins to look where they are as she does, and that makes an easier distraction she is almost immediately swept up in.

She's never seen this before, many incredible things to be sure, one of which is around her neck - but this? Some part of her wants to reject it, like it is proof of what Miles had said that they are on another planet, but even so. As they progress towards the generator, there's something faintly wondrous about it that she barely comprehends. ] My God, look at it. I have never seen such. If Nikola could be here...

[ Clears her throat then, - they're supposed to be working, she's not... meant to be sight seeing. ] That is it, isn't it? [ The one time she might ever have sounded even a modicum of just a little bit, slightly unsure of herself and what she's talking about. ]