For Barrayar mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
barrayarmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
[BARRAYAR] Lavernius Tucker - OTA
[W.T.Everloving Fuck?
First thoughts were always so eloquent first thing in the morning, but this was neither morning nor familiar and it sure as shit wasn’t the way he wanted to wake up. Cold. Everything was so damn cold, and it shouldn’t be because the armor had temperature regulators, but he was feeling way too light to have any of it actually on. Weird. Okay, so cool, someone wanted him enough to strip him down but only got half-way through the job before dumping him out here at –
Sidewinder? No way. No way. Nuh uh. Not possible.
His head swam as he sat up in the snow, stuck in his Kevlar undersuit and looking around at other poor people who seemed just as lost and confused and dizzy as he did. The world shifted in weird ways, and the breath he drew in was ragged, careful because the last thing he wanted to do was puke. Last thing—last thing he remembered—
Hargrove’s trophy room. Meta’s armor. Everyone armed and the sound at the doors and the final fight and—]
Church…? [He looked around because he was pretty sure that asshole left again, did what he did best, left and left and left (because it was leaving, not dying; he didn’t want to think of it like that), and he needed to get back to them. He needed to get back to his asshole team, needed to get back to Caboose, to the Reds, needed to shove his sword down Hargrove’s fucking thro—
His sword. Where the fuck was his sword?! He was never without it, wasn’t—]
Dude, what the fuck is going on?!
[And he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, not really, but it sure as hell wasn’t being led back to some camp in the coldness of a yeti’s taint. But it wasn’t like he had a choice, and he sure as shit wasn’t finding out answers on his own. So, hey, maybe even Tucker could follow directions for a few minutes.
And apparently that, at least, would get him to a camp and hopefully some fire.]
B – Sleeping Tents.
Um, you’re kidding, right?
[Tucker looked around the small tent, wondering just how the hell this many people were supposed to sleep in this little place. Sure, yeah, body heat was awesome, but only if you were naked with a chick between the sheets, and when it was this cold, even he wasn’t sure he wanted to get it on. THAT’S how cold it was. That. Right there. That said something.
But he wasn’t sure it was just the cold. This place, the things he heard…this bullshit? He had seen the patterns before, came from the patterns, and this wasn’t crap he wanted to get tangled up in again.
Wars followed him like a shadow because having that luck was part of what? Being their little group, maybe. He just wasn’t sure there was still a good enough reason to get involved, wasn’t sure trusting some strange assholes who sounded like they were crazy was enough. He’d been played before. He’d been lied to and had a handy-dandy fucking stab-gut scar to show for it, so pardon him if that wasn’t a road he wanted to go down again.
He sat on his bed and thought, and fucking thought about Church and what that asshole did, and wondered if he could go through that again. If he could lose again. If there was even enough here worth fighting for.
Sighing, frustrating as hell, he flopped down, rolled onto his side, and looked out into the room.] Yeah, so this sucks. Everything about this sucks, and we all know that shit. But, dude, I gotta know: why the fuck are you going along with all this, anyway? [And could we be any more vague?]
C. Rationing – Mess
[So, yeah, he got it: life out here sucked. It was a new level of dick-shriveling cold that had no heatwave in sight (what he wouldn’t have given for a beach and chicks in bikinis), a lot of fighting for shit he didn’t really care about, and he still didn’t know how the guys back home were. All big fat checks in the negative column.
But did the food have to be rationed, too?
And sure, whatever, Chorus had to ration food as well (otherwise Grif would have eaten it all), but this took it to a whole new level. Tucker lurked on the outside of the mess tent, trying to gauge when people were coming, going, and everything in between; if there was a pattern to this madness, maybe he could sneak in and swipe a few pieces of something extra. Fuck knew he needed something to keep going.
And if it wasn’t chicks in bikinis, then it might as well be stolen food.]
D. Let’s Learn Some Stabbing
[Swish, swish, stab. That’s how things had started back in Blood Gulch, the rudimentary idea of using a sword being nothing more than swiping and stabbing. But then he had been stuck in the desert temple, fighting on his own. After that? He met Wash, and Carolina, and it wasn’t just swish swish stab any more, even if he still sometimes still announced it under his breath while going through the motions.
Drills, training, losing people, war got him better. Hell, a million freaking squats and laps at the crash site back home helped, but there was no way he’d ever admit it to Wash…wherever he was. Shit. Shit. That thought was shoved back down, the thought of all the guys was shoved back down, and he swiped with this not-his sword. Training. Oh, how proud that dramatic bastard would be that here Tucker was out, doing on it on his own without having to be ordered, and only part of it was because it was too cold to sit around and do nothing at all.
Still, this sword? Totally not like what he was used to. The heft was different, the way it cut through the air was different, everything was so damn different, and Tucker hated it.
