forbarrayar | [ january ii log ]

[ january ii log ]

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She dearly wishes she could answer that look with something substantial, but there's no time. They're standing before the countess, a sloe-eyed woman Beth's seen occasionally around the camp. Her dark curls bring Sonia to mind immediately, though she lacks Sonia's effusive friendliness.

Under normal circumstances, she'd offer to shake the countess' hand and say how nice it is to meet her--or, at least, say something. She knows perfectly well how to be polite, at least by the standards of home. But it sounds like Southern hospitality doesn't actually meet the standards she's been told to follow; what's just been described to her sounds much colder and more strict.

So Beth, who's tried to compromise by not looking directly at the countess' face but also not staring down at the floor, doesn't really know what's expected of her. She takes a step forward, because Rani kind of gestures to, but nobody's actually talked to her, just about her.

Never stopped you before, comes a thought. It sounds suspiciously like her sister, the memory of her no-nonsense voice no less clear for all the time they've spent apart. The rest of Beth's thoughts are in agreement, that if she doesn't know what Rani wants and doesn't like what Rani's suggested, she ought to do what she knows to be polite.

Her attention shifts to the countess' face, and she summons up a tentative smile for her. "Everybody calls me Beth." Please, please, please, don't call me Elizabeth. "I'm pleased to meet you." And then, recalling how Rani addressed the countess, "Your grace."

"Beth Greene, then," Olivia says with a bow of her head. It's not as deep as the one she gave Rani -- but it's respectful all the same. "A pleasure." Her voice is slightly accented, not the deep gutturals of the soldiers. There's a hint of flatness to it, akin to an American accent of old.

Olivia folds her hands together, lips pursing as she takes in the young woman standing in front of her. As the woman doesn't offer any further explanation for her presence, Olivia turns her attention back to Rani. "A matter of slight urgency? Is she in danger, somehow?" She hardly means to talk over Beth's head as an insult. Rani seems to have taken the girl in-hand, and therefore she appeals to who might be the authority on whatever matter it is.

She casts another look at Beth - what a bad habit she had, she ought to just leave the girl be. Ought to leave well enough alone.

But that wouldn't be her, she knows as she takes her measure, eyes flat with something that turns the corner of her mouth down - old, frustrated, somewhere between both. Loathes this as necessary, but it is. The soft glimmer of gold that shifts as she turns her head back to the Countess that is stiff with it. "Of a kind, more in matters of reputation."

A sharp clear of her throat, a hand that sweeps as she gestures idly with it. "She spoke openly in the kitchens to me that she had no marriage, and no parents to arrange her one." Open, in front of other women, who'll talk to anyone else in the camp. It felt like a headache there at the front of her head. "It's an exposed position, for one young as she is." Which brings her to her request she supposes.

"I would ask that you consider taking her into your service, my lady." It's asking, as broadly as possible, nothing direct, a dance in circles that must never be pointed. She is below this woman in any way that matters, and she would keep to the rules. Just as she had said to Beth, at their leisure, and it was always worded to keep it so. "She tells me her family has been landed for well on 150 years, that she is efficient in knives, crossbows and firearms. Additionally, she sings ... very beautifully. She would be good company of an evening to you and perhaps your sister."

Squares her shoulders, turns back to Beth, and it's still old, still broaching. Hadn't exactly given Beth much to go on. "And if you want to, it's nothing I would force on you or you must accept."

The conversation continues around Beth, but that's nothing new; part of her suspects it might be best to let them forget about her and talk, at least to start. They speak the same language, one that Beth only barely understands. That much is made clear by the way Rani starts by bringing up the fact that Beth admitted that she wasn't married. It still doesn't seem like a big deal to her; sure, being here alone is a vulnerability, but she knows how to take care of herself. And once she gets a knife...

Then she'll make her own reputation. What anybody thinks, based on their conversation in the mess tent, won't matter.

Rani's attention shifts back in Beth's direction, just as Beth's trying to decide what kind of service the woman means. If they weren't all women, and if Rani didn't seem at least a little trustworthy, company of an evening would have her dander up and goodbyes on her lips. Lacking that context, it sounds like something old-fashioned and a little silly. What's she supposed to do, play cards with them? Sing?

She doesn't know, and she has presence of mind to realize that if this is the start of something awful--manipulation, killing, anything like the hospital--they aren't going to say so. But they might give her an idea of what would be expected of her, and that might be enough to help her decide just what kind of a deal she'd be making.

She searches for some way to answer Rani's assurance, uncomfortably cognizant of the fact that this conversation has so far been as formal as Rani warned. If she says the wrong thing, it might actually be a big deal.

