forbarrayar | [ february ii log ]

Entry tags:

[ 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.

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Sonia gives him a lidded smile, her mouth turned smugly up at the corner, and she withdraws her arm from around Byerly's neck and pulls him by the hand clasped in his. She weaves their way through the crowd of dancers, almost dancing herself among them, but she lets out a little whoosh of a breath once they're clear.

"Now," she says with an invigorated breath, and she looks around until she spots the corner her sister and brother-in-law had been occupying some time ago. They've since abandoned it for the dance floor -- God only knows how Olivia knows how to pull that side out of Piotr -- but it's still littered with debris from the villagers' food offerings, seizing the chance to serve the Count so directly, even as humbled as Piotr and Olivia are these days. Sonia releases Byerly's hand and saunters over to the table, resting one elbow on the rough-hewn wood table while the other slips underneath, fishing for a bottle. She catches the eye of a Vorkosigan armsman stationed not too far away as she pulls it out, but she gives him a disorienting combination of a pout, a wink, and a winsome smile, and, caught in the spirit of the night, rolls his eyes fondly and looks the other way.

She cradles the bottle in one arm and hurries back to Byerly, and the Vorkosigan insignia is clearly on the label. Oh, yes, she meant it when she said the good stuff. "Come on," she says, grinning wickedly, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. "I know a place."

Oh. Ah. That is a fine bottle. He's always been partial to Vorkosigan wines (though it makes him feel faintly dirty to acknowledge that fact) and he can imagine how it'll go down. Earthy wines, those are, with a hint of clay, full-flavored and dry. Something he'll enjoy drinking. Enjoy, not endure, the way he suppresses a shudder and nurses a hangover after every bottle of maple mead. A fine toast to his betrayal, this will be. The mineral taste of the wine will be like blood in his mouth.

"Lead the way," he says with smooth confidence, and offers her his arm to take.

Sonia smirks at her own little victory and takes his arm with his free hand, the bottle tucked securely against her chest. It might as well be an infant for how carefully she's holding it. She pulls him along, past the crowd that thins toward the edge of the tarps, where little wisps of cold air sneak in through the gaps. Sonia tucks her bare hands into her sleeves -- she'd left her heavy overcoat somewhere else in the party -- but no matter. It's close by enough.

"It's not far," she says to Byerly in a conspiratorial whisper, perhaps more so than the situation warrants, but then, she's drunk. She tugs back the tarp just enough for her and Byerly to slip out and -- fuck, it's freezing, but for the first few seconds it's just exhilarating, and she hurriedly pulls him toward the nearest house. Well, shack. And no one ever heard of locks in Riverfall, apparently, because she doesn't bother knocking, just opens the door just enough for her and Byerly to slip in without too much heat escaping.

Sonia tries a soft hello? but no one answers, and she looks quite satisfied. "They're very generously putting me up in here tonight," she says by way of explanation, in case she's given Byerly the impression that among other things, the Princess has a penchant for breaking and entering.

"Ah," he says, coming into the room. It's...nice in here. How strange it is that nowadays, a rustic country cabin strikes his eye as something nice, he who is accustomed to palaces, but, well...it's a permanent structure. It's warm. It's comfortable. It has a stove in one corner, a door that closes...

A door that's closed behind them. Privacy. Privacy. Good God, he didn't think he'd miss privacy this much, either. He could point out to her the danger to her reputation of being alone with him - but she knows that, of course. He could point out, too, the risk to him, but he doesn't much care. A bit of time alone with her, with wine, with warmth, is all he might have wanted just a few weeks ago.

"How kind of them," he says. Though he adds with a wry smile - "Though it might have been nice for them to stay in here, too. Just for the warmth, if nothing else."

Sonia rubs her hands together in the warmth, the stove fire banked, and then she flips one dismissively at Byerly. "Ah, don't worry about them. They're a very generous couple, and very enthusiastic partiers, too. They'll probably pass out by the bonfire like half the village."

She takes a seat on the low cot they've provided for her with a little whoosh of breath and wriggles her feet out of her boots, just for the novelty of it. She blows a piece of hair from her face, unsuccessfully, and smiles sunnily up at him, though the wine has made her eyes go dark. She holds out the bottle to him, but it's less an invitation for him to take it than for him to sit.

"Care to do the honors? I'm afraid I don't know where they keep the cups, but I think we'll make do."

"I think we shall do so quite nicely, yes," he answers, and sits. His mouth, he finds, has gone dry. Goodness, he's more nervous than he was when he lost his virginity - and he doesn't think for a moment that there's sex in the offing. Well. It's possible, he supposes. Not likely, though. In any case.

