barrayarmods: (Default)
For Barrayar mods ([personal profile] barrayarmods) wrote in [community profile] forbarrayar2017-02-18 03:21 pm

[ february ii log ]

Who: Everyone
What: Traitors exposed, celebrations had, sleight hands passing cards under the table. And so begin the preparations for what is soon to come.
When: February 18th - 28th
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: Torture (interrogations thread)

Quick links:
Riverfall
Barrayar: Barrayaran camp / Party / Missions
Cetaganda: Cetagandan base / Moon-poetry party / Missions


The harsh weather rages on, which temperatures still averaging far below freezing, and the wind is still strong. But things are a little less dire for the outsiders, and for the exotics -- well, they have their own chills to deal with.

riverfall
Riverfall village is your typical Dendarii mountain village, which means it's small, humble, and mostly poor. This is the most rural of the rural around here, a little backwater even by Barrayaran standards. Most of the villagers live in houses of wood and stone built themselves or by ancestors. Despite the cold, there are plenty of people outside at any given time -- working, mostly, because the daily grind stops for no one, but even the occasional group of children taken over by fits of cabin fever. The village is built up against a rocky mountain face, from the top of which the eponymous waterfall flows into the river that borders the west edge of the village and continues down the mountain. The place isn't exactly hidden, but if you don't know your way around, it'd be hard to find without a native guide.

The villagers are wary of the outsiders at first, even more than the soldiers had been -- the rural Dendarii are as superstitious as they come -- but, slowly convinced of their good intentions, start to warm to them. They're a blunt, hardy people, largely uneducated and tending toward the most extreme of Barrayaran sensibilities, but they are undeniably fierce. The General Count trusts them, so they'll be more or less civil (by Barrayaran standards, anyway), but you might catch the occasional scrutinizing, watchful stare. With Cetagandans in camp and exotics among them, they border on hostile, especially those who are visibly nonhuman. They keep their heads down enough to keep from getting into trouble with the soldiers, but they do not like you at all.

Not everyone in Riverfall speaks English -- Russian is everyone's first language, and only about half the village has any passable command of English. Thankfully, the village's Speaker Yakiv Gura speaks English, if heavily accented. They're clearly stretching to the limit to help the camp, but to the Dendarii, there's no higher act than one in the Count's service, especially when it comes to fighting this war.

barrayar
Even after scoring themselves a little extra food, morale in the camp is at an all-time low. The miserably dangerous weather hasn't let up, food is still heavily rationed, and everyone is still at least a little tired, cold, and hungry all of the time. It doesn't help that they've lost a few soldiers in the last couple of weeks, and in Riverfall, too, some villagers have died of the cold despite their relative warmth and safety, mostly children. This is hardly the first harsh winter they've faced, but that doesn't stop the inexorable loss that comes with it. Some villagers may be somberly putting their loved ones to rest in the village graveyard when the outsiders are in town.

But Piotr finally calls Negri out as a spy sent by his aide-de-camp Captain Ezar Vorbarra, partly to deliver a message and partly to test Piotr, because Ezar loves coy bullshit. However, he does learn that both Ezar and Prince Xav Vorbarra, Olivia and Sonia's father, are en route to Vorkosigan's District with relief supplies from Beta Colony secured by Xav's ambassadorial connections and tireless lobbying. Once Piotr judges it safe to release this information, it bring with it a bit of hope -- and to seal the deal, Piotr and Olivia arrange a celebration of sorts in the village.

Finally outing the ring of reason in the camp helps to bolster morale, too. Vorhalas is interrogated, and the names of his co-conspirators are revealed: Lieutenant Boris Vortala, who killed himself in disgrace shortly after his fast-penta interrogation at ghem-General Zefyst's hand, and their commander Captain Aaron Vorbataille. Vorbataille has, of course, already started to make his escape -- but with the help out of the outsiders, he won't get very far. Once Piotr is satisfied with Vorbataille's interrogation as well, both men are put to execution, but not by beheading as Doctor ghem-Miko: the sentence for treason is death by public starvation and exposure, and in this weather, it doesn't take long. They are publicly and emphatically denounced as traitors with no honor to speak of, sending a very clear message. Although this might seem like a gruesome sight to the outsiders, to the Barrayarans this is simply how it goes, and very few of them are sorry to see these traitors suffer, particularly as Vorhalas was the one responsible for their food shortage in the first place.