"I..." She pauses for a moment, looking first at Rani and then at the countess. The vague feeling that she should answer Rani alone, rather than direct her words to them both, makes itself known. She has no idea if that's what's expected of her. "I guess it depends on what the countess needs me for."

It's an impressive list of qualifications, when told as such. Olivia listens impassively -- Rani need not sell the girl so hard, but she appreciates the effort to lay out her qualifications so thoroughly. As if the young woman was from a time and place where that was of no concern. So beyond her protection, were they to teach her how to play the game as they know it? It would be difficult, but not impossible.

If the girl should choose to accept, that is. "To take you on as a maid, a lady-in-waiting. It would provide you with some measure of security, as young and as unwed as you are. But more importantly, it would give you the chance to take up arms again, outside any of your other duties in the camp." She is no Vor woman, but Olivia knows that arming them is the easiest part, once Piotr comes around to it. Knives first, to set the others at ease.

She falls quiet as Beth asks a sensible question. Good, be smart about it. Is all she can think. She doesn't know nobles, but she knows nobles. Vicious as they are, being on a different planet didn't change that wariness. Seems Beth might not know nobles, but she knew to worry.

Slides her eyes briefly to the Countess with a thankful little nod. Then back to carry on. "Whatever you do not know about the position, I can teach you. As I said, everything is about who is to be held accountable. Likewise, anything you do, the Countess will similarly be upheld to. The same applies to myself, for recommending you."

The power in this situation, worked many ways.

What Lakshmi says gives her pause, her mouth thinning as she tries to decide just how bad it'd be if held accountable ends up being...well, really held accountable. The last thing she wants is to have to choose between answering to them and screwing up their reputations. She's used to being part of a group. Having to worry about people judging the leader based on what she does--that's new. And it feels constraining.

But the countess said take up arms and it doesn't sound like she only means when you're told to. That strikes up hope in her chest.

"If I can have a knife," Beth says slowly, "like...all the time. Not just on perimeter scouting, or...or whatever else they want me to do. Then I'm in."

It's what she wants more than anything, and that makes laying her cards on the table more difficult. But there's only one way to get what she wants, in this situation, and that's asking.

Olivia presumes that the eagerness with which Beth agrees to it has more to do with how little she knows of the system that she'll become a part of than her desire to hold a weapon. "It is a balance," she explains, gesturing with one hand. "You'll carry a knife, but you'll be in my service. Follow my orders, protect me. In turn, I protect you -- as will Rani. If either of us fail, then it all fails.

"Are you willing to agree to such a thing so readily? It is not a light undertaking, however simple it seems. And I will not force you into it."

Not here, and not now. It is the least she can do for the people who haven't had a choice when it comes to ending up on Barrayar.

She nods in agreement to her. Letting the Countess speak, letting Beth make up her mind of herself. A mind keen to weapons, she smiles however slightly to herself in a flicker she smothers down.

She liked Beth, clever girl that she was. For all she looked like petals and glass and sung like a bird on a wire. Thought her the good victorian lady, to look at her. Sweet in her tower, repulsed by the notion of violence. But she'd gotten those scratches on her brow for good reason, it seemed, and it wasn't laying down to other people's cruelties.

But the Countess was right, she needed to know. "These sort of games, men and women both lose their lives over. I know that you are American and they have done away with much of it, but you should know it can cost you everything as well."

"What do I have to lose?" Rani's made clear that reputation's about all anybody sees in her here, at least on first glance. She's far from home, far from family and friends--she doesn't have anything of her own here except bloodstained clothes. Her life is the only thing that's actually important, and it still seems ridiculous that anyone would die over the who's-who of social circles.

Besides, I'll have a knife.

The question isn't exactly a yes, though, she realizes. There's one more thing lurking in her thoughts, demanding to be asked. It's Dawn waiting in the corners of her mind, giving her advice about respect and power. This is the only other thing that matters. "What happens if I change my mind?"

"Does your life matter so little that swearing it away in an instant is so inconsequential?" Olivia frowns, tapping a finger against the back of her other hand. "I will not take on anyone who view death as a release from this world. What good is a guard who would rather die than fight? It is useful as a final victory, when all has already been lost, but not a quality I am looking for in anyone who would pledge themselves to me." She knows her fate should the Cetagandans take her husband, threaten to take her -- she would rather die by her own hand and rob them of the satisfaction of her capture. They will not use her, and she will not submit to them.

As for the matter of Beth's question, well. "Then you are not beholden to me, and I to you. You leave the knife and go your own way. On Barrayar it is a custom to consider taking oaths and swearing loyalty as an unbreakable contract. But you are not of this planet." Yet Olivia would approach it with the same level of seriousness, of dedication. It wouldn't work, otherwise.

