forbarrayar | [ february i log ]

Entry tags:

[ february i log ]

Who: Everyone
What: New arrivals, desperate times, whispers down the hall.
When: February 1st - 18th
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD

Quick links:
Barrayar: Barrayaran camp / Missions
Cetaganda: Cetagandan base / Missions

welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to in the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling -- in fact, it's dangerously cold, and all you have is the clothes on your back.. A steep mountain range towers just ahead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons. Whatever you last remember, it isn't how you got here, and you feel oddly jetlagged, slightly queasy.

And you're not alone. There are a few other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.
There's a war on, they say, and you unlucky bastards have just been dropped right smack in the middle of it.

barrayar
The cold snap hits the guerrilla camp hard, especially with a handful of new people to care for. On the 1st, a few people from Riverfall Village come to the camp, Village Speaker Yakiv Gura among them, who seems to have a rapport with Piotr. They bring extra supplies with them, such as clothing, heavy wool blankets and bedrolls, as well as extra firewood to help fend off the cold. The new outsiders are accommodated the best they can -- they're all provided bedrolls and any extra clothing they (probably) need -- but the Barrayarans don't have an extra tent to spare, so that means all twelve outsiders are force to share a tent that ordinarily sleeps ten. On the plus side, it should provide some warmth. The cold is

A young boy comes in tow of the villagers; Speaker Gura tells Piotr that the boy turned up a week ago and insisted on helping them with the supply haul, despite his small size. He's clearly Barrayaran, and looks as though he might have been living on hisown for a while. He doesn't speak mcuh, and when asked his name, will only give it as Negri -- first or last, no one's sure, but the boy doesn't seem easily fazed. Piotr tells the villagers he has no room in his camp for lost children, but somehow the day after the villagers leave, Negri turns up in camp again. He's curious, but quiet and unobtrusive, wherever he is in camp. He's a very good listener…even when you might not want him to be.

On the 3rd, the Barrayarans and outsiders awake to discover that the part of the cave where they've kept the majority of their food supply has collapsed, either blocking their access to the cache or destroying it entirely. It's impossible to tell. The villagers can't spare much more than they already have been -- certainly not enough to feed the hundred and fifty-odd soldiers in the camp -- so while they try to find out a way to recoup their food supply, they have no choice but to slaughter their own horses for food. Food will be heavily rationed, but fairly -- the outsiders receive no less than the rest. The prisoners, on the other hand, get nothing. There probably isn't enough wild game in the area to sustain the camp, but Piotr sends out hunting parties, and when they get wind of a Cetagandan supply drop on its way, they organize a raid on the supply lines.

camp
With temperatures well below freezing, no food, and excruciatingly little in the way of advantage against the Cetagandans after their last infiltration attempt, morale is beginning to drop. Piotr and Olivia remain bastions of perseverance as always, but Sonia is beginning to buckle and wilt as the days go on. The soldiers do their best to entertain themselves and keep morale up, but all they've got are maple mead, and old card and dice games. They could use some new forms of entertainment. Maybe a snowball fight might get the blood moving -- assuming you can stand the wind chill. Thankfully, there's no shortage of warm clothes and wool scarves.

The cave isn't big enough to simply move all of camp inside, but the sickbay and mess tents are moved where it's a little warmer and out of the harsh wind. It's generally crowded with off-duty soldiers despite the food shortage, because no one wants to be out in the cold right now. Things get a little better after the mostly successful raids, but food is still heavily rationed.

missions
The hunting parties are only moderately successful; there isn't much wild game out there right now, and while the soldiers fare alright, the outsiders' hunting party fails miserably. The raiding parties yield a little more in the way of relief, enough now that they don't have to keep eating horse meat, but Pearl was captured by enemy forces in the chaos.

Maine helps Piotr with a very successful final interrogation of ghem-Miko, the Cetagandan scientist taken prisoner last month. He reveals that the Cetagandans have been studying the locations where exotics appeared, as it seems to be linked to wormhole technology, and that the Cetagandans are planning on building a device to control it. They have the technology, they're almost sure, but it's a puzzle they haven't solved yet. Ghem-Miko doesn't live long past his interrogation -- public execution by decapitation is his sentence, and when it's done, a few soldiers carry off his body and severed head.

