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
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
It also has the advantage of making Maine actually look at her. ]
Maine, he's a... [ She doesn't want to say Sim Trooper. Sim troopers were a freelancer joke, the washouts who couldn't handle real service. Tucker is more than that at this point. ] He's a trainee Wash has been working with.
[ It's not technically a lie. ]
And Maine is right, Tucker. We might not have gone in for him yet but Wash can get himself out when he's ready.
I totally hope this is okay!
Do I look like furniture to you?! Dude, you can’t just—
[But Maine – yet another damn Freelancer - could. He fucking could because he was huge, and it was literally nothing to pick Tucker up and place him like he was a lamp during a redecorating stint. The Sim Trooper’s eyes widened because come the fuck on and he was too freaking shocked to kick and flail like he really, really wanted to.
And he was about to talk about how the only people allowed to manhandle him were hot chicks in leather – pay rates determined upon arrival – but then the fucker made that noise. That noise. That fucking noise and he had never heard anyone else make that same sound in his life. Sure, it sounded different outside of a fucking helmet, but—but—
Wash was put on the goddamn backburner; that was a fight that he was going to have later because Tucker was about ninety-eight percent sure that the person who just moved him like an inconvenient baby was the goddamn Meta. Carolina seemed just a-okay with this, and holy shit, he was dead, wasn’t he? He was dead or in a coma, probably the latter because after Junior when he was in one before he had fucked up dreams like this and this shit? This shit didn’t get any crazier.
Also, how the fuck did she understand him?! Those weren’t words!
Enjoy the wide-eyed half-confused, half-pissed-as-hell look he was shooting at you, Carolina. This asshole nearly killed them. He was the main reason Church – Alpha – wasn’t here. His best friend. His best fucking friend. He was still all sorts of standing after Tucker drove his sword into his goddamn chest on that snowy cliff and he was the scariest motherfucker just about ever, but hey, let’s just stand around and chat each other up like this was normal! Sure. Whatever. The weather was cold and the food was shit and the Meta was here.]
I’m dead, right? This is, like, Hell or something. Because this?! [And one of his arms waved at Maine because why be subtle?] This can’t be happening.
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no, maine, you can't slug this mouthy jackass across the face, even if he totally deserves it.
it wouldn't be the first time he's tested her authority, and if tucker's important enough to her that she feels the need to protect him, if he knows both her and wash, then obviously maine's missing out on some magical experience and he needs to know him a little better and more intimately, too. he'll even start with a handshake.
he's only half-listening to tucker — safely blockaded behind carolina — as he babbles on nonsensically, his eyes moving from her face to what he can see of tucker's dramatically flailing limbs. one and a half strides is all it'd take to put him past carolina and on top of this stranger she's chosen to safeguard, one and a half strides and a feinting duck to the right and bet you can't stop me, boss, bet i get my hands on him first.
then, just as suddenly as it came on, all that tension coiling through maine's shoulders and spine dissipates, and he looks away with a disinterested shrug. fine, whatever. she can have him. he's too tired to give a shit. ]
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That moment he finally decides it isn't worth the effort is a relief, though she doesn't relax just yet. It wouldn't be the first time he took advantage of her dropping her guard to get a hit in. ]
Get some rest, Maine. I'll make sure someone wakes you up for dinner.
[ And then she turns to her attention to Tucker, giving him a look that says "shut up" and grabs him by the shoulder. ]
You still need to see the camp, right Tucker? I'll show you around so we don't bother Maine. Come on. Let's go, now.
[ The iron grip on his shoulder as she steers him outside doesn't allow for much argument. She doesn't want to have this conversation with Maine right there to hear every bit of it. ]
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Shit, probably not.
Tucker blinked as he took her totally subtle hint, chiming in with a loud "Owowow" from that grip on his shoulder.] Goddammit, if you're going to manhandle the merchandise, at least let me pick a safeword first! [And sure, he might have been steered outside, but his eyes never left Maine while he was maneuvered, glaring and somehow stunned at the same time.
Him. It was really him. Fucking dick on a stick, that was--]
Maine?! Maine?! Seriously, Carolina? [He was yelling when they were outside, but he was walking fast, really fast, trying to put distance between himself and that goddamn mountain; tents weren't good enough.] That is the fucking Meta and you're acting like it's no big deal? What gives?!
[And Wash was in some enemy camp and his team was missing and Church was dead and he was left with Freelancerpalooza over here.]
Just answer me this: am I the one that's batshit insane or is it everyone else, because I can't tell anymore!
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Don't talk like you know him, Tucker! What you met back then... that was an empty shell wearing his face. I know the real Maine and that man in the tent is him!
[ It's still unbelievable, having her old friend back. She gave up on that idea a long time ago and accepted the reds and blues as her new family. Maine was the Meta's first victim, killed silently while no one else was the wiser. She hadn't noticed the change until it was too late. ]
I know you don't trust him but you could at least pretend like you trust me enough to know the difference between the monster who tried to kill me and one of the few people I trusted more than anything.
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But he wasn't. At least not in this immediate area. None of them were, and Wash was somewhere else, and Carolina wanted him to trust the Meta like everything was fine and nothing happened. Like shit was normal. Like it was okay.]
I trusted Church with my life, and he's dead. [Which one. Ha. Fuck.] And I'll give you one guess on whose fault that shit is.
[Well, it was combination, but--
And he couldn't help but look a little hurt, a little betrayed, a little alone in a sea of Shit That Didn't Make Sense. Fuck, he wished Epsilon was here. Hell, he wished Caboose was here, just something familiar because he wanted her to be it. He wanted her to be Home, but she didn't even know about the Staff, didn't know about the Mantises. She didn't know what he knew.]
Whatever. What-the-fuck-ever. [He couldn't. He couldn't fucking deal with having to accept the Meta. He couldn't deal with Chorus 2.0, couldn't deal with Churches multiple deaths laying out before him, the first one because of the Meta, the second to function his stupid armor. He couldn't.]
Try not to put a gun to the back of my head when I walk away this time, okay? [It was a low blow, snarky, bitchy, mean, but he couldn't help it; finally knowing what the face looked like under that helmet did it to him. Everything did it to him, and he just needed to go somewhere. Anywhere. Go breathe and try to find a way out of this shithole or find someone who could help him. Because there had to be someone who could, dammit. At least one person, and he turned to march off and find them.]