Beth lifts her gaze to the countess' features, measuring her with the kind of openness Rani told her not to use on their way over here. Inconsequential, she says, like knowing you're playing a crappy hand is the same as thinking about killing yourself. (Getting yourself killed, whatever. It's the same thing here, suicide by Cetagandan.) She has her life, a grey cardigan, and the vague hope that somebody on some planet somewhere around here might be able to send her back to Earth or bring her friends out here where it's safe. It's not getting called "Your Grace" and having to wonder if she's going to screw things up for a whole planet. It's the bare minimum.

"I'm not gonna pretend I'm afraid of dying when I'm not." It's ninety percent true, probably, but that's enough that you can round up. Beth's eyes are wide, defiance settling into her throat as the words come up from her chest. The countess laid out what she expects; it's only right that Beth does the same thing for her. No point letting her take on a new lady's maid if all she wants is someone she can manipulate into doing her dirty work. "But I know how to fight, and I don't wanna die. I'll do what you say, as long as it's the right thing to do."

Beth's spirit does more to impress Olivia than anything else -- it is not the sort of spirit that Barrayar encourages in its women publicly, but one they all need to survive. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she listens to her, otherwise impassive. That is enough, and she gives Rani a look over the head of Beth, and a slight nod before turning her attention back to the younger woman.

"You must trust that it is," Olivia says, but gestures a concession for Beth's ability to take issue with her orders. She can worry about her own morals later, once the war is won. Because that is the only thing that matters, here and now. There will be nothing if they are not victorious, and everything can and will be sacrificed for that goal -- everything but their honor. "Just as I trust you will accomplish it, and will not turn the blade that I give you on me. You are not from a place where words and honor are valued like they are on Barrayar, but you must learn if you are to make the system work for you. Rani has already lead you this far, I have no doubt she would be happy to continue to teach you. But I will not ask you to do anything morally objectionable."

She's not inclined to trust that any orders she's given are going to be justified ones. Everybody thinks they're giving good commands, unless they're deliberately giving bad ones. It doesn't mean they really are.

Just tell her what you want. She probably thinks you're planning to question her every time she asks you to do her a favour. That'd be a waste of the countess' time and her own. And as she hasn't yet landed herself in hot water for misspeaking in front of an aristocrat, she thinks she might as well.

"I won't kill anyone for you," she says, her gaze still level with the countess' face, "unless they really deserve it."

Maybe in another setting, it'd be funny--at the very least, bemusing. But Beth's serious as a heart attack. This isn't going to go the way it did with Dawn, clinging to her against the hospital's violence and getting drawn into the center of it as a result.

Beth's words sting like she'd been hit. Who? Who asked this... this songbird, who laughed at the idea of getting married and wanted a knife more than anything, to kill for them? It curls belly low in utter revulsion for the thought. What kind of coward? If it was someone in the camp then... she would having words with either the Count or Countess about their men. At least she has the practise in being impassive that her mouth stays a fixed line.

Because maybe to someone else, that might have been a ridiculous thing to say. But not in this company, not in a war. She nods briefly the once in belated motion to being mention, yes, yes she would be teaching her. Even if this came to nothing, she would do what she could. She always would, without fault or hesitation.

Idiotic behaviour for a Queen, really.

Rather, she cuts in there, as politely as she can, a clear of her throat and perhaps to give the Countess time for her own words because she is sure enough of her own in this moment. Reassurance perhaps, but no, more than that, to cut across something that curls like revulsion. Someone had asked this girl to do that, had they? Whoever it is, deserves worse than her ill thoughts on them. "If someone deserves to die, then I will do it myself, not ask anyone else to do my work." It's grit as politely and as evenly toned as she could. "But I asked you here not as an assassin. I asked you here because you are brave enough as you are, and experienced enough to not be a fool about it. No matter how men, or others, may treat you." She glances up once, back to Olivia, nodding to her slowly - this girl has her full assurance. She cannot think of anything better than for a guard that held to their own consciousness rather than fear. They were less likely to be bought off.

A sigh, if stiffly to herself, she realises. She means it, fully, means that yes, yes idiotic, again, to drag people to her, to keep them near where she can keep a watch over them both. But it's an easy plan as it goes: Beth can keep Olivia safe from one kind of evil, and Olivia could, in turn, keep Beth safe from another type of wickedness. Means, she's already too busy getting ready to die for a planet that is not her own. Means, she does not think the Countess would let it happen either - though she cannot claim to know the woman well enough to be sure.