He seizes the cork and starts working it from the bottle. "A fine vintage you selected, by the way. Have I ever mentioned how excellent your taste is?"

Sonia watches him with great pleasure, shrugging off her coat, finally, now that she feels warm enough to do so. The wine helps. It's been a long time since she was dressed like a Vor lady -- it's hardly suited to camp life, and far too conspicuous. So prole clothes it is, and has been for years -- the dress is a simple cut, but it somehow suits her nonetheless.

"On occasion." She grins. "Yours isn't too terrible either, dear Byerly."

"Especially not in people," he says. In spite of himself, he can't help but enjoy the sight. What a beautiful woman she is. So beautiful...

He takes the first drink from the bottle, then wipes the mouth of it with his sleeve. Barrayaran-style. Then he hands it to her. "Milady. Wait a moment to make sure I don't fall over foaming at the mouth. - Because if I do fall over foaming at the mouth, I expect I'll have been poisoned. Though being overwhelmed by your beauty is a possible root cause, too."

"I know I'm pretty, but I'd hope my stunning looks induces rabies." Her grin goes wry as she takes the bottle from Byerly, fingers curled around the neck. "Besides, I was the one who picked the bottle. Whyever would I want to poison you?"

She takes a slow, deep drink of it, letting out a profoundly blissful sigh as the taste washes over her. "God bless this district," she says, wiping the bottle with her sleeve, and hands it back to Byerly with a little smile. "Just a bounty of liquor."

"Too true," he agrees, a little ruefully. The wine washes over his mouth, and he sighs blissfully. God. That's good. That's really good. That's all the better for his long months without good wine. "And good liquor. The Vorrutyer vineyards - and never quote me on this - don't produce anything near this good."

Sonia lets out a little ha and leans against him, eyes closed a moment, letting that warm wave of euphoria wash over her. Bliss -- yes, that's the perfect word for it. She doesn't remember the last time she had a night like this. Not just drunk and alone with a pretty boy, but -- with real company. Depraved as that company be. The thought elicits a little laugh and she swallows a hiccup before another sip of wine, wiping it absently with her sleeve.

"No, I don't think I've ever had any Vorrutyer vintages I enjoyed," Sonia says teasingly, waving the bottle at him. "But your district has much better exports."

"Ha." He laughs as well, the sound a little flat. He looks down at the ground beneath his feet, smiling at the dirt. It's not exactly a happy smile. "Does it? I heard that they just try to foist off cheap goods as something special there."

Sonia's brow knits slightly and she purses her lips, but she's still mostly drunk and cheerful, and she sets the bottle down on the floor, pushing herself and cocking her head at him.

"Oh, Byerly," she sighs, still dark-eyed and smiling, and she brushes one finger lightly under his chin. "But you are special. A special degenerate, maybe," she allows, her mouth tilting wryly, "but special nonetheless. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that the two are mutually exclusive. But I've never met anybody like you."

Edited 2017-02-23 03:09 (UTC)

God. Her fingertip lifts his chin. He looks in her eyes, and feels like bursting out into tears. Feels like telling her everything then and there. Feels like dying. Wishes he would die.

I've never met anyone like you. In her eyes, reflected, he's special. Special. Not aberrant, not strange, not hideous. Special. Worth something. Only his sister ever looked at him that way. Of all the people in the world, only one person ever looked at him like that...

He leans forward a bit, pressing his lips softly to her palm. Do me a kindness and strangle the life from me, Princess.

"I've never met anyone like you," he says, his voice low and soft. "And that's not flattery."

The glow to her face could not have been caused by the wine alone. She leans in, her eyes twin sparks.

"I know," she murmurs, and unlike before, she doesn't withdraw her hand, just curls her fingers under his chin. He is so very close now... Sonia's been wishing she could only get this close to him, let alone by themselves. It isn't that this is all she wants Byerly for -- she cherishes his company -- but he does tempt and taunt her, and dammit, she wants. One corner of her mouth quirks up, and she brushes her thumb lightly at the corner of his mouth. "I can always tell the difference, with you."

Ah. What is right here? What is good? To sleep with her before abandoning her? Perhaps that will fit him into the mold of a typical scoundrel. Perhaps that will make him hateful, hateable. Keep her from sadness, because she'll have loathing to dwell on. Or perhaps she'll blame herself for it, in the way that your mind so often starts working in that direction - I didn't keep him, I couldn't keep him. A younger Byerly Vorrutyer, before his ImpSec days, was sometimes prone to that. Yes - a younger Byerly Vorrutyer, new to the Vorbarr Sultana social scene, fell in love time and again with horrible men and horrible women who picked him up and dropped him hard. And he remembered the way he'd get drunk and sit in the dark and try to figure it out, figure out what was wrong with him, thinking over every word and gesture, obsessing over every flaw in his personality and his appearance and his manner of dress and the way he laughed...