Piotr's interrogation of Duv Galeni goes about as well but, blessedly, less fatally. It becomes known that Duv is from Komarr, the planet that sold Barrayar out to the Cetagandans, and that Duv Galeni is really David Galen, a relative of a few Counselors in the head of Komarran government. However, he's able to successfully convince Piotr that he isn't allied with the Cetagandans, and after a few days of agony, Duv is granted parole at Piotr's discretion.

On the evening of the 15th, Maine, Beth and Byerly inadvertently catch Vorhalas in the act of trying to sabotage what little of their food supply they've been able to recoup. He tries both fight and flight, but the three outsiders are able to take him down and drag him to Piotr's doorstep. It quickly becomes apparent that Vorhalas was responsible for the cave-in earlier in the month. Piotr is both furious and victorious; he now has a lead on the traitor conspiracy among his men, and his esteem of Beth, Maine and Byerly has gone up considerably for their part. Vorhalas is up next in the interrogation chair, and this one won't be pretty.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

cetaganda
The recent supply drop not only provides resources for the base and for distribution to their other outposts, but also brings fresh species for transplant into the gardens at the Grow Labs. The arrival of a handful of new exotics gives rise to a fresh wave of buzzing curiosity around the base. All of the new exotics are given thorough physicals, just as the first wave were, and provided with fatigues and anything else they might need. They make an even dozen now, their bunk at capacity. The Cetagandans are beginning to become accustomed to having the exotics on base, some of them even forward enough with their curiosity to be friendly. Darkstalker now has a small following of ghem lady scientists who regularly feature him as a subject in their art.

New arrivals will be processed as the first were -- once everyone has been whisked out of the extreme cold, everyone is subject to a thorough physical, including a number of scans that may or may not seem totally arcane to you. Other than a blood sample, nothing they're doing is at all invasive. Lady Diya d'Zefyst, while not a physician, is present at all physicals. She is easily notable not only for her striking, almost ethereal beauty as is typical of the haut, but, as the only haut on base, she is easily distinguishable by her lack of facepaint.

While the exotics still have freedom of movement around the base, the recent extreme temperatures have their hosts diplomatically suggesting they travel as much as possible, they are provided cold weather wear, as the mess hall and medbay are in separate buildings from the barracks. Weather warning aside, they encourage the exotics to take advantage of the non-restricted recreational facilities -- exercise rooms, art rooms, the lush gardens in the Grow Labs -- and will satisfy any reasonable curiosities.

base
In an effort to make the exotics feel more at home, the Cetagandans decide to put on the sort of function they might for visiting diplomats, full of art of all sorts, to show that they're just as willing to share their culture with the exotics as they're asking the exotics to share with them. The function is hosted on the evening of the 7th in an annex to the Grow Labs apparently meant for this express purpose, as it shows off the most beautiful and elegant of the Grow Labs' specimens, and acts as a live arboretum in and of itself, and quite vibrantly beautiful.

If there's one thing the Cetagandans are good at (besides art, and language, and genetics) it's throwing a good party. Functions like this are always an opportunity for Cetagandans to try and socially one-up one another; everyone is in their most fashionable dress in the latest fashions they manage to keep off-planet, or at least a dress uniform, wearing fanciful scents and vibrant facepaint they might not otherwise on the job. For the artistically inclined ghem (read: a lot of them), this is the chance to show off their artistic endeavors as well -- large sculptures of unusual and improbable materials, walkable installations meant to engage every sense, and of course the living art engineered by the ghem ladies, ranging from relatively simple and tame pieces such as koi fish patterned with clan insignia or black roses and blue orchids, to complex combinations of non-human DNA to create some genetic sculpture. There is, of course, food and drink -- in the usual flagrant Cetagandan style, although the hors d'oeuvres and drinks are even more ecletic than the usual mess hall fare. It seems as though the Cetagandan passion for genetic art extends even into the culinary realm.

At the center of the party is a particular kind of art installation called a discernment garden. Housed in a beautiful, improbably architectural tent, the discernment garden consists of a series of rooms, each meant to test the refinement of the senses -- not unlike a varietal wine tasting. Each room is dedicated to a single sense, inviting participants to judge a collection of samples and suss out the differences, or match tastes and smells and textures to labels; the end of the garden presents its visitors with a final art piece incorporating all five senses, as a final test of one's refinement. Some of the ghem might (a bit wryly) confess that this is actually more of an education tool used for Cetagandan children, but this is meant as a gesture of good will toward the exotics.

missions
On the evenings of the 6th and the 8th, some of the exotics do a little sneaking around, and not for the first time. York lends Kaidan his access badge to the R&D Lab on the 6th and Kaidan, along with Sans and Symmetra, stumble onto a whole lot of wormhole data and schematics to construct a device capable of controlling the phenomena of the exotics' appearance. On the 8th, Deanna and Natasha sneak around to the tactical buildings and overhear some marital discord between Zahal and Diya, and a troubling glimpse at their diverging plans.

