For Barrayar mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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forbarrayar2017-02-02 08:00 pm
barrayarmods) wrote in forbarrayar2017-02-02 08:00 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- #barrayaran camp,
- #cetagandan base,
- *diya d'zefyst,
- *olivia vorkosigan,
- *piotr vorkosigan,
- *sonia vorbarra,
- *zahal ghem-zefyst,
- agent maine | traitorous,
- beth greene | littlemissfutility,
- kaidan alenko | standsentinel,
- lakshmi bai | shri,
- lapis lazuli | mirrortide,
- ratchet | asafepairofhands
[ 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.
What: New arrivals, desperate times, whispers down the hall.
When: February 1st - 18th
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD
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.
no subject
"Fuck yeah, I need a distraction."
He was obvious, obvious in his distress, and normally he'd give a fuck but he couldn't muster the energy tonight. Too many other things demanded his thoughts, so he just curled under the blanket a little more, surprised by the ease without his armor, and sighed. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't wan--
"You know, fuck them! Like, none of it makes any goddamn sense, and she's going to just-- No, fuck it. Fuck it!"
--t talk about it.
no subject
"She's going to just...?" Sonia echoes encouragingly, figuring he'll drop a name at some point. Alright, so he had a bit of a tiff with somebody. One of the other outsiders, obviously. It had seemed like a post-argument sort of mood, yes. Sonia huddles closer, chewing on the end of a long strand of curly hair. "What happened?"
no subject
There was the name, said with something akin to hurt, to anger, to betrayal. He hadn't meant to say it, but it was there, it was out, and it fucking pissed him off because it wasn't her that he was mad at at, not really, or...at least not entirely. And fuck, he should shut up because this wasn't going to go the way he wanted it, not when he had a girl leaning into him. He should totally be trying to cop a feel, not...not bitching like when Church did when Tucker wandered around the base sans pants at midnight.
"Shit is just stupid and complicated." He felt her huddle in closer, and he leaned back, both of them close, as warm as one could be in this blanket in a cave. Who knew?
"She wants me to trust someone who is a fucking maniac, just because she says so. But hey, no big deal, he's just the reason my best friend is dead. Well, the first one, the sacrificial asshole. And he almost killed all of us, like, multiple times. I stabbed the fucker in the chest and he just. Kept. Going. How the fuck can I trust that? How can she?"
His hand snatched up the knight, running his thumb over lines and slopes of the piece."And Wash is on the fucking other side, and everyone seems fine with it, and this shit is just fucking Chorus two-point-o and I don't know what the fuck to do." Brown eyes slid over to look at her. "It's just all bullshit, like I said."
no subject
"Who...is it?"
no subject
Shit, people had a right to know. Sonia had a right to know, to protect herself, to keep safe from potential psychopaths. Knowing who to watch her back around was something she needed as much as Tucker did, not that she'd be alone. In a cave. Ever where anyone could just come up and snuggle under blankets while venting. Or something.
Okay, she was poorly guarded for a princess, and Maine could pretty much stomp out anyone who was here. His brow furrowed as he slammed the chess piece back down, not looking at her. One person. One person couldn't hurt knowing. One person wouldn't get him in trouble.
Well, other than the fact that she was fucking royalty and could probably do something about it.
"Maine. Well, I know him as The Meta."
no subject
"The Meta?" she echoes, looking even more perplexed than worried.
no subject
"Yeah, that's what he was called when we tried to kill us." No big deal, right? Nothing majorly wrong with that at all. He dragged his eyes back to her, still frowning because there wasn't any other way to say this story without being pissed. "I mean, Wash wasn't exactly winning points from me either then; he screwed us over, too, and sort of helped my best friend kill himself, so... yeah. But Wash...I dunno. Wash is different. He did better and he tried to help us, so he gets a bit of pass." Even if he did shoot Donut.
Shit.
Was he not giving the Me--Maine a chance? Maybe. But Maine was fucking different; there was nothing repentant about him. Just...that thing.
"So, Carolina wants me to ... to just act like that shit didn't happen, but it did. Church isn't around because of him, and that's not fucking fair, so I totally have to ask: why does this guy get a second chance, but Church doesn't?!"