He has the horrible image, for just a moment, of Sonia become like him. Cynical and miserable. A user. The thought makes him sick.

"I don't know," he says, his hand coming up to cover hers. His voice remains teasing - as light as he can possibly manage. "I'm a rather famous liar, you know. What if I only make you think there's a difference?"

The thought doesn't occur to her now, won't occur to her until much, much later, but she could never hate Byerly for something she's done before, so many times. Trick a stranger into sleeping with her, only to disappear, at best. It's the only way anybody's happy, or at least less lonely, without consequence. Why she does it, the mind behind it, is entirely different. She isn't the kind of user Byerly is. She just wants, and she takes what she can get. And Byerly is hardly the last she'd pick. There must be some novelty in sleeping with someone you trust, someone who knows you.

She won't blame herself for this, later. She'll be too furious with Byerly to hate herself.

Her smile is a benediction, faintly touched with fondness and amusement. "You are a very good liar, Byerly," she agrees, her eyes glittering, "but you're terrible at telling the truth."

And then, her other hand curled over his shoulder, she leans in and kisses him.

No. No. He can't. He finds his chest tight, his throat painful. He breaks off the kiss almost at once, dropping his head. He knew as soon as her lips touched his. He knew that there's no way.

"Sonia," he says, his voice a little strained, "I - cannot." A hesitation, and then - "I'm - sorry." You stupid piece of shit, you stupid piece of shit...

Sonia's left hanging a moment, a drunk delay before she realizes he's pulled back and she sits down, her brows lowering. She looks a little stricken, but mostly she just looks petulant than anything else, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting outrageously at him.

"Why not?"

Edited 2017-02-23 14:57 (UTC)

Oh, God, she looks cute like that. His heart just about squeezes in his chest at the look. How the hell is he supposed to resist that?

Damn it...

Right. Okay. He has to. This is the best way. This is the best way. Yes. He takes a breath in, sharply, unsteadily, and says to her -

"Because I like men."

Sonia narrows her eyes at him, and then her look goes slightly flat, still pouting, her eyes rolling. Sorry, Byerly, she's just a little too Betan.

"Byerly, please," she says, somehow managing to sound both haughty and exasperated in one breath, "you don't really expect me to believe you're monosexual, do you?"

That...wasn't the response he expected. Shock and horror, certainly - he's gotten shock and horror from Barrayarans when he's said that before. Curiosity and understanding, because that's usually what comes from Betans. But from her...

"Ah," he says, taken aback, uncertain, a little thrown by that question. He struggles with the answer to it for a moment, because, well...He can't outright lie to her. So instead he answers, a little evasively - "I am Barrayaran."

There it is. That momentary flicker of surprise. Now that's an honest answer. She watches him struggle to wrestle truth out of a half-lie, thrown off balance. You really are terrible at being honest, dear Byerly.

"That's not it, either." She's stubborn, petulant, arms crossed, and that pout is outrageous. Sonia may be naive in many ways, and she may be drunk, but she isn't stupid.

She knows how a Barrayaran would react, and she knows how a Betan would react, but she is a girl caught between two worlds. Byerly's Barrayaran-ness is too familiar to be a novelty, and her own Betan influence refuses to give in to such absurd prejudice. What Byerly gets instead is a rare combination, merciless and unpredictable. She may be a user, yes, but an entirely different breed.

She narrows her eyes at him, but not in anger. She only says softly, "You made a promise to me once."

Damn it. Damn it all. This isn't how the script ever goes. The script is predictable. Repulsion or open-mindedness. One or the other. Not challenge. Not denial.

The promise...His promise. Right.

"This isn't because you are a princess," he says after a moment, raising his hand to his face, rubbing at his lips. She kissed...well. He'd like to kiss her again. "I promise you that."

She watches him touch his lips, feels a little swell of triumph in her chest, because he hadn't passed through it entirely unfazed. Good. She won't let go of that.

She holds her breath a moment, deciding whether or not to believe him, but he'd called her Sonia -- not milady, not Princess. Just Sonia. She lets out her breath, but still looks entirely dissatisfied with such a meager excuse. She simply doesn't believe that Byerly doesn't want her at all. She's stubborn, eyes blazing, and she leans forward again.

"Then what is it?"

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i suffered through an entire team meeting waiting to write this tag

I suffered through a workshop waiting to respond

the thirst is real