Reports from those soldiers and outsiders who were in the village at the same time as the Cetagandan field science team present the General Count with another troubling problem, however: the implications of the Cetagandans building a device that could control this phenomenon are terrifying, particularly to this threadbare resistance movement. But sabotage seems hardly a worthy solution, either. This is the only lead they have on sending the outsiders home, and so many of them have already put their lives on the line for the cause of a planet that otherwise nothing to most of them. There would be no honor in robbing them of their only chance to return home. But whether they should continue to allow the Cetagandans to proceed with their research or try to find a way to copy their plans themselves, a dubiously possible venture at best, weighs heavily on his mind. It only complicates his strategic concerns further, but by his military orders in the next couple of weeks, at least one thing is clear: he wants Cetagandan bodies.

camp
Morale is critically low among the soldiers, particularly after a few casualties during a recent skirmish with a Cetagandan patrol, but spirits definitely begin to lift with news of relief. The soldiers are now more or less accustomed to the outsiders' place in the camp, and they're even starting to become a little friendlier toward them, particularly those who've been involved in the war effort. They might invite outsiders to play card or dice games with them, or share a conversation over an admittedly meager meal, or better still, bond with them in the true Barrarayan form: over a lot of alcohol.

Negri has more or less built himself a niche in the camp, and doesn't look like he's going anywhere any time soon. But he isn't the only spy around. They desperately need a man on the inside, particularly with the troubling news about the wormhole device, and right now, that man is Byerly Vorrutyer. Starting next month, Piotr is sending him on assignment to infiltrate the Cetagandan base under the cover of a cowardly collaborator.

party
By the time they have the party on the 21st, the villagers have warmed up to the outsiders a little, but they don't really bond until the party. With what little they have to share, they scrape together as much of a feast as they can: not much, but by this month's standards, any hot meal prepared with fresh ingredients seems absolutely decadent. And because this is Barrayar there is, of course, plenty of liquor, that Barrayaran moonshine maple mead not the least among them, and there's no shortage of wine or vodka, either.

The hillfolk light lanterns all around the village and raise large tarps to cover the open center of the village where they usually hold gatherings. Inside, protected from the wind and lit by the bonfire and braziers placed around the perimeter, it's actually almost warm. Every villager who's ever laid hand to an instrument seems to gather there to play music all night long, an energetic mix of lively folk music and raucous drinking songs. Anyone with any musical talent would be welcome to join them as well. There's plenty of dancing, too, very little of it formal or complicated, but everyone's having a good time for the first time in weeks, maybe months, and the mood is infectious. By the end of the night, morale seems to have risen overall, and people in camp have something real to look forward to. The partygoing visitors are put up in warmed tents within the tarped village center or in the villagers' homes where they have room. Come morning, they'll head back, but for just one night, it's almost like there isn't even a war on.

missions
Outsiders have been assisting with moving supplies between the camp and Riverfall all throught he rest of the month, and it mostly goes smoothly. Vorbataille is caught on the 20th, although he and Vorhalas aren't publicly executed until a few days later, when Piotr is satisfied with the intelligence he's extracted. By the time he gets Vorbataille's name out of Vorhalas, the traitorous Captain has already fled -- but thanks to Carolina, Duv and Zarya, he's dragged back to camp for his interrogation.

That evening, Maine and William have the misfortune of encountering a dragon -- Darkstalker is on a mission with a Cetagandan patrol, and they run right smack into each other. A fight breaks out, but ultimately Darkstalker and the Cetagandans come out on top, and the outsiders and Barrayarans are forced to retreat -- but not before managing to kill a Cetagandan soldier or two, just barely escaping with one of the bodies.