He hadn't meant for his voice to crack. Really.
no subject
She huddles closer, with no other thought in mind than comfort. "What happened to Church?" she asks hesitantly, biting her lip. "What happened to your friend?"
no subject
He leaned into her, looked to the pawn, and picked that one up instead, turning it over in his hand. He knew this piece at least, and there was intent there. “So, Church is an A.I. and an asshole, but, like, more asshole than A.I. He was blown away in an emp.” He said it like that, too; not each letter, but emp as if itself was a word. “I guess it was kinda mandatory to stop the Meta since he had the fragments, but…fucker didn’t have to. There had to be another way. They…just hadn’t found it yet.”
And the asshole hadn’t said goodbye. At least Epsilon had—
“I mean, there was Epsilon after - Church Lite. Had all his memories and shit, so you know, that was cool. Not the same, but close. Still an asshole. But he…well, he’s not around anymore either.” Easier to say than the truth, that he fucking sacrificed himself too, to save their asses. The pawn was turned over across his fingers as he leaned into her.
“It’s just really complicated, but I wasn’t around for that. Well, not Church. I was for Epsilon.”
no subject
But she doesn't linger on that topic, because she's still trying to sort out everything Tucker's unloading, names she doesn't know, things she has no reference point for. But she tries, patiently listening, her hand going to Tucker's arm in a gesture of sympathy.
"I didn't know you had artificial intelligence that advanced." It's basically not a thing in this world, really. She tries to keep up, if only so as not to look like a complete idiot in front of Tucker, because dammit, she's Betan-educated. "What were the fragments? Other AI? And why did that stop Maine -- um, the Meta?"
She realizes she's needling him with questions and she sits back, blowing her breath out. Her expression sobers. "Sorry, I'm just -- I'm sorry. I can't even imagine what it must be like to lose somebody twice."
no subject
Look, he understood it was a lot to unpack; fake wars, Sim Troopers, and don’t get him started on dramatic Freelancers because half of that shit even he still didn’t understand. When Wash and Carolina and Epsilon felt like talking about it, he always listened, but he didn’t push it either; living in the past sucked, kept you focused on the same mistakes again and again while the What Ifs strangled you. He didn’t want it for them. Hell, he didn’t want it for anyone.
So when they wanted to talk, he could listen. Sometimes. And there were a lot of stupid questions he threw at them, mostly about possible Freelancer sex parties (“Come on, I know you had at least one!! Just admit it!”) and the proud fact that he was still the only sword user. But beyond that? Yeah, sometimes Tucker wasn’t so bad. There was a reason why Wash and Carolina stuck around after all.
“I mean, it’s pretty impressive if you think about it, but Carolina can tell you a hell of a lot more about it than I can.” He set the pawn down and rested his head against hers. It hurt talking about this, but it was calming him, too, sanding down the edges to something smoother, touchable. “Um, they were fragments of Chur—the Alpha. Pieces of him that split off.” He didn’t go into why they had split, didn’t want to talk about Epsilon and – “The Meta was collecting them, so the emp wiped them all out. I don’t fucking know beyond that. He’s an asshole.”
Right? Right. Simple. He frowned a little more.
He felt her breathe, and he breathed with her. “It sucks. I mean, they’re not the same but they are? And that asshole did it to save us but it doesn’t matter. What’s the point if he’s not around there to annoy us after? And Caboose always goes a little crazy when Church does this shit, so trying to take of him after is a pain and I'll need help.”
no subject
"One of your teammates?" Sonia guesses at the mention of Caboose. She lets Tucker lean against and her and she leans back, trying to be some kind of support. She tries, but this is something her sister has always been so much better at -- a pillar of strength. But Sonia can try.
She's starting to put some of the pieces together from Tucker's disjointed explanations, and it adds to a very, very big picture. Whatever it is he's involved in at home, it's no small matter.
"And Freelancer is some kind of military program?" Another guess, but an educated one. No, she'll ask Carolina about that. She's pretty sure Carolina will give her a real answer, after Tucker's mentioned it. She draws in a breath, trying to focus on what seems to really be important here.
"So...Church, your friend...he was protecting you?"
no subject
Not…that it was exactly a problem right now.
But seriously, for the way he was talking about Caboose, he probably should have sounded angrier, more annoyed; instead there was a sense of fondness that was buried under the surface of exasperated memories that rose to the surface. It was a mix. Everything about their stupid team was a problem and a mix.