On the evening of the 13th, Jasper, York and Daryl are all in the medbay when a biocontainment breach sends it into automatic lockdown, trapping them inside. They overhear Diya arguing with one of her subordinates over unauthorized use of ba genetic material, whatever that is.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Piotr's mood has been on the darker side, and with good reason -- he's had a lot to be preoccupied with the weather and the food shortage, with the traitor business looming all the while. He's moved the center of his tactical operation to the cave, too, just so he can spend as much time with his inner circle of staff as possible. The food shortage has thrown his plans to disrupt the Cetagandan base's power supply off track, and now they have more immediate concerns to address.

He's usually near the back of the cave, where the tunnel narrows down enough that the average soldier would have to duck his head to go through, and so actually more accessible than usual, as opposed to being in the war tent much of the time. He'll almost always stop to listen to a mission debriefing or any other military issue brought to him. Anything else…well, try to catch him in a good mood. His mood lightens a little after their successful raids, but he is livid after Vorhalas's capture.

Edited 2017-02-03 01:43 (UTC)

For perhaps the first time that the exotics can remember, Zahal shows up in fatigues rather than the ornate robes he’d been seen about the compound previously. Serviceable, they seem almost weighed down by decorations and rank insignias. His hands are folded behind his back, and a small box rests on a small table next to the door as he surveys both exotics he’s agreed to take to this interrogation.

“Fast-penta will no doubt make this easier,” Zahal explains, a gesture at the restrained Barrayaran — his face impassive. “For if he is who I suspect he is, then we can expect some level of cooperation. Your job,” a nod to the both of them, “is to observe. If you have something to say then you may say it, but know that if it is disruptive to the interrogation you will be asked to leave. Questions about the process before we begin are, of course, welcome.”

But any significant delay will be met with expulsion, as evidenced by the coldness in his eyes.

Edited 2017-02-03 01:44 (UTC)

A woman. That alone is enough to catch Zahal’s interest — the Barrayarans do not let their women fight. So either she is an exception or, more likely, someone not from Barrayar at all. The setup he has is simple, a box with a bottle and a syringe on a small table a little bit away from where the woman is tied up. He doesn’t even bother attempting to imagine this without fast-penta. Therefore his back is turned away from her slightly, and he gestures to the items on the table while addressing the two exotics.

“Fast-penta is, in simplest terms, a drug that encourages truthfulness and is irristable. It also lets the mind wander, suspended in bliss, and therefore requires a firm hand and direct questions. I will lead the interrogation to begin with — if you feel as if you have an understanding of what is required, you may ask to attempt it yourself. Now, if there are any questions?”

Edited 2017-02-03 01:45 (UTC)

Sonia is usually quite the chipper princess, a small bastion of morale in hard and gritty world, but the weather and food shortage are wearing on her. Her interest in the outsiders isn't lessened at all, and she'll still approach them for conversation, especially the new ones, because she's deeply curious. But her smiles seem to take her more effort now; she's unaccustomed to the food rationing, and she's tired.

But that doesn't stop her from trying. For her, the outsiders have been a blessing, because she hasn't had people who aren't soldiers to make friends with in years. So sometimes she'll carry her old antique camera around, a bit diffidently asking to take pictures, but she spends much of her time in the cave where it's warmer. Although she looks a little tired and drawn, she's grateful for any conversation, because at least when she's talking, she's not thinking about how cold or hungry she is.

Edited 2017-02-03 01:46 (UTC)

The young boy is bundled in wool clothes and scarves and boots as warm as they can, but even under all that clothing it's not hard to tell he's on the thin side, his face a little gauntish in a way that suggests he must have been on his own for some time. Where, exactly, he's staying isn't clear -- he always seems to find someplace to hole up at night, whether it worming his way into one of the soldier's tents or curling up inside the cave. Sonia eventually insists that he sleep in her tent along with her armsmen.