Miles finds himself in a terrible position when a guard patrol shift goes horribly wrong in a skirmish against some Cetagandans, resulting in the death of their squad leader and a very ugly aftermath.

Zarya, William, Beth and Miles are in Riverfall with some Barrayaran soldiers on a supply run when a Cetagandan field science team arrives with a few exotics in tow. This is a rare chance to learn more about the Cetagandans' scientific exploits, and among other things, they find out that whatever it is that brought them here, the Cetagandan scientists are convincede it has something to do with the wormhole that collapsed 700 years ago.

The unabridged mission writeup is here.

cetaganda
The Cetagandans are a notoriously tight-lipped bunch, but they're blowing away most of the smoke surrounding their wormhole science research. As has been alluded, they're currently working on a device to harness the phenomenon that brought all the exotics here in the first place, and hopefully find a way to send them all home with it. They invite any exotics with scientific expertise to a series of interviews about neurology, astrophysics, and mechanical engineering. None of the advisement they receive helps to solve one of their most critical problems -- that of generating a Necklin field to match the one that must have surrounded each exotic -- but it certainly puts them closer to their goal, particularly in the area of neurology, and they're hardly going to stop there. But it's clear that the mathematicians and astrophysicists on base don't have sufficient expertise to solve the most complex equations before them. But on the brighter side of things, in the interest of this scientific exchange, they're letting the lab techs help a little more beyond just grunt work.

Meanwhile, the genetics project that seems so strange and arcane to the exotic carries on, largely behind the scenes, although Diya is increasingly at odds with her husband and even some of her senior staff, particularly the precocious Amai ghem-Soren. But there is very real purpose behind it -- and far more than just one -- and Diya d'Zefyst is a woman of great ambition. And more than anything else, she is haut.

Unfortunately, the relative peace on base is abruptly broken when Daryl, Lakshmi and Wash all manage to escape in a wild breakout attempt on the 25th. York and Ratchet are left behind, and as a result, some of their privileges revoked. They're now being watched a little more closely as a result.

base
Overall, despite simmering tensions under the surface and the miserable weather, life on base seems to be going more or less smoothly around them. The Cetagandans have had some recent victories against the Barrayarans, so morale is high. Unfortunately, after the breakout they begin cracking down on security with the exotics -- going back to treating the exotics a little more like they did when they first arrived. They aren't under guard, but after the 25th, they are being watched.

They still maintain that insistent veneer of civility, however, breaking only in cases where they feel the need or security risk is significant enough. The ghem on base remain overall cordial and courteous to the exotics as they ever were, which is to say considerably and always with a touch of smug superiority. With her success at the party earlier this month followed by her performance in the moon-poetry garden, the often-sequestered Amai ghem-Soren is seen more around the base.

moon-poetry party
The moon-poetry party is about three hours long and steeped in ceremony, each participant taking their turn to recite. This is, apparently, not a recitation of one's own work, but rather selections of classical Cetagandan poems, and in so referencing something culturally ubiquitous, each makes a statement in its mere selection and juxtapositions. If you pay close enough attention, you might notice that each participant has very subtly coordinated their outfits to further complement the theme of their recitation. Although there is a definite dignity to the party, it doesn't take much to pick up on the fact that this is yet another arena ghem use to try and socially one-up one another. Among the participants are both the Chief Medical Officer Colonel Faro ghem-Naru and Doctor Amai ghem-Soren, whose performance was especially well-received, the theme apparently being something about subtle passions.

missions
The science interviews with the exotics go more or less well, although not quite so hopeful as the Cetagandans were hoping. They do, however, learn some things about FTL travel in other worlds as well as other kinds of neural implants.

On the evening of the 21st, York, Natasha and Kaidan accidentally bear witness to what is clearly some kind of travesty: clearly a human being, but both overgrown and underdeveloped, and exhibiting powers of hydrokinesis and psychic empathy, referred to only as a ba.