A headache. They were all fucking headaches. But that’s what family was.
“Yeah. It’s gone now; Carolina and Wash and the rest of us helped take it down, so it doesn’t exactly exist anymore. The thing was bullshit, all of it, but…yeah, ask Carolina about that, too. That’s kind of her deal. I’d say ask Wash, too, but…” But he wasn’t here. He was at the Ceta. He was left ther—
His frown deepened a little, shoulders tight, not liking this. Not liking any of this.
“Yeah. I mean, sure, but that’s just it: he shouldn’t have died to fucking do it.” It sounded noble when she said it, and he didn’t want it to. He wanted to be angry at it because it was a hell of a lot easier than being sad, than going through those fucking motions all over again. “I’m just fucking sick of him dying. It’s bullshit!”
He hung his head, huffing in a way that formed the little breath to be clouds in front of his face, half obscured by blankets. Annoyed. It showed throughout him.
“Hey, Sonia. If someone is on the other side of this battle, are they, like, going to be okay? Or should I be worried about them?”
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A hand goes to his shoulder now, a wave of gut-wrenching sympathy washing over her. God, it all just sounds...so awful. Losing someone you love, even if they're some kind of digital construct -- because this Church, he sounded like he was some kind of whole person -- Sonia can't imagine it. She doesn't even want to. But she already is, and she bites her lower lip to keep it from quivering.
"It's all bullshit," she echoes quietly -- not just this, not just Tucker and the Freelancers, but all of it. The war, the whatever-the-fuck that dragged Tucker away from his home to an awful place like this. The curse sounds strange coming from her, but hey, even princesses swear sometimes.
The question makes her bite her lip harder, but she's at least slightly more qualified to give an answer than any of the soldiers, whose responses would have been much more grim. "I'm...not entirely sure," she says slowly, honestly, and she stares at her knees as she brings them up against her chest, the better to tuck herself against Tucker under the blanket. "Don't get me wrong, what they're doing here is -- " Bitterness steals its way into her voice, sharp and icy, but she bites it back. "They didn't come here for genocide. The Cetagadans are expansionists, not mass murderers."
It does, however, take physical effort to get those last few words out, because from her perspective, that's all they feel like these days. "Aside from Miles and Byerly, none of you are even from this world. They're more likely to be curious, and -- generally speaking -- they're very civil toward their guests."
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So he laughed. And it felt so goddamn good to laugh.
He trailed off a little, his head leaning against hers, resting as he sighed. “Fuck it. Just…fuck it. I’ll deal with it one way or another. I don’t know how yet, but that’s how much best plans hit.”
And it wasn’t like he was complaining about changing subjects; knowing what was happening on the other side helped with his worries, kept him from tearing off in the middle of the night to get Wash back. You know, a repeat of Chorus through and through, just a lot lonelier with a smaller team consisting of just himself.
Fuck, he missed those assholes.
“So he’s not being tortured?” Which, it wasn’t as though Wash had been with the Feds, either, even if he had been told again and again that he was that or killed. There was something comforting in this, but—
“…Curious? So, they could be running all sorts of creepy experiments on them? That kind of ‘curious’?” Because he was sure that was going over fucking great. Shit.
“You guys ever thought of just giving up?” he asked quietly, but he knew the answer. It’d be the same from his group. Too stubborn. Too tough.
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"You sound pretty confident." It's not a criticism, nothing skeptical. Actually, it's sort of comforting. She shakes his head at his speculation of the Cetagandans though. "No. Fast-penta'd, probably, but not torture. And no experiments, not the kind you're thinking of, anyway. The Cetagandans are...subtler than that. If they want something from the other outsiders, it won't be anything so obvious as that."
But she pulls back at his last question, eyes flashing. "Absolutely not," she says, suddenly fierce, resentful -- not really of Tucker, but it lights a fire in her. "This our home, for better or worse. After seven hundred years in isolation, it's the only thing we have. And we barely got so much as a chance to breathe before they tried to take it from us."