But she knows she has to believe it.

What sort of coward asked a barely grown full woman to kill for them?

"If you need to raise a blade in my service, then you can be assured that they do -- your life and mine would both on the line." And yes, Rani is correct -- Beth's place is not as an assassin. The least Olivia can do is to reassure her of that. "But that will not be your job, as Rani says. You will be armed because it is your job to protect my life at all costs, and we can both pray to whatever God you believe in that that moment never comes to pass."

There is admiration in her eyes, if not her tone, that the young woman is willing to challenge her so openly. It is rare on Barrayar, where women are expected not to challenge any at all, let alone about matters of killing. "But if that is your only wish, I will keep to it. My word as Vorkosigan."

Olivia delivers it with the solemnity as any oath of service, even if both women in the tent are unfamiliar with the meaning of it. Men are those who swear by their names, but it should belong to her too -- as Vorkosigan, as Vorbarra. This planet bears the name of her family, and who better to use its traditions for her own end?

According to the countess, vows matter on Barrayar the way they don't elsewhere--and she seems so serious about things, in ways just about nobody else here is. It makes her word sound strong. Believable. That's the kind of person it's not hard to help out, because it really feels like you can trust her.

"Then I agree." It's still a good trade: work (like she isn't already doing work) and loyalty for a knife and a promise that this won't end up like the hospital. The option to leave if necessary. The countess could have offered less, and she still might have considered it. Satisfied, Beth glances Rani's way. "Is there anything else we have to do?"

To make this agreement real, to safeguard a reputation she doesn't have a lot of experience worrying about... If anybody knows, it's obviously going to be Rani.

That is an easy assurance to give. "I will give you the rest of your instruction. That, and I'll make it clear on the roster, that at least some nights of the evening will be spent in the Countess's company - " her gaze slides back to Olivia and bows her head the once with the question.

"I am sure Your Grace can make it clear where she stands otherwise, to anyone else." In the end, for all her arrogant words and fussing and preference to headbutt people into submission - she wasn't anyone here, publically, the only person that mattered was Olivia when it came to politics.

Olivia nods back her answer to Rani -- yes, that much is agreeable. She worries very little about Sonia in this matter, for her sister has protections that others don't, reputation and armsmen alike. Beth has none of that, and whatever Olivia can do to protect her, she will.

"I can, and I will," she says, with another nod to the both of them. "You need do nothing more than be willing to learn -- that is your primary concern for the moment." Everything else will follow in time, Olivia thinks. The glance she shoots to Rani is one that is thankful -- she understands why the other woman brought her here, of course, and appreciates it.

"I'm willing." That's an easy request, at least from the outside of it. Learning, adapting, that's how you stay alive. It's what separates you from the dead. Having somebody offer to teach you is better than figuring it out on your own. She gives the countess what she hopes is a suitably appreciative look. "Thanks."

She'll have to thank Rani, too, but that can wait until they're done here.

"Very well. If that is settled..." She nods, the once, stepping closer back to Beth, to brush a hand against her shoulder in indication. "We should leave the Countess in peace, - with your leave, Your Grace?"

She bows her head, in politeness sake, they are at her leisure after all.

"Of course," Olivia says, with a small nod and a polite but dismissive wave. "Thank you -- the both of you." They are proof, Olivia thinks, of what she knows in her heart. That women do not deserve to be constrained and controlled by status and the overwhelming sexism of Barrayar. They fight back in their own ways, however they can, to prove them wrong.

Beth doesn't need to know nobility to recognize a dismissal when she sees one. Giving the countess a nod in return, she turns to go.

Outside, a few paces away from the tent, she catches Rani's arm. It's better to do this here, now, than in front of the countess--she's sure of that much. "Thank you."

Even though this is kind of weird. She knows better than to say that part.

She leans across to grip her shoulder tightly the once, an acknowledgement before she lets it drop back. "It will just be needed until you have yourself secured... after that, I am sure you will be free to make your own choices about what you want."

But until then. "We will go over the proper manners at some length, I know it will be... frustrating at times. But they can be the matter of life and death." She shakes her head. Things that were easy to know when raised to it, but like having to learn English customs, quite probably frustrating to an outsider.

Well, they were all outsiders here.

Rani sees the way her face falls at the phrase proper manners before she even has a chance to say anything. The very thought is a mix of dull and insulting, even if it's not supposed to be.

"I was raised with manners," she tells the woman, biting down on a small smile. "Proper ones--at home, anyway."

Things here are more complicated, she knows--she knows--but it's not like she came here completely ignorant.

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shri - 2017-03-11 11:32 (UTC) - Expand

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