On the 23rd, Jasper, Lapis, Pearl and Darkstalker accompany some soldiers and a field science team to Riverfall village, coinciding with a visit from some outsiders and soldiers. They encounter some outsiders while there but also pick up a bit on what it is the Cetagandans are doing -- that the Necklin field problem still remains their biggest problem, and they've been getting conflicting orders from the higher ups lately.

The unabridged mission writeup is here.

Note: Negri and Zahal are available for threads by request only this round. Please hit up Madi or Ammay respectively if you want threads with either of those NPCs. You can also request a thread with Village Speaker Yakiv Gura if you want, in which case hit up Madi.
lovernotafighter: (W-T-FUCK)

[personal profile] lovernotafighter 2017-03-19 12:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Why keep it personal?

[Tucker wasn't exactly religious; he was raised Christian but lost it long before he got into the military. By now, he had seen way too much shit to put his belief system into that, and the rules were way too stifling. He just wanted to live, and he was fairly certain that if there was some higher being, it sure as hell didn't give a fuck if he was masturbating behind a rock or not.

Her being Hindu? He was all on board. There wasn't a flinch, a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt, anything; he was looking for a comfort that he hadn't found yet, and maybe this would be it, maybe he wanted this to be it. He was more than happy to give himself over to her (bow chicka bow wow - way inappropriate timing) to get something to melt the guilt away.

There was a hesitation at the dagger for the briefest of seconds; it wasn't her, it was a bad history with knives. But, hey, she wasn't sinking it into his gut, so he took it from her, let the weight sit in his hand. He stood up as he stuck the dagger into his coat, brown eyes on her. Weird, how they went from threatening his dick to this.]


Um, thanks. [No innuendos. No cheap come ones. He sincerely meant it.] This is...I just appreciate. [He started to walk away, one hand raised up as he did. He had some timber to stalk down.] I'll see you tonight.
pigsfeet: (THE PONCHO RETURNS)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-03-19 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Daryl gets it, sort of. He gets what the queen means, at least. "If she's gotta marry some prick to do what she wants," Daryl says, "she ain't doin' what she wants."

It's as simple as that. Freedom, he's learned, is living without an arrow in the doorpost.
asafepairofhands: (human - tired)

[personal profile] asafepairofhands 2017-03-19 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)
"No," Ratchet says, watching ghem-Naru and deflating slightly in his chair again. "Not my department."

He's quiet for a moment before he speaks again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know Daryl was going to do that."
littlemissfutility: (08)

[personal profile] littlemissfutility 2017-03-19 09:19 pm (UTC)(link)
He lets the subject drop, thank God, and they move on to the fascinating world of Byerly Vorrutyer. Which really isn't so fascinating, when you get down to it. She can't blame him for finding it so dull--for all she doesn't think he's nearly the drunk he says he is, she can believe him lusting after all the drugs they don't have here.

"I mean, it's not the worst," she offers, though it's not really orneriness this time. "Everyone's pretty nice." And then her lip curls a little. "Guess that's boring, though."
shri: (» the wishes i've made)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-20 05:53 am (UTC)(link)
"You truly are concerned about her, aren't you?"

If it were anyone else, she would think it was the concerned of the beloved. But... as it stood, Daryl didn't seem quite the type. Mores the pity, she could organize it, and be rest assured that they would both be in good hands.

"Alright, I will do everything in my power to make sure she never has to until she wants to. Does that ease you some?"
shri: (» I'll never be more)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-20 03:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The answer to that question is simple, it was no one else's business but her own. Faith was a different thing on the battlefield when she could no longer keep the prayers of her childhood.

But she is waiting for him, at neat. Nursing a bit of maple mead by the fire. Under strict orders of the medical staff to not over tax herself and the promise that she would come back the first moment she was even the least bit tired. Her sips are slow from the cup, drinking carefully and waiting for whenever Tucker found her again. If he did. It was after all, just an offer, he could ignore it if he wanted.

Or, ignore it so much as giving her knife back.