But for all the swordwork Tucker did (and he preferred it; one didn’t get to be the Chosen One without preferring swordwork), he still wasn’t really refined in his skills. He needed to get better at footwork, needed to find a new way of balancing and moving without his bulky armor (it should have been easier, right?! Right?!). So while he definitely wasn’t a beginner, he wasn’t an expert either, and if they were going to win this stupid war, then…well, maybe he needed to get better. Or maybe he needed to get other people better.
Want to try it?]
B - hits this like a mac truck
The only thing going through her head is to get back to the Outsiders' tent for some much needed rest. Of course the last thing she was expecting was to hear Tucker's voice from inside the flimsy shelter. She pushes inside, staring at the blue incredulously. ]
Tucker?
[ Oh, shit. She was going to have to figure out how to explain Maine. ]
damn right you did
No. Fucking. Way.
[Brown eyes blinked, stared up at her, and he swallowed. Holy shit, it was her. It was really Carolina, without her armor, without all the same shit he was missing, and he was even more fucking confused because she had been with Wash, fighting on the ground so why the fuck was she here? Did that mean the others were, too, and he just hadn’t found them yet?
God, he hoped so.]
Carolina?!
[He was off the bed in an instant, blinking again as if it would make it change the situation at all. It didn’t. So he started towards her, glad – so glad – for a familiar face.] How the fuck is this [his arms flailed all over] happening?!
no subject
I don't know how it happened but it's happening regardless. [ And she smiles wryly at him because even she knows a cold tent in the middle of a war is the opposite of welcome. But that expression fades off as she's reminded of another person who's absent. ] ...Just so you know, I don't have Epsilon. Whatever brought us here doesn't include AIs.
no subject
Well, no one has Epsilon because the douche went and killed himself again--
Fuck. Fuck. Tucker didn't want to tell her, didn't want to let her know the things he knew, didn't fucking want this to be the first thing he said to her. Oh, hey, what a weird world we're in. B-T-Fucking-W, our mutual best friend is dead. So how about this fucking dick-freezing cold, huh? This wasn't right. This wasn't...
This wasn't fair.
Tucker was only good at lying about one thing, and that was more self-delusion than right out lying: his sexual conquests. Everything else? Damn, was he bad at it, probably because the need and frequency rarely came up; shit happened and people should know about it. The end. So as he warred with it over his face for all the world to see, he stopped for a second and looked at her, something vital finally clicking into place. ]
Of course Church isn't with you. [The brown eyes blinked once.] He was with me on the Staff of Charon when -- [he died] -- I was pulled here. [And then, as important, because--]
Wait a fucking minute; if you're here, then the others are here, too, right?! [Not Church. Not that asshole, but the rest of the family. The rest of the Reds and Blues. His expression lit up like the sun for the first time since arriving because good, he needed them, he fucking needed them to be okay--] Where are they?
no subject
Wash is here but- [ She holds up a hand. This is all too much at once. ] Wait. What are you talking about with the Staff of Charon? We haven't had a word about Charon since we sent that message to the Chairman.
[ Not unless... if Maine could be here. If York could be alive. Could this be another time-slip? ]
no subject
But the smile that started to tug at the corner of his lips almost immediately fell because—wait, what? What the fuck?]
Um, did you take a hit to the head or some shit? You and Wash were fighting Mantises, and the guys, Church, and I went up to the Staff of Charon to fight the fuckers up there. [And there’s a lot you don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know how to tell you.
Tucker shook his head, his brow furrowing a little as he looked around. Freelancers getting amnesia didn’t sound too weird because hello? Wash? But he took a step back, staring over at her while he tried to make sense of what the fuck she was saying.] Huh? Wait. Slow down. Where’s Wash? Like, let’s sit down and talk this shit out, because clearly you’re having Freelancer malfunctions here.
no subject
[ What were the odds? Though of course now she has to actually explain that she hasn't seen Wash in weeks. Her expression softens and actually looks apologetic. She knows how close Wash is to the Reds and Blues. ]
...Wash is being held by the other side in this little war. I haven't been able to see him but M- [ She cuts herself off, not quite ready to mention Maine just yet. She still needs a graceful way to introduce them that won't end in Tucker trying to attack. ] Another one of the outsiders made contact with him on the last mission into their base. He's okay. [ Or he was. There's no way of telling if that's changed. ]
no subject
Could she--
He opened his mouth to try to add in something because really, Freelancer Malfunction Bullshit made more sense than Time Travel, but she was talking about Wash and...and she looked like that. She looked sorry, looked the way he felt when he thought about Epsilon. And fuck all, he heard the words he heard once before when he woke up after Freckles, shake, almost an echo because history just loved to repeats itself. Brown eyes widened a little, his brow furrowed because she was kidding, right? Right? It couldn't happen again. It couldn't.]
