[ january i log: barrayar ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Barrayaran guerrilla camp
Warnings: None (at the moment)


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

And you're not alone. There are nine other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.

They're dressed in weather-worn green uniforms, bearing swords and bows, and they surround you immediately, poised to attack. But they quickly realize you're not their enemy, the ones they call Cetagandans. They're just as confused as you are, but rather than hanging around to puzzle it out, they start shepherding you toward their camp in the mountains while it's still dark. There's a war on, they say, and you unlucky bastards have just been dropped right smack in the middle of it.

the guerrilla camp
It's a few hours' hike through the mountains to get to their hidden camp, set up in a clearing framed by dense, hard forestry and backed against a rock face. Daylight is finally dawning when you make it there. You and your fellow sudden arrivals are ushered to an empty tent on the far end of the camp, just big enough to fit all ten of you. You can't help but notice they've posted guards all around it. You aren't under arrest – they just don't know what else to do with you.

You are able to glean, from hearsay and what the soldiers are willing to share with you, that you are on a planet called Barrayar, and this is their home, and ten years ago they were attacked without warning by the Cetagandan Empire. They've been holed up in the mountains fighting against their invaders ever since, outgunned and outmanned, but scoring little victories where they can. They don't tell you much more than that. Some dialect of Russian seems to be one of the predominant languages of the camp, but for the most part they all speak English too, if with an accent. They're gruff and wary, and if you look a little less – or more – than human, they'll eye you with suspicion, maybe even make obscure hex signs at you that seem intended to ward off evil or disease. But they aren't hostile to you, not unless you start something with them.

the outsiders' tent
It's not in the greatest shape, but if you look around the camp, the rest aren't much better off. It's cramped, but you've at least been provided with bedrolls and heavy wool blankets to ward off the frozen chill, and if you're in need of clothing, they'll provide it, although