But for now, she sits and waits until the fire is low and the others have left. She'd give as long as he liked.
]
lovernotafighter: (Eyes up here asshole)

[personal profile] lovernotafighter 2017-03-22 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
[It's cool with the fire low, and he was surprised that she was still there when he finally showed up. It had taken him a long time to find the right piece of wood, some broken dried thing, brittle enough for him to pick apart if he wanted but thick enough not to break easily. He cursed steadily as he carved their names into it, the C for Cunningham written twice as if he couldn't determine where to begin. Rogers was smaller beneath.

Both of them looked like they had been written by a five year old using his weaker hand.

What? He wasn't a fucking whittler. He stabbed people, not trees. However, he had been known to stab his wood into other people. Bow chicka bow wow.

His footfalls gave him away before he arrived, and he stopped beside her as the illumination from the flames cast shadows over both of their faces. Over her shoulder, he offered her dagger back.]


I hope it didn't need to be legible or anything. Like, as long as I can read it, right?

shri: (» oh I'll leave you for dead)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-22 09:32 am (UTC)(link)
They would be grateful - or at least, I would be. [ She takes the dagger as it is passed. Re-sheathing it at her waist, and rising to stand as she looks over the fire once. Then gestures him to stand beside her by it. Because no, she does not mock his efforts, she never would when someone was giving their all to such. When they were trying to become better, not to absolve, but to save. ]

Come.

[ She curls her fingers to invite him closer to her. None of this is as it should be, in truth. Nor are they things she has allowed herself, let herself do, for years. From the moment her husband's soul left his body, she has not stopped since. Not let go of her father, her generals, her ladies as they should have been. Easy to call up the voice of Vishnubhatta chastising that this was not her place. But she had done much in her life that she should not. Nor kept to what the teachings she had been raised to instructed her to do. She had sought only for one thing and fought for it still.

Perhaps one day, she would forgiven, and perhaps what little good she might do, was not on the killing fields. It would be here, in small measures of relief that she might give to others.

Maybe in giving him this, she could find it in herself to allow that moment.
]

Think of your friends for a moment, if you wish.

[ The rest she prepares -- still, no, not as it should be. She has no vermilion, no rice, no sandlewood paste. The plate is not the metal, it is the same rough wood they all eat of as she kneels in front of it, arranging what she has on it. She cannot prepare the meals as her mother had shown her in offering that they may be guided easily from one life to the next. She does not have the wicks to burn, and what little in the way she could collect in flowers was - difficult. The thaw of this place was slow, but the red ones - just as Miles had described them to her - were arranged around the edge of the plate and in the center she settled what was left of a candle's wick in a small cup, taken what could be spared of the butter in the kitchens and left it there to soak in it. Lights it, mouth moving in old words that she doesn't give voice to. Privately saying them to herself.

But so long as she has lived, now, she hopes faith, faith would be enough, it has to be enough. It is, after all of this, all she has left to give. Perhaps that is why she never talks of it, never shares of it. Hard to know what is left of her is just that: what is left of her.

She rises, her hand cupping the flame against the wind as she nods to him and comes to stand beside him. The last at least, is easiest, a small bit of ash from the fire that she had kept on the plate, not vermilion, no, but she dips her littlest finger into it and brushes it against her forehead in a precise sort of solemnity before she looks up at him.
] If you are ready?

[ Feels that guttering flame that flicks back and forth, in brief wondering. Does Satya keep such things still? Then twists a little in admonishment enough, Lakshmi, homesickness could come for another. This was not the time. ]
lovernotafighter: (All sides are my good sides)

[personal profile] lovernotafighter 2017-03-22 04:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Dude, pretty sure they’d give me a pass since I haven’t really done wood carving before, and my graffiti phase was super short lived.

[Friends. Friends, not just his men, and the flat of his thumb brushed over that lone C. Church, not really for Cunningham even if he swore it was supposed to be. Fucking Church it was supposed to say, but he couldn’t write it out, couldn’t bring himself to carve it, couldn’t bring himself to let that goddamn ghost rest inside of him yet. He wasn’t sure he ever would, that pain white hot and fierce, the kind that could eat him up from the inside out.