Why the fuck are you here then? [It wasn't sharp, it wasn't cruel; it was the simple bluntness of an honest question that had no filter. He looked around, before down at himself, and back at her.] Like, what's the plan? Why are we just standing around? We should be going to get him.
[Because Tucker didn't want to do this again. He didn't want to just abandon everyone and go get his team - his family - back, but fuck he'd do it without a second thought. And sure, the guys weren't right here with them, but he'd just find them and they'd go, right? Right?!
He started towards the door of the tent, no plan, no visuals, no fucking armor, not his sword or guns, and it didn't matter. He'd figure it out. He always did before.] Come on, take me to the others and we'll-- [And he stopped for a second, looking at her.] The others are here right? Or are they over there, too?
no subject
following the botched mission at the cetagandan base where maine was forced to leave behind not only rani but york and wash, he's in a particularly nasty mood. he spends a straight 72 hours glowering unhappily at the edges of the encampment, flitting between restless pacing and lashing out at anyone who so much as casually glances in his direction. someone happens to look over his shoulder to peer curiously at some mysterious object just behind him? fuck off, he's too tall for that shit, shove your sightseeing up your ass and go around him. someone else is wandering over to innocently ask him a question? fuck off again, scratched into the dirt with a stick and underlined six times.
it's not until the new arrivals show up that maine goes back to the tent for the first time in days, no longer stalking menacingly through the camp but irritably dragging his feet, his body aching and worn. he steps inside just as a stranger, an outsider he doesn't recognize, is stepping out. they collide — maine stopping short the moment he sees him, and the outsider running face-first into his chest, hard enough that maine's honestly surprised when the impact doesn't send him reeling backwards.
he looks at him, at carolina, back down again. move. ]
no subject
I want to Tucker but these people... they won't even give me a damn knife! [ The fact that women shouldn't be in combat makes her angry. Her mother died fighting in the war. Tex, CT and South all died soldiers. And if they were born on this hopeless backwater they wouldn't have been given a chance to do what they did best. She reaches out to grab him too late when he starts to leave, only to watch as he crashes face first into Maine.
Goddammit. ]
...Tucker, this is Agent Maine. Maine, this is Tucker. [ This is not going to go well. ]
no subject
It wasn’t unusual for Tucker to get fired up; his mouth was often writing checks his ass couldn’t cash over everything from his status as a lover to the need to let someone else handle his work. But this was a new heightened level of bullshit because Carolina was sitting here just fine while the family was elsewhere, and now there was this…what the fuck was it? Because Tucker spun and smacked into his chest with a solid thunk hard enough to send him back a step. Not reeling, but a step.
And this wall-guy? Yeah, he wasn’t moving.
He narrowed his eyes as he looked up, up, up, at this blockade. Who the fuck was this big? He was practically the size of the Meta.
Behind him, he heard Carolina mention the name, Agent Maine, and he sharply looked over his shoulder. How the fuck—but wasn’t she and Wash the last of these assholes?!] Um, seriously? Like, seriously seriously? Another Freelancer, and you’re both here and not dragging Wash back to this safe camp by his extensive amount of baggage? Like, what the fuck?
[He dragged his eyes up to this guy; how the hell was he so big?] I’ll never understand you guys.
no subject
he barely reacts to the introduction, staring at carolina with an unvoiced so what? and closing both hands over tucker's biceps to lift him bodily from the ground, setting him down six inches to maine's right. that would've been it, just a quick hit and run before he moved further into the tent to crash on his bedroll, but apparently tucker's got a real bad case of running mouth and when he mentions wash's name, one-hundred percent of maine's exhausted brain reroutes his focus from sleep to who the fuck is this guy and what the fuck does he know about wash. ]
Tell this asshole Wash can take care of himself. [ is when he says, then, rough like sandpaper on top of sandpaper, a series of incomprehensible noises directed at carolina without looking at her, his eyes sharp on tucker's face. ]
(no subject)
I totally hope this is okay!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Sleeping tents!
[ Byerly, who has the vague look and relaxed posture of a man who is at least a little bit drunk, responds to that with a philosophical sigh and a little wave of his fingers. ]
Why do I go along with this. Well. I suppose the easy answer is because it's my home - but in the current weather, with the current situation, that doesn't seem wholly sufficient any longer, does it?
no subject
No offense, dude, but your home kind of sucks. [One of his hands waved back and forth, sweeping across the tent indicating the even lack of anything truly sustainable, let alone comfortable. It made him long for Blood Gulch, and that place was boring as shit and the food was...okay, so the food was about the same, but at least existent.
So, maybe Tucker was a bit rude, too, calling out this home, but he wasn't exactly one to censor himself. Ever. At all. And when things sucked, it was just better to address the stomping elephant in the room than to act like shit wasn't wrong.]