He's always around, but he isn't the most social child. He'll respond to anyone addressing him, he just doesn't seem to say much. He seems to prefer to hang back and listen…a lot. In fact, turn a corner and you might find him listening in just now.

a. medbay
The exotics brought to the medbay are taken one by one into an examination room – for a full physical examination, of course, and evidently what the Cetagandan medical personnel consider a 'full' exam is very thorough indeed. Vitals, tests of hearing, vision and reflexes, full-body scans, blood drawn for analysis by the labs – the works. Aside from the blood sample, the tests and scans are entirely non-invasive. These are conducted by the Chief Medical Officer, ghem-Colonel Naru, and a small team of med techs for assistance.

The ghem physicians aren't the only ones in the room, however. The woman in a lab coat is of preternatural beauty, far beyond even the aesthetically cultivated ghem appearance – and she is clearly not ghem, her face free of paint unlike everyone else on the base. She is radiant even in her reserved expression, looking more like some sculpture come to life than a person, almost uncannily so when she isn't moving. Her sleek black hair is long – at least floor-length, judging by the elaborate style it's done up in. It seems the sort of style that ought to be adorned with colorful, decorative combs, but despite her striking beauty, she has an overall air of austerity to her.

She is clearly not a physician, but appears to be supervising the medical examination of each exotic. When she speaks, her voice is just as uncannily beautiful as the rest of her, though she mostly speaks only in low tones to the med techs at first, murmuring vague commentary. From time to time she will address the exotics with questions about their origins or physiology, some of them rather invasive by some people's standards. Although the overall mood in the room is quite clinical, she is nothing less than civil.

b. party
The Lady Diya makes an appearance at the party, although it's anyone's guess on how much she's enjoying it. She does radiate a slight warmth, a good will toward the exotics, and though her face is usually impassive, tonight there'll be a hint of a smile here and there.

In contrast to her usual austerity, Diya has foregone the lab coat and uniform and now wears layers of fine robes in a cascade of colors ranging from the innermost deep, blushing pink to the outer layer of white reserved only for the haut. The fabric of her outermost robe has an iridescent sheen to it, and her long hair is done up in an elaborate sculpture of braids decorated with combs and a flower bloom tucked behind one ear that stays in place so well it was probably bred for that express purpose. Although she's always been a little reclusive as is typical of the haut, she does actually socialize -- mostly with the ghem ladies she works with, but the military medical staff as well, and, of course, the exotics. Curiously, she and Zahal are only seen together intermittently at the party.

Edited 2017-02-03 01:47 (UTC)

You set off with your squad before dusk, hiking down the mountain, hoping to catch the Cetagandan supply line headed for Vorkosigan Vashnoi. As soon as the IEDs go off and blow open a few groundtrucks, the chaos has started -- now's the time to move.

On the evening of the 15th, when the guard shift changes and Maine goes to his post at the mouth of the cave, he'll find the previous guard unconscious just inside, mostly out of sight. Beth and Byerly are nearby -- perhaps an investigation is in order.

[ I'll be NPC tagging this thread with Vorhalas as a heads up! ]

It's the final day of ghem-Miko's interrogation -- at least, it's definitely not the first. The tent protects from the icy winds, but it's still mercilessly cold inside the tent, and the prisoners haven't been getting any of their extremely scarce rations. Ghem-Miko himself is a mess -- his Cetagandan science officer's uniform is torn and stained with blood and dirt, and only traces of his facepaint remain smeared across his face. He looks like hell, but Piotr looks unfazed as he gestures Maine into the tent.

"Since you're so curious about the -- what's that charming word you used -- exotics," Piotr drawls, his voice more vicious than dry, "then here's one for you to interact with, although I don't know how much scientific appreciation you'll get out of it. Doctor ghem-Miko, let me introduce you to Maine."

It's the final day of ghem-Miko's interrogation -- at least, it's definitely not the first. The tent protects from the icy winds, but it's still mercilessly cold inside the tent, and the prisoners haven't been getting any of their extremely scarce rations. And Duv isn't getting much better treatment than the Cetagandan -- he's Komarran, and that's the next worst thing. Duv is tied to what must have been a chair at some point, hands bound behind him, ankles bound to its legs, and it's clear he's already been through the wringer a few times. His tenacity, Piotr will admit, is notable.