So not that yet. But C. Fuck, maybe we would do this six more times, one for each letter, and by the end, maybe… maybe.

He watched her, watched the things she set and there was a small curiosity of What does all this mean? Each piece, each little action, was there symbolism? Representation? What? He thought about burying the child with Sonia, the funeral he stumbled upon, the offering he gave. He didn’t have any pictures of Junior this time; he had nothing.

It didn’t seem fair.

He nodded at being ready, looking at the ash and wondering if he was supposed to follow suit. It reminded him of the Ash Wednesday services his mom dragged him to as a kid.]


Do I do it, too? [And he waited for permission or denial before doing what was required. He could have a little bit of patience, sometimes.]
shri: (» the colours disappear)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-24 04:00 am (UTC)(link)
[ So unsure, and despite what they're doing, despite the seriousness of it all, her smile pulls small in the corners of her mouth. She dabs her fingers to the ash again and pushes up - too tall, what did they feed them? - half on her toes, so that she might tap the same circle to his brow. Light, a dab between his eyes, and a trick to doing it. To making sure it stayed a neat round circle. ]

There.

[ her eyes lower again, turning away from him, back to the dying fire and holds the plate up. Circles it once around the fire, clockwise before she brings it to herself. A hesitation only comes in language, which to speak in, prayers that she knows only in one form, that it would take her time and care to translate it for him. English was not her first or best language.

Perhaps only part of it then, so he might find some relief in the words. She balances the plate on her fingers of one hand before she brings the other up to sweep it across the burning wick, fanning the smoke away from them both. Thick smell, with the butter she had used, rather than the wood of the fire. But even so, the gesture is steady in its ceremony - ritual repetitive. This part at least, she has done many times.
]

Did your friends have Gods of their own?

[ It wouldn't surprise her if they did not, many soldiers lost it after so long. ]
startpoint: (79)

[personal profile] startpoint 2017-03-24 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Watching him pack everything away and compartmentalize what had happened is always strange. Stranger for being able to see Wash's face when it happens rather than behind the protective layer of armor. Carolina lets him gather the pieces together quietly, knowing he needs the moment to breathe and calm down without her saying anything.

When he's ready she smiles back at him. It hasn't been the same without Wash there with her. She can't talk to Maine about the things she's been through and it's hard enough opening up to others. ]


Good to have you where you belong. You were only out a few hours. [ She says it casually though honestly she spent that time waiting and stewing in her worries. Not fun. ] I guess that means Maine was trying to be delicate about it.
startpoint: (73)

[personal profile] startpoint 2017-03-25 12:00 am (UTC)(link)
...This corporation back where I come from is like that. Charon Industries. They've been aggravating a civil war for years.

[ It's an olive branch as Carolina picks up the sewing again and tries to keep her stitches as neat as Lakshmi's. She doesn't talk too much about Chorus or what she was dragged away from. ]

They decided the planet was worth more than the population.
for_art: (ghem lord 01)

[personal profile] for_art 2017-03-25 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
Ghem-Naru's lips thin, but not really at Ratchet. "I know," he mutters, then nods at one of his officers. "Dose him with the antagonist. We're done here."

The ghem officer nods and takes Ratchet's arm, and presses the hypospray to the inside of his elbow.
shri: (» I'll leave with your head)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-25 05:48 am (UTC)(link)
[ Same song, different verse. Her smile pulls something ugly, near to a grimace and shakes her head slow over her work. ]

They often do. Let me guess, there was some great profit to be gained?
pigsfeet: (THE PONCHO RETURNS)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-03-25 08:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Daryl shrugs, noncommittal. Of course he cares. Of course he's not about to confirm it.

"S'what she wants," Daryl mutters. "Too polite to say it."
lovernotafighter: (Diplomat here)

[personal profile] lovernotafighter 2017-03-26 03:37 am (UTC)(link)
[Brown eyes tracked her hands up to his forehead as well as they could before they closed, letting her draw away. There might have been a little smile playing at his lips too, one that probably didn't exactly have a place here, but fuck it. They both deserved a grin when they could grab one.

