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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[ He lifts his eyebrow in acknowledgment, settles back a bit. ]

What was the evil that was done to you?

[ Another time, perhaps she would say, another time it would easy to hiss at a removed distance. That rage that comes up like a wave, that determination and that refusal to ever excuse them, to let all know what they had done. Never let them erase it. She would, she would etch that memory deep in all the world by never letting it do them again. They might lie and hide such things, but by each destroyed ship, each burning vessel, each decimated trade route, she would never let them think they had gotten away with it. In her, they would never be able to lie and smile and pretend. By herself, if must be, she would live as proof. She would drag the whole Empire down, alone in the world if that was the cost of toppling Lord Hastings.

But had a cost it did. They had dragged it all up - watching the Cetagandans was too close, too easy to push her back to that point where those wounds were still fresh and open, and they are still. She jerks her head. No, not now. She needs time to stitch them closed again. ]

No, Byerly, my heart is too tired for that.

[ Just woken up from a week of dreams of home, where she had her boy soft in her arms, her husband to call her to his side, her ladies chattering around her and when Devi could do something other than scowl. Kashi, singing to paint her hands in lotus - 'now you will be like the Goddess, Rani.' ]

Please do not...

[ The ImpSec regulars - they tend to think nothing is as important as information. Byerly and all the irregulars, all the counterintel boys and girls, know that the real wealth is relationships. So he doesn't press. Instead, he lets his eyes soften and flick away. He lets the line of his mouth turn momentarily troubled. And he lowers his head and touches his brow. ]

As you wish, dear lady. I will not.

[ And then he watches. What would a bit of softness do to her, he wonders...Will she grow less ferocious? It'll be interesting to watch. ]

[ It gives her more respect for him than it would otherwise that he does take such quiet well, that she cannot speak of it. But even so, she covers that exhaustion, holding her wounds tightly to herself. A difference but the same to the Knights, a title taken that was who they were, not what they were named. She would always be Jhansi ki Rani, taken up as a child before she knew what life had given her. 'This girls stars will bring her family great fame' was what they had said and they had been right. By the same, it could never be given back, and as long as they feared even its mention, it would be hers. Queen, first, middle and end, and to that, her grief was private, alone. No one had need of a woman's broken edges. Not him or anyone else.

She turns her head away, letting her hair fall loose and tuck it away as she took a breath. ]

Thank you. You think you would stop missing your past, with enough time. [ Her hand lifts, gestures to the cup again with a curl of her fingers. A gesture she keeps just to hide that shake she can't seem to shake in them, battle worn as they are. ] Pass me the water again, would you?

[ If nothing else, to direct him away from her. ]

Of course.

[ He murmurs that and stands, crossing to the pitcher to pour another glass for her, cracking the ice to get to the water. He moves slowly, giving her time to collect herself before coming over. ]

You miss your past, then?

[ His voice is mild, casual. Unconcerned. ]

Many people detest their past, rather.

[ She takes the space to compose herself, and for his breath away at her request, she has more fondness and respect for him than half of what his flirting words had given her. Quick gestures, she flicks out her fingers like she could undo the pent up agitation. The restlessness that sits deep - and it comes out as no more than a particularly long breath in and then out again behind his back. Setting her teeth and holding herself still that

- it's all gone, when he turns back. ] I detest those that took my happiness, my kingdom, and my people's innocence and life from them.

[ She can share softer things, at least. Tells them like there is nothing awful about to happen to them. Like they both don't know good memories can't last. ] You would have delighted in my husband's palace, the Fortress in Jhansi, or even my... the Rani Mahal. [ Though that place had come to feel a prison, in its way, relegated to a gilded cage while her people were fed upon and she was helpless to them. ] Every room was painted in rich colours, and every room had carpets. My husband loved music and art, and all manner of artisans would come to Jhansi, and so there was almost always something being performed, always music and every festival was done in great splendour.

[ Her eyes close, brief, lost in a good memory, a good thought. ] Flowers, there were always flowers. I miss the smell of them. My ladies would put them in my hair daily. Said that if I were to named - Lakshmi - that I...

[ Stop dreaming, Queen, the thought was a brush of a hand on her soldier. Sir Bors turning her mind to the future, or her father's urging upon discipline. ] ... well, it was a different time then. I was a far different woman. You can see why it is easy to miss.

[ He makes a little soft noise of acknowledgment. He surveys her thoughtfully. This, too, is a posture, no less a manipulation than the prior flirtation and teasing, but it looks so genuine. He's good at this - absurdly good at this - with just the right amount of sympathetic pain around his eyes and lips, the right blend of empathy and opportunism in his manner when he says: ]

It's a bit hard to imagine you like that, reine. You don't exactly come across as a woman nostalgic for flowers. You seem a woman of steel rather than of tapestries.