I mean, I don't think my balls are ever getting back to their normal not-shriveled size again from this fucking cold. The food is bad, there's a war, and I haven't seen one chick in anything less than sixteen layers of clothes. [Which, ha, funny coming from him when he mostly saw women in power armor, but whatever. Not talking about his world here.]
Like, okay, just hear me out: is there even a beach on this planet? Sun, sand, chicks playing volleyball? Anything like that?
no subject
Of course there's a beach. It's an entire planet, of course. The whole of Barrayar isn't covered by mountains. [ He gives a winsome little sigh - ] As a matter of fact, my own home District has some truly famed and beautiful beaches.
no subject
Of course, there was that one time where he told that guy that he was sleeping with his girlfriend. He seemed pretty mad about that truth.
Still, when this came about? That there's beaches, and not just beaches but beautiful beaches, Tucker suddenly understood that anger. Well, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.]
So let me get this straight. [And he sat up, brown eyes staring at this guy like he was insane. Maybe he was, which would be just his luck.] You have a home with "beautiful" beaches which probably have beautiful women in tiny bikinis- [unless they're nude beaches and then WTheF, dude] - and you're here? In nipple-knife cold? Why?
[Because he still didn't get it. At. All.]
no subject
[ But, regardless - ]
But yes, here I am, in spite of it all. Don't I strike you as a marvelous patriot? Quite the hero? Aren't you impressed?
no subject
What the fuck is a bathing gown?
[Please don't let it be what he was thinking, whole dresses that women wore to the beach, that women swam in, that women wrapped themselves in and apparently fucking drowned in?! How the hell could they topless-sunbathe in a goddamn dress? How could they slow-mo run into the water ala Baywatch in a dress? ]
Look, bikinis are the best reason to go to a beach! A dress has no place twenty miles close to one, unless it's totally just a ploy to give women mouth-to-mouth when they almost drown, and dude, even for me that's going too far. [There was a look of pity written on his face; above all else, this was the most horrific thing he had ever heard of his entire life, even more than when he was told he was pregnant. Pretty damn sad.]
Let me tell you, that is a reason to fight a war right there, to keep women out of bathing gowns.
[Impressed? Tucker wasn't exactly impressed of anyone who joined in a military; why should he be? That was Simmons' job, to get all moony-eyed over officers and ranks and people who kept chore charts. Tucker just showed up.]
Not really. I mean, anyone can be in a war; that doesn't make you a hero. Shit, they let Caboose in and gave him a gun, so standards aren't exactly high.
no subject
Oh, yes, terrible thing, that. So...do tell; what would you do to get to kiss a woman, then?
no subject
Hey, hey, hey, if you want to learn how to get chicks, you need to sign up for the lessons. I don't give out my advice for free unless you're a friend. Those are tried and true, time honored secrets, you know; in the wrong hands, an orgy of huge proportions could happen, and no one person -other than me- should have that kind of power.
[Unless you're his best friend-slash-teammate who was totally helpless with his horribly violent Freelancer lady, but whatever, dude, that didn't count. It's what people did for one another; they alone were allowed to have lessons from Professor Fuck. This guy who he never met before, who was here instead of down at beach, who was asking if he was a hero? Nope. He had to pay.]
Why, did you hear about one who wants me to make out with them?
[And sometimes, that payment came in knowledge of women who wouldn't mind kissing him.]
no subject
I'm afraid that I don't give out my information for free...unless you're a friend.
no subject
Tucker had learned his lesson once, and he wasn't about to fall for the same shit again. But, to be fair, he pretty much had this feeling since he arrived.]
Well, can't be friends without knowing your name. [He didn't hold out his hand, but he did tilt his head to the side a little, that same smirk playing at his lips.] Tucker. Or, you know, Chosen One, Best in Bed, Professor Fuck, or Ladykiller. Wait, scratch that last one; it makes me sound like a serial murderer.
[The curve of an eyebrow arched high.] And your name, dude?
no subject
Byerly Vlad Vorrutyer, at your service.
[ And then he straightens up again and asks, his voice perfectly ingenuous - ]
So your full name, then - You'll be...Dr. Tucker Fuck? I'm impressed - you seem young to have a doctorate already.
no subject
However, even Tucker couldn't keep the half-smile from his lips at that Dr. Tucker Fuck because yeah, that'd be cool, but his son's name would be Junior Fuck, and who the hell would name their kid something that devastatingly embarrassing? Even he had standards; those other classmates would rip him apart, until he physically actually ripped them apart back. Nope.]
Uh, no, dude; Professor Fuck is my teacher name. Tucker's my name. Lavernius Tucker. [At least someone was going to know it, looking at you, Church!] But you know how military works. [First names were pretty much for presenting the dead, so not really used between them.
Also, don't expect a fancy half-bow. He just nodded and looked around.] My doctorate is from an online class I made so I could charge more. Still super effective, though; teaches you how to bang everything from a crazy Freelancer chick to a nun.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)