When her fingers pulled away, long eyelashes parted as eyes watched her, watched the things she did, the rituals she knew and he was just...well, sitting back and letting her lead. He wasn't sure how to answer the question she posed; they weren't exactly a group to talk about what they were supposed to do after they died.]


Um, shit, I don't know. I mean, Church was Jewish, but he didn't really do much with it, you know? Cunningham and Rogers, fuck if I know. I didn't exactly have time to ask them if they were the Last Rites sort of person before they exploded. Or, well, one exploded, the other was shot.

[There was no edge of annoyance, no sarcasm; he just honestly didn't know. Hell, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure that anyone knew about his own religious sentiments, not that he had any. Crap, was that something he should tell someone about in case they ever had to do this with him? ]

Me not knowing... will that fuck this up? [Well, any more than swearing all over during a ceremony would.]
shri: (» we know now we won't go)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-26 04:55 am (UTC)(link)
Another time, if this continues, she might shake him till she gets some lick of plain sense from him. ( Knows that she won't, just like he doesn't from her ).

"Much too polite." Sometimes. She thinks about her laughing at the thought of just being married already. Teenagers. Her eyes roll. "The same goes for you, of course, whatever I might do, whatever my own... position can do for you."

A nod, stiff, terms of a business agreement rather than concern. Rather than you did not even ask why, when you saved my life.
pigsfeet: (unhappy with this)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-03-26 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)
"Don't need your favors," Daryl growls under his breath. He wishes people would quit trying this shit, trying to buy him. He's never been for sale. Death has always been preferable to purchase. That's how it was in the compound. That's how it is now.

"Told you. Didn't do it for you."
shri: (» and all their faces blur)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-26 03:21 pm (UTC)(link)
"No, you didn't. I have no idea why you did what you did. Whether it was a way out, a choice to throw your lot in with a doomed woman, who knows what option I was to you. That's your business."

She sighs, her fingers going still on the stitches half way through. She fixes the needle there to not slip in her work. Then carefully lays it in her lap. The gestures are precise, careful, laying it out neatly and smoothing over it before she looks up to address him properly.

"But you did it. You, among few, risked everything, and you saved my life, Dixon. You carried me away when I could barely stand, you helped bring me here, when every part of my body was wanting to let go of this life. You may have your reasons for doing it, but never think I will forget."
pigsfeet: 1/2. grey. (oh my god becky)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-03-26 03:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Daryl can only shrug in the face of her gratitude. What was meaningful and impossible in her eyes is simple casualty in his, chance and more luck than he ever deserved. He was only riding the waves of this place, letting the tide of the planet pull him to where it wanted to finally let him die.

It was all so simple, back then.

"Thought you were dyin'," he says. "Figured you deserved to go out with all your shit."
shri: (» our lives worth fighting for)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-27 01:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He rambles out in that too quick way of his like he can't keep all his words to himself. Like birds trying to get out of a cage all at once. She lets them wash over her and then shakes her head slowly. ]

Hush, it is no matter.

[ She moves her hand back, bracing to the edge of the plate in a careful hold, the flowers bright in the firelight. Red and soft to the harsh wood of the plate. She wets her lips, and best to explain. ]

I will pray to the God Agni, so that your friends will have someone to guide them from this life to the next. [ Why they are here, by the fire. Will he remember this? If I die here? Will he think to tell someone? ]

When I tell you, cast the wood with their names into the flames.
shri: (» oh I'll leave you for dead)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-27 01:52 pm (UTC)(link)
"Then you are still merciful where they were happy to let me rot." She corrects, firm.

Thinks on the tale, about a poor man who helps a beggar, and the beggar became a God. This man would probably turn away his blessings, even when they were plied upon him.

"I trusted you, even when you didn't understand, and you did not fail me. If I knew nothing else about you, I know that now."