Piotr's allowed Byerly to sit in on this interrogation, but if that fop starts spouting nonsense, Piotr will happily kick him out -- or satisfy a temptation and tie him to that damn chair.

It's night, and it'd be quiet if it weren't for the howling winds. If you're leaving the barracks building, you'd better bundle up, even if it's just for a short trip -- it's bitingly cold outside. None of you have a particularly difficult time getting past the night patrol, and once you're in...well, you'll see what you can see.

It's evening, but it's not late when you're in the medbay -- for whatever reason -- but it's evidently a slow hour, as you wait for a doctor or med tech to show up near the front. But before anyone does, an alarm suddenly goes off, and the medbay's main doors seal shut with a hiss behind you -- and oh, look at that, somebody seems to have left the door to the main laboratory area open.

Oh, Byerly has excuses for why he's in this interrogation, if anyone asks. I'm related to old Pierre Le Sanguinaire, don't you know, so I suppose dear Piotr Pierre fancies I might be like his grandfather. Or, taking notes, don't you know. What, don't you pucker up for the leadership of the camp? He has a few reasons he keeps telling himself, too, reasons why he keeps reassuring himself that this is a good idea: that he knows of Duv Galeni and will be able to tell whether the erstwhile head of Komarran Affairs has reverted to type and started fighting for the subjugation of Barrayar; that having witnessed torture will be a good excuse for cutting and running once he convinces someone that he can actually spy on the Cetagandans.

Truthfully, deep down - Well. Deep down, he's here because it seems...necessary. Wise. In case Vorkosigan decides to cut Galeni's throat. In case...In case Miles decides to come in here and take the blade-stroke meant for his friend, from some deep guilt over what's happened. Because of course Byerly simply couldn't stand losing his lone ally in camp, and he also couldn't stand making a Koudelka girl cry - imagine! Poor Delia. Even the thought of how fetching she'd look in a widow's dove-gray isn't enough to make him relish the thought of Galeni's death.

For once, By doesn't have anything to say, any smart comments. His face is a little drawn, and his eyes flicker over the bound man - and then he just waits, silently, for Vorkosigan to begin.

Edited 2017-02-03 02:29 (UTC)

Oh, it's not as though he thinks women are naturally nurturing or anything imbecilic like that. How foolish. But Byerly does know Sonia's type, and he does know Sonia, and so his prediction is very firmly that she will thoroughly benefit from having something to worry over. And he, meanwhile, will certainly benefit from being worried over; it will do his heart quite a bit of good.

And so one day, he positions himself not far from her path, clutching at his bandaged and gloved hand and sighing mournfully.

RATIONING & WORRYING

[ Hell. Things have gone wrong way too fucking quickly. First and foremost on Miles' mind is Duv, of course. He'd tried his damndest with the not-so-old man, to grant Duv some sort of clemency, but whatever impression he'd managed to have, it's not enough to save the man from a Barrayaran interrogation session. Dammit. Duv might have been better off with the elements after all. At least the icy chill won't torture him before straight up murdering him ...

And Rani. How are the Cetagandans treating her? Can he even get in to rescue her? He swore to her, dammit, and letting Cetaganda keep her prisoner is not part of that oath. He's got to find a way to pull her out. Preferably a big, violent way of doing it. The bigger and burlier the better.

He's manic little presence in the camp up through the raid, alternating between pacing like a madman and offering help to do just about anything he's permitted to do. Which includes quietly easing off his own rations when supplies dwindle. He needs less, after all, and there are others here who need more. ]

HORSES

[ Despite everything, Miles has found himself a home at the stables, courtesy of his help around the camp and his obvious expertise. He's out there most days, offering to teach anyone else who's earned access to them. From the top of this particular monster, his stunted height is hardly even noticeable. ]

Come on. I'll show you the ropes. [ He says with a flashing grin. ] It's not hard once you get used to it.

POST-RAID

[ And then, finally, he gets what he really wanted: command. Minor command, given that outsiders are more or less a team unto themselves, but the opportunity to lead a raid against Cetaganda. He'd thrown himself into it a little too har.d Which is why he drags himself into camp afterwards, bleeding from a piece of shrapnel that just barely missed gouging out an eye. One of his arms is clutched awkwardly to his side as well. Broken, sprained, or just badly burned, he's not entirely sure. And while he's grateful he managed not to have a seizure on the raid itself ... after all that stress, it must be imminent.