[ And for all his intent, it seems, he finally makes that careful first step for her to acknowledge him as more than something to be swept away from her. Not in anyway that mattered, or was useful quite probably. Teasing laughter and idle old stories.

Even so, any emotional depth to the idle words is kept far from her expression or tone, not even for her wariness of him. The Cetagandans had taken that from her, to her mind, drugged her, ripped up secrets of herself like yanking out weeds. Cared for half as much. ]

Because I was not a woman grown yet when I was fond of such things, I was thirteen when I married. You'll forgive a girl her fondness for flowers, I hope.

Nothing to forgive.

[ He presses a hand to his heart, lowers himself in a half bow. ]

I myself prefer flowers to steel. It has always left me rather out of place in my home, but I don't think it makes me any less worthy. [ He lifts himself up, and he says, for once quite thoroughly honest - ] I wish that humanity was such that no one would have to take up swords. That that girl could have grown into a woman who loved flowers, too.

[ Her smile kicks up, brief as it is, sends those new found lines creasing deep on her face. Weathered, as she perhaps always should look, so they could all be on the same page. ]

Then who would keep you busy, Byerly?

What -

[ He laughs. ]

Do you think soft women can't keep me busy?

[ and she laughs, before it turns into another cough, her hand pressing flat to her chest as she tried to keep it down. ]

Oh, I think they can keep you rather busy, but you would be dreadfully bored.

[ He reaches out and touches her wrist lightly, waiting until the coughing fit has passed. Then he withdraws, and speaks like nothing happened. ]

Perhaps you're quite right. Though violence doesn't mean so much to me. It's sharp wits I like best. Which is something you also have, quite pleasingly.

[ Her eyes shut tightly, as she swallows down on left over nausea, taking sobering breaths as she shakes her head free of it. Carrying on.

Rather, it's the small things, it's that she doesn't pull away from his hand. She lets it stay. Not a breath of acknowledgement, doesn't even look down at it. She just lets it be. ]

It's a rare man that appreciates that. I shall endeavor to keep you on your toes, then.

[ And he smiles, and teases: ]

Ah? And here I thought I was a scoundrel who was to only be pushed away.

[ Caught her in that, but she doesn't mind so much, or at least, she's tired enough that she can't be bothered with summoning her ire. ]

Only on your better days. [ She taps her fingers to lips briefly, hiding a smile. ] But I recall I told you never to try to replace something you cannot be.

What -

[ He sees that hidden smile, and it redoubles his own. His eyes fairly sparkle. ]

I hope you're not accusing me of not truly being a scoundrel. I should be deadly offended.

[ She must never let anyone see that Byerly might cause them, she'll never live it down. But here, at least, it's his. ]

Oh, I do not think you are at all. Your presence here is truth enough of that.

I can be a scoundrel and still want to see you and talk to you. Can I not?

[ What a stubborn man to cling to his reputation in such a manner. her eyes close as she laughs at that - and at his words. Wretched noise that it is, still laughter. ]

Only when I took residence in a brothel. [ She lets her eyes open again, the blanket settling over her lap. Gaze tired, eyes that softened where she doesn't quite have the will so soon after her deep sleep to take the rest. ] But no, Byerly, you are no more truly a scoundrel than you are a monster. Something else, perhaps, but not that. I've known too many of both.

[ A little wistfully, By wonders what it would feel like to be offered these reassurances based on truth rather than based on lies. There's something sometimes rather painful about being a consummate liar. You know that when someone is offering you some comfort, some assurance, you're a good person, what they're talking to is the illusion. It's like being a novelist and hearing compliments given to some character you've written into existence. You feel a little prick of pride, but nothing more than that. What would Lakshmi see if she truly saw him?

Someone...who is something of a monster, yes. A man who would do anything for the Imperium. There are some - Miles, for example - who give him a pass because the nasty things he does are done out of principle rather than idly. Byerly, for his part, doesn't know about that. His soul sits a little easier, he fancies, than it would if he were doing this for no reason at all - maybe because he has someone to pass the guilt along to - but that doesn't mean it's any better. He's any better. Betrayals are still betrayals, shattered hearts are no less broken simply because he did what he did out of patriotism.

Ah, lady, I'll draw blood from you too if you give me the chance. I'm storing away that little smile of yours and remembering where every weakness is. I'll break you and chain you to our cause at best, take you apart piece by piece at worst...You're right; I'm as much scoundrel as monster. And great helpings of both. For our future. For a free Barrayar. ]

If I didn't know better - [ He laughs, his voice light. There's just the slightest hint of vulnerability in his face and his movements - the face of a man too self-conscious to accept a compliment, too proud to ever let that self-consciousness show, covering it all with a bit of snark. ] I'd think you were trying to be sweet to me, my lady. Surely not. Imagine what would happen if rumors of that got out. You'd never live it down.

