forbarrayar | [ february i log ]

Entry tags:

[ february i log ]

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ratchet stirs as York pushes up from the bunk, his eyes flickering open. He debates for a moment--York has been strange and withdrawn the past few days but hasn't said why, which... Ratchet isn't exactly offended, but with everything else York has seemed perfectly comfortable sharing with him, it comes as a bit of a surprise. Still, he's not going to get a better opportunity to talk to York in private, so he pushes up and pads out of the exotics' room after him, rubbing at the deep circles under his eyes and trying to jog his brain fully awake.

He hesitates at the threshold of the training room then steps in, keying the door shut again after him and leaning back against the near wall, folding his arms and just watching York for a long moment, his brow furrowed and his mouth tight at the corners.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "What's wrong?"

York is in the far corner of the room on the mats, wrapping his hands to go a couple rounds with the punching bag, when Ratchet enters. Shit. He knows he's been acting strangely, and he's not willing to lie. But. He's not sure he'd even be able to talk about this. About Carolina, or North, or him. He doesn't even know where he'd start.

"...I'll be okay." That's vague enough, and probably true. Probably. "Just go back to sleep, you need it."

He catches the look on York's face when he turns around, a strange knot in his stomach as he presses his spine flat against the wall and slides down it to sit, leaning his head back with a soft thunk and letting his eyes close.

"Too quiet in there," he says. "This whole place is too quiet. I can't--hmm." He cuts himself off and sighs, one eye slitting open to look over at York again.

"You don't have to talk about it," he says. "But do you mind if I just... sit?"

York just breathes for a moment, then shakes his head and continues wrapping his hands. "I don't mind. I'm just gonna beat the shit out of this for awhile."

A huge part of him wants to go to Ratchet, but that restless anxiety still has him coiled like a snake. Better he gets it out of his system first. He rolls his wrists and starts punching the bag, each strike hitting with a dull thud that echoes through the room. It's not much noise but it's something, each strike accented by the shuffle of his feet and sharp breathing.

"Thanks," Ratchet says quietly, the taut set of his shoulders easing and his eyes slipping all the way closed again. He doesn't expect it in the bright light of the training room but the rhythmic thump of York's fists against the heavy bag and the rasp of his breathing is enough to slip him back into a doze, his own chest rising and falling steadily, his hands open in his lap.

His attack on the bag gets progressively faster and harder, until he's punching it with all he has, enough that he'll be sore tomorrow despite the wrappings. And it's still not enough. He's ready to scream from frustration but what comes out is a flurry of strikes, an extinction burst of his stress that leaves him panting roughly, the bag swinging back and forth on its chain. Fuck. Fuck everything.

It's only then that he glances back at Ratchet and sees that he's managed to fall asleep.

"Go back to bed, Ratchet," he says softly, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead.

Ratchet opens his eyes when York says his name, otherwise unmoving.

"Do you really not want me here?" he asks, then pauses and shakes his head a little, realizing how that sounds. "Not that I'd take it personally if you just wanted some time to yourself, but I've been worried. Doesn't mean you have to tell me anything, though."

Ratchet's not pushing, just like York never pushed, but there's a strange pressure from just knowing that the other man wants to know. From his worry. York sighs, gripping the bag with aching hands.

"I want you here, I just can't..." Can't tell him? Or can't face it? "It's... too much."

"Okay," Ratchet says, then shifts to push himself slowly to his feet. He walks over to the bag and stops, not quite daring to touch York, his mouth tight at the corners.

"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up."

"I need to be doing something," he replies, not quite arguing. Just stating a fact. "You feel like playing distraction?"

Ratchet just nods, acknowledging that sitting quietly isn't going to cut it just now and volunteering at the same time.

"What do you need?" The question is simple and frank and honest, his face tired but his eyes clear as he watches York.

York huffs a laugh, the sound bitter and tired. If only he knew what he needed, what would make him feel better.

"Are you too tired to fight me?"

Ratchet huffs a soft laugh and rubs a hand over his face. "Too tired to be any good at it, but it's not like that's a huge difference from the rest of the time. I can give it a shot, if you want."

"...no. I might hurt you." He sets his hands on his own shoulders, pulling like that'll relieve some of the tension. "It's just... have you ever gotten news so bad it's like you can't even process it? Or news so... complicated?"

Ratchet looks briefly thoughtful, then his eyes find York's again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I have. I'm sorry."

York can only meet the gaze for a moment, then he's staring at his hands as he unwraps them. "How'd you deal with it?"

"Slowly and carefully," Ratchet says, raw honesty still in his voice. "And in as many pieces as I could divide it up into. Another answer is 'not very well,' but that's not something I particularly recommend. And I had people to help, when I could stand being helped, which wasn't always."

"Yeah... I don't know how you could help this." Breaking it apart into its different pieces might help, rather than trying to deal with it all at once. But what did he try to cope with first? And how?

"Nobody did anything, not really," Ratchet says. "If it was something anyone else could just fix, it wouldn't be so... enormous. But talking about it helped. Distractions, too. Depends on you, and whatever has happened."

Talking helped? Heh. He doesn't see how it would, but... it's Ratchet. He may as well try, if hesitantly, haltingly.

"Wash caught me up the other day on what happened in the five years he's got on me. And then I went to visit Lakshmi, and it got more complicated."

He stares intently at the wrappings, flexes his sore hands and starts to roll them up again. "There was good news and bad news."

"There always is, with time travel," Ratchet says warily, his mouth tightening at the corners. He's suddenly, horribly sure he doesn't want to hear whatever is about to come out of York's mouth, but he presses on anyway.

"What's the good news?"

"Someone I cared about, that I hoped was alive against all evidence to the contrary, is okay." And he's happy about that, really, it just comes with so much more...

"All right," Ratchet says, nodding a little, his eyes sharp.

"What's the bad news?"

"Well, she was alive and hiding from me, which is... complicated, since Lakshmi says she's here." A breath, then back to Wash's news. "And North was killed. And... I was killed."

He says it plainly, flatly, like he's reciting items from a list. Like he hasn't processed it yet, like it's just a story.

"Oh," Ratchet says stupidly, feeling his eyes widen helplessly, all the air punched from his lungs. "Oh. York, I--fuck."

He rubs a hand over his mouth, his belly clenching. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about North. I know he's important to you. I just--damn. I'm sorry."

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