But he brought back more of their food, dammit. Has a good portion of it tucked under one arm, which he dumps right in the center of camp as soon as he manages to stumble back in. He blinks down at his ill-gotten gains, his vision wavering for a moment. ]

Ah ... which direction was the medical tent again?

The question about taking her picture gives Carolina a surprise, it isn't something she was expecting. The last time anyone took her picture out of armor was... well, it was a long time ago. Long before she started calling herself Carolina. She smiles and nods her assent to Sonia. The girl has no peers in camp, that has to be lonely and she's not about to burn a bridge by being rude to a princess. Not intentionally, anyways.

"If you'd like, I don't mind." She says, straightening up. "Could I take a picture of you, too?" She knows first-hand how often the person behind the camera forgets to get records of themselves. It was the reason why she grew up in a home filled with pictures of her mother and not a single one of her father. Someday someone might want to see what Sonia looked like at this age.

Here it is. Actual responsibility, however minor. Okay so maybe they're more of a team, but Miles is the only Barrayaran in this particular squad, which puts him in charge. Or so he's going to insist.

Nevermind that he's so short that the sword he'd been issued had proved to be impossible. He'd had to request a dagger instead - equally sharp, and he knows how to use it - but much shorter. Goddammit. That had been fucking mortifying ...

He eyes his squadmate with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. He is looking forward to this, at least. "Ready to go blow some shit up?"

In contrast to when they had taken her captive, she's quiet, now, no insults, there isn't a need for the distraction, rather - her focus is ramrod along the length of her spine, her hands trying idly for the restraints in the simplest that she has to try, she would always try. She was incapable of anything less. Every inch of her something that comes with her rank, he wouldn't see her cower, not him - not the other man that she knew so briefly. It figures, of course, it would be him here, and - a creature she only knows as a monster from legends, but she fights them, doesn't she? A rapid take in of her position. Neither of them would be easy to take down.

But most of her is devoted to what he is saying - he is going to give her something? That ought to be nothing. But the already few days without Blackwater are beginning to get to her. She can feel it, weakening steadily inside of her. Not seen herself, but she knows from what she had seen of Galahad, that she would be starting to grey at the temples, the crows lines at the edge of her eyes starting to deepen. She did not have his centuries, true, but it did not matter to the price of the blackwater, did it? Their great price for a burden none of them wanted.

It would circumvent it, here, now, one sip and it wouldn't matter what they gave her, her body would heal her of it. But they've stripped her of anything remotely useful. She needs to find it, but first she needs to fight whatever he plans to do to her. To her last, always to her last.

( Even as her mind tells her in growing dread, that there is no fighting this - whatever this is. Thinks of the opium-addled in their dens, sprawled and sickly like wounded animals in heavy breaths through straining ribs and glazed eyes. No, no, not that, not that, she cannot, she will not ever be that. )

Five minutes prior, Sans was settled into his usual routine. Nestled in his bunk, he occupied that infuriatingly comfortable place between sleeping and waking. The perfect time to absently plan his day. He would get up around what Sans liked to call a creative temporal interpretation of bright and early, grab some breakfast rations, and finish up some navigation calculations just in time for a midday nap.

Sure, the rest of the crew would’ve been up at least five hours earlier and would remain up well after he hit the hay, but this was space. Time was -- literally, blessedly -- relative.

Unfortunately, five minutes can’t last forever. Pillows gave way to snowdrifts, blankets were replaced by freezing wind, and sleep was now very much out of the question.

Especially since, defying all logic and sense, Sans feels cold.

Skeletons weren’t exactly immune to temperature changes. He could feel stiffness in his joints when the temperature dipped below freezing, but the discomfort was hardly debilitating. Quite simply: no skin, no problem. It was that sort of natural defense against cold that made Sans and his brother fit right in among the fuzzy monsters of Snowdin, who carried their winter coats with them everywhere. Just his luck the universe would decide to rewrite the rules. Again.

His body feels overwarm and tender all at the same time, motions sluggish. For a few seconds, Sans can’t see anything at all. A few seconds more, and the snowblindness fades to reveal a clearing of snow and fallen branches, surrounded by woods.

Above, a boundless sky. Definitely not Snowdin.