Too little, too late. She'd be fond of him for that alone, and like all actions, it could not be undone.
lovernotafighter: (BF never say they're sorry)

[personal profile] lovernotafighter 2017-03-27 02:40 pm (UTC)(link)
[There were very few times when Tucker would actually “hush”, especially when ordered to. More often than not, the words would just tumble faster, reasons and excuses on why whatever he was saying was right, on how this movie or show was the best one ever created. It was easier to talk than to be quiet.

He hushed when she told him.

And it wasn’t out of fear, but…respect. Take advantage of that, Lakshmi, because that happened even less.

It also didn’t last long, because he did chime in with--]


Tell Agni to bring earplugs; Church bitches a lot.

[His fingers bit into the wood, watching her, watching he fire; he could feel each line that he had carved biting into his hand, painful, bitter, and he memorized it, the jagged attempted slopes of letters. He nodded at her order, because yeah, he could do that, even if it felt like an ending. That…that was a good thing, right? That’s what this was supposed to be about.

Should I, though?]


Yeah, okay. [He moved a little closer to the flames, eyes back on her and the way the light danced off her face.] And, um…can you just, like, tell them I’m sorry?

[Because that felt good, even if he didn't believe in religion. It felt...right.]
shri: (» oh tell me then)

[personal profile] shri 2017-03-27 03:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Her head bows with the request. More to the latter than the former, admittedly. His affection is - well, they wouldn't be here if they weren't. But it's clearly more than just men in his command. They were his friends. Men he knew to complain about them as to stand on ceremony for them.

She turns back towards the fire, the first breath in deep, letting it fill her with it's quiet. They are with you, my Manu, always, remember them in each action, and you will live a life of contentment. She held her mother's skirts as they stood in front of the small painting of Ganesha. Her mother answering each and every time her daughter asked tell me again how he got a elephants head, mesmerized and memorizing the words at her mother's side. The chants and prayers, her long delicate fingers holding handfuls of petals as she showered them. Here, you can always be at peace, daughter.

Standing at her father's side, unable to accept as they wrapped her mother in a white sheet. Taking her body away. Her father urging in just those same chants. Do not weep, she is not gone, the soul can never go. She and your baby sister are going onto their next life, we will meet them there. Do not weep, or she will stay to console you and never find peace.

The smoke from the fire had stung her eyes, when they burned her husband. Wet and sharp, all at the same time. She couldn't be sure if she wept for it's smoke, her loss, or what that meant for her and her people. But she remembered the lessons then. Do not weep, Lakshmi. You will see him again, one day. Your people will need you now.

She opens her mouth, and it is late, she has no want nor inclination to rouse the camp with prayers that are just for them. For his - Church and Cunningham and Rogers. For her son, her husband, her people, her country, and everyone else she couldn't know the fate of. But even so, the prayers come forth. The long chant, that rises and falls on her low voice, emotionless, except where it's only such from the grief she's long learned to stop allowing in herself. Something between the rhythm of singing, and the flat tone of a chant that knows each word even as her eyes close and her hand moves across the flame, each gesture exact to keep the smoke from her eyes still. She will not start weeping now.

She asks of Agni, to give supplication, to strip away the flesh from the soul, so it may go free as her mouths through the word. May their soul find peace. No drums and a better voice than hers might do it justice, might sound sweeter, might promise something better. But hers is as it always has been: steady, gripping to her father's side, to her husband's blade and hushes away the ghosts and begs them not to cling to her ( they will, they always do so, she does not have the heart to send them away - why does she still paint the mark of a married woman on her brow, why does she still wear the jewelry given to her as a wedding gift? ) as she watched something precious burn away to where she could no longer reach it.

As she comes to the end of it, she gestures to him.
] Now.
symmetricks: (pic#10948815)

[personal profile] symmetricks 2017-03-28 04:24 am (UTC)(link)
Even if they did, they would not know you as I do. As any child of India would.

[ They could be told the tales, but it would not be the same. They would not comprehend the danger the woman they had this cell posed, and if she revealed that to them? It might spell her death, here and now.

As much as she believes in what the Cetagandans wish to do...no. She cannot do that. She will not. ]