She seems to run out of steam then, though, shoulders slackening, and she leans against Tucker again with a quiet breath. "I know it's not much of a planet. Half-irradiated when the wormhole collapsed, most of the native flora is toxic...there are gentler, more civilized worlds out there. There are worlds where no one starves, no one freezes. But Barrayar...Barrayar could be so much more than it is, if we only had the chance."
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That would have been way too lucky.
"Okay, they're not waving around neon signs, so what sort of 'not obvious' shit are they doing?" He chewed on his bottom lip a little, worried. "Look, my tea-- a friend of mine is over there, and I really want to say fuck it and just go get him myself so I need to know if he's okay so I don't that."
There should have been walls here, walls impossible to be scaled because he had fallen into friendship with Felix once upon a time, trusted him; how could he be sure she wasn't the same? That anyone here wasn't the same?
Well, the look in her eyes at his question helped with that, didn't it? The fire was familiar; he saw it the lieutenants when they got an idea, or when they were watching the Reds and Blues with their plans. He had heard that tone in Kimball's voice both inside and outside the war room. He understood it.
"Well, like, what do you want to do to it? Like, what kind of 'more' could this place be?" He felt her lean against him, and he relaxed back into her in return. Comfortable and warm and so much better than sitting in a cave, even if that's exactly what they were doing. "I mean, it's no Vegas Quadrant for sure."
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Sonia crosses her arms over her drawn up knees, resting her cheek against her arm, and looks sideways at Tucker, some of her hair falling into her face. Her expression is serious as she considers that question deeply. "Get it up to galactic standard, for one. Barrayar lost all its advanced tech after the wormhole collapse. We've barely even had a chance to incorporate that into our society... I mean, you have to understand, by the end of the Time of Isolation, we were still riding horses. And then all of a sudden, we get to see the rest of the Nexus again, and they have tech like we never dreamed. Horseback to space flight in one generation. That's a hell of a jump, don't you think?"
She regards her gloved hands, tugging idly at a loose thread on one finger. "The terraforming was never finished, either. And this planet...is unique in a lot of ways. The people here are hardy, passionate...if only they'll change." She makes a slight face. "The culture here is...outdated and backwards, by galactic standards. No women in the army, arranged marriages, all that. But galactics know a little something about equality."
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Wow. Fuck, wow. She looked pretty like that, her hair in her face, all pulled up and thinking and-- He flushed a little and tried not to focus on it because he came here to be pissed off, not whatever this was. She was getting him out of that groove, and while that was probably a good thing (as definitely a good thing), it was unexpected. Being mad at Carolina was a lot like being mad at Church: exhausting and annoying. But being around Sonia was none of those things.
What the hell?
"Yeah." And for a legitimate second, he didn't know what they were talking about, completely tuned out. He shook his head and yeah. Society and technology advances and blah blah blah Simmons shit. "But talk to me when you have T.V.s, okay? Or, you know, fucking lights."
So, yeah. There were some creature comforts from home that he missed, but sitting in a tent with however many other people (and some enemies) wasn't exactly winning points. And hey, it wasn't her fault, so he just leaned into her and closed his eyes. He could sleep here, he realized; it was better than his quarters. Quieter. About as warm with a lot better company
"No female soldiers? That's bullshit." He shrugged one shoulder, opening his eyes half-mast as he shivered. "The scariest person I ever met was a woman. Crazy bitch. God, Church loved her for some reason, but...she wasn't all bad when she wasn't kicking our asses. It was like she was on every chick's period in a two-hundred mile radius, all concentrated and at once, twenty-four-seven." She almost killed his kid, too, and--
"...she wasn't all bad, though. Like, she was hot and stuff. And she made Church miserable so that was fun to watch."
God, he missed Blood Gulch.
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Sonia nods her head to the side slightly in acknowledgment of how backwards Barrayar is, raising an eyebrow at his particular word choice, but the description sure is...colorful. And intriguing.
Probably for the best that Tex isn't on Barrayar right now.
"Ah, schadenfreude," she sighs, her smile tilting slightly. "Always reliable. But no, Barrayar is fairly behind the times on a lot of social issues. That's just one of many. Almost every other planet out there has coed military, you know? Well, the ones that have a military, anyway. At any rate, Barrayar's gender politics are very...outdated."
That's a really nice way of putting it. And, admittedly, she's had the benefit of mostly growing up on Beta Colony rather than Barrayar.