For the first time in his life, Sans wishes he had a thicker coat. What he gets instead is a row of strange soldiers advancing towards him. To say nothing of the jarring realization that his hands, still forcing his jacket tight around him, were covered in flesh.

Welp.

A. FEBRUARY 1ST ► THIS SUCKS (FOR CETA NEWBIES!)

The only thing worse than arriving in the middle of nowhere with no warning in a body that isn’t yours? Being forced to march that body through darkness and snow towards an uncertain future.

Okay, maybe there were a few things worse than that, but Sans wasn’t in a particularly charitable mood.

One fact, novel enough to distract him from the pain in his (fleshy!) thighs and sting of the cold against his (meaty?) hands, was that he wasn’t alone in this. Several other people were being marched alongside them, picked up along the way like stray pebbles on an incredibly alarming beach.

Leaning slightly towards one, Sans raises a brow bone.

Scratch that. An eyebrow. Yeesh, this was going to take some getting used to.

“You here for the timeshare presentation, too?”

B. FEBRUARY 1ST ► BLOODY NOSE (OTA!)

It wasn’t the disquieting thoroughness of the ghem that left Sans feeling profoundly unsettled in the wake of his physical examination. When compared to the spike of anxiety and confusion in Sans’ gut whenever he glimpsed his skin (or nails or hair), the prying curiosity of the Cetagandans was downright pleasant. A peaceful reprieve from dysphoric dread.

Left to his own devices in the wake of the physical, Sans walks down one of the beautifully appointed corridors with his sockets fixed firmly at the floor. With the level of polish afforded nearly every surface, it was the only thing he could be confident wouldn’t show a reflection -- well, not a clear reflection.

It’s only a matter of time before preoccupation (also known as an unexpected wall) gets the better of him.

“Nice.” He deadpans to himself, rubbing at his sore nose. A pointed aversion to looking at his hands means he doesn’t notice when it comes away bloody. “A+ work.”

His aimless walk resumes, now sporting a fresh bloody nose. By the time he arrives in the exotic barracks, a sizable stain has spread out from the collar of his t-shirt down. Sans doesn’t appear to notice, catching the attention of whoever is closest.

“This where the fresh meat sleeps?”

C. WILDCARD

(( ooc: if you would like a personalized starter, let me know and i will write one out! ))

Edited 2017-02-03 04:46 (UTC)

Having blood drawn, chest examined, physicality assessed -- all of it was a little much for a guy who up to very recently had every 206 pieces of his anatomy memorized. It would have been disorienting enough on his own, numbly following instructions as he tried to piece together what was happening to him, but the inclusion of an eerie audience was a real cherry on this particular shit sundae.

"Ever thought about taking a picture?" He asks, good humor disguising malcontent. "I heard a rumor they last longer."

Edited 2017-02-03 04:38 (UTC)

[ Carolina eyes the horses with clear distrust. She's used to vehicles with AIs on board but they generally had safety protocols. Friendly fire limiters and the like. They also don't produce manure which is not a selling point. She'd give anything for something with an engine. Miles enthusiasm isn't doing much to reassure her because no one that happy is to be trusted. She learned that from drill sergeants pretty early into her time in the UNSC. ]

I'm not sure I believe that but I'll take all the help I can get.

Duv wishes he could say this wasn't an experience he had all-too-recently. At least he can say the emotional damage is far less, the only pain he feels here is physical though the flashes of when his father oversaw his last dance with torture bleed over at times. Bleeding along with other parts of him. The sins of his forefathers hounding him once more and Duv wonders if he'll ever truly be able to escape it. The light had to be somewhere or so he believed. He's survived too much to let this be the final nail in the coffin.

Experience and Imperial Security training have him holding whatever shreds of dignity he can. The break between sessions has been short and he barely feels as if he's caught his breath when he hears the pair enter. The howl of the wind had been comforting compared to the sound of footsteps closing in. It hurts to move his head, but he refuses to let this go by without staring his captor in the eyes. If he weren't bound to a chair and being tortured by the man, he'd be fascinated at meeting Piotr Vorkosigan. Somewhere in the beating, his historical curiosity left him.

The other man is new, more than likely a Vor though he can't quite place him at a glance. An audience for what is to happen next? He's not here to bring Duv food or comfort, he knows that much.

"Well?" he manages to ask, voice quavering despite his attempts to keep it steady.