[ She has his eyes now, his honeyed dark eyes, pretty as the deep sap of amber in sunlight, she thinks on her fonder moments. His white pearl teeth, all glittering and smiling and easy to do so. Call him Krishna for the effect of looking into them, that oh, he's probably rolled happily with those soft women he adored, rolling, frolicking in the fields.

But she had his eyes now. Had them a moment off guard, had him laughing and surprised, had him unsure and withdrawing and something like unhappy in that frightened state. Many things there, most of them unknown to her. But he did not have the dead eyes of the monsters she knew better than her own self. They were not the slippery dark, that mirror flatness behind the eyes. Even an animal who could do such cruelties did not look like that, did not send her cold, like that.

Because for now, until he learned how to smother her suddenness at an arm's reach, she would keep his eyes as they are ( as in the selfishness of royal assumptions: hers ). ] Shall I temper it before it spreads too far with a promise?

[ He touches his lips and meets her eyes directly. Her eyes, still bright, even surrounded by wrinkles. His gambit that had opened this conversation had not...well. It had not been a gambit, truly; it had been truth. The woman before him now is all the more beautiful for her curious transformation. Lovelier in age than she had been in youth, because she had gained the qualities of mystery. What a strange creature she is. He would give anything to be able to touch her. ]

Ah. I would give anything for a promise from you. It doesn't matter what the promise is - I crave one.

[ It does not matter the promise. Her smile curls so faintly at the edge of her mouth - different, different to a fond brightness, different to her mockery, like looking at something to know it's fate and accepting it. She moves then, her hand lifting where she had settled them by her side. They shake, faintly, but they move all the same. Soon enough, she will be well, and it will go from her, even if she thinks this cough has taken up residence more permanently in her lungs. Or so it feels like.

This time, it is not her beckoning. That curl of her fingers that is ever her weapon, these hands and the things she has done that she tells parts of, but no one all of, not even her Knight. But this time, it's not to harm, it's just that: a promise. She forces her hand to find stillness now, even if it takes more effort than she would ever like it too. The way promises should be, intent, focused, and with sureness of what they are. She does not make them idly, a Queen could not, after all, be accused of not holding to her word.

A promise, a promise that is all his. Like gifts once laid at her feet, she took them into herself only to distribute them again to her people. ]

Then... [ that hand reaches, forcing herself up that little in her bed, to him, strains herself in so slight a motion such is the price of her life. Her breath thin, the part of her mouth pinched in a pain she could not find words for because what is the weight of a lifetime longer than it should have been to one who did not know it? For he is young, he will always be young, to her.

She sets the palm of her hand, scarred and calloused, no longer kept mercilessly by maids to be soft, her thumb pushes at his hand to get him to drop it, so she may see him for herself. Her hand dark against fair skin, bracing him like a picture to be framed, and he made such a decadent one. Like the palace of mirrors she had seen once as a girl in the court of the Peshwa, like the silver palanquin her husband had given her to be carried in and lay in. He, too, is something better sprawled with than what she leant herself most of the time to. ] ... I promise, that when I truly find that monster lurking in your eyes, Byerly Vorruyter? [ and her hand settles, braces, and it could be mistaken for intimacy, but she means so much more than a kiss, than bearing him down over her into a bed. Her hand curls like the sureness of a lover's hold, fingertip's pressing - one-two-three-four - to the back of his neck, slipping up so he cannot pull from her. Her thumb bracing against the front of his throat, over his adam's apple, so she might feel where those adoring words form. Yes, yes, like lovers, how she would - if she could let herself remember what it's to feel her back curve instead of break, for once, she would want to watch his eyes, she would not let him break that contact and she will not let him look anywhere else but her.

Then her nail digs up, a pressed half circle of her nail that is aimed to bite into his skin. ] I will put a blade through your throat. [ she holds him.

And she pretends that it does not come with its own price, every touch does. ]

[ His chin lifts just a little, to give her easier access. His eyelids droop, and his breath catches with a sort of ecstasy. The threat ripples through him with all the slow sensuality of a lover's flirtation and promise, makes him shiver. Lingers in his ear. And the light in his eye is one of true and honest passion, real need and arousal, as he hears that vicious threat. And this expression of his isn't fake. It's very real.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he does wonder why that strikes him to his core. You really are a pervert, Vorrutyer, he thinks to himself, but that's not really an answer as to why that entrances him - just a description of who he is and what this makes him. He's not suicidal, either - it's not the death itself that kindles a fire in him - as his days of being truly suicidal are, thankfully, behind him. (He was so boring and trite back then. He never wants to go back.) No. It's the power, the promise, the danger - the vow that she'll see through him, see him, not the mask or the playacting but him and who he is, and then she will overmaster him -

He pushes forward suddenly, past the cage of her hand, to press a ferocious and passionate kiss to her lips. This isn't the polite, courtly kiss of that encounter in the stables. This is another beast altogether, driven by his need instead of by his manipulation. ]

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