"For the what," rasps a voice from approximately three feet up. Jasper's numerous identical teeth are gritted and her huge arms are folded as she trudges through the snow. Her low-cut, sleeveless uniform is not suited to the weather in the slightest – honestly it's more decorative than anything else, and she realised a while back that she can't change it. Good thing she's too overwhelmed by the cold to do anything but march like she's been told to, because otherwise she might be yelling and throwing things. Or people. Some of these people would probably be pretty easy to throw.

Prisoners’ Tent

Not for the first time in his life, he finds himself losing track of time. It would be easy to blame Miles for this, and a small part of him does, but he knew this would happen if he was captured even with Miles acting as an escort of sorts. His accent would be picked up and spending any amount of time with Cetagandans made him even more suspect. The fact that he’s still breathing is what surprises him though he supposes without fast penta available they’d want to be sure they twisted as much information out of his battered body as they could.

The tent doesn’t offer as much protection against the cold as he would like and the longer he remains bound to a chair, the stiffer he feels. Hunger pangs have added to the aches and stings of pain that accompany any movement he makes and he wonders if that’s part of their attempt to gather information from him or a sign they’re running low on food. His mind stays preoccupied by running through what he does remember of this particular moment in time of Barrayar’s history – military tactics, equipment held, the difficulties faced by the Barrayarans forcing off an invader and the imposed civilization the Cetagandans wished to bring. It’s enough to distract him at times.

While it hurts to move, anyone visiting in the precious moments he has between interrogations will be met with questioning eyes, still burning bright despite his injuries. If there’s one thing he’s gotten good at, it’s surviving.

Post-Interrogation – Around Camp

The fact that he’s walking around the Barrayaran camp amazes him and he can be seen in the days following his interrogation to be examining everything in a daze. He’s alive, battered, but at least able to recover instead of being left to rot. It had been made clear this was a parole of sorts and he was to make himself useful under the watchful gaze of the soldiers here, Barrayarans who were already eying him as a pariah. That he’s used to, being Komarran on Barrayaran even decades later had its challenges although he will be happy to say they haven’t involved torture.

His first act of freedom is a visit to the bath tent and once he’s done there, he looks a world better. Now clean of filth and with basic care given to his wounds, he can be found resting in the outsider’s tent and enjoying the luxury that is laying down somewhat peacefully. The noise of the camp is enough to lull him close to sleep at times and he lets his body rest when possible.

Once feeling more able, he spends time at the stables. Horses were a foreign concept on his own planet and his time on Barrayar hadn’t brought him this close to one. The way he eyes the animals, it’s almost as if he suspects one will rear up and clobber him.

“They ride these into combat?” he grumbles more to himself than anyone else. He knew of their uses in his studies, but beyond the raid done on the Cetagandan camp that had landed him here, his practical experience is limited. Perhaps he’ll have the chance to see them properly used in combat before long. Hopefully without him on the back of one.

Wild Card

[ Feel free to throw something at me or hit me up at

topsecretgirly if you want to hash something out! ]

For the barest of moments, Sans thinks it might be the Jasper aboard the same smallcraft ship he was jolted from. It takes him a second of pause, filtering out the distractions and reading her face. No immediate groaning, no half hearted swat in his direction, no recollection at all.

Not that it was anything new; if anything, the second chance at a terrible first impression was downright comforting in a sea of so much unfamiliar.

"Timeshare, like I said."

Edited 2017-02-03 06:40 (UTC)

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Page 1 of 102

[ february i log ]

[BARRAYAR] Piotr Vorkosigan (NPC)

[ CETA ] Interrogation: Lieutenant Vortala

[ CETA ] Interrogation: Lakshmi Bai

[BARRAYAR] Sonia Vorbarra (NPC)

[BARRAYAR] Negri (NPC)

[CETAGANDA] Lady Diya d'Zefyst (NPC)

[BARRAYAR] MISSION: RAIDING PARTY

[BARRAYAR] MISSION: MYSTERY PLOT

[BARRAYAR] INTERROGATION: GHEM-MIKO

[BARRAYAR] INTERROGATION: DUV GALENI

[CETAGANDA] MISSION: EAVESDROPPING

[CETAGANDA] MISSION: MYSTERY PLOT

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[BARRAYAR] CAMP + Various (OTA)

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Sans | Cetaganda | Feb 1st (OTA)

A!

horses

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A

[BARRAYAR] Duv Galeni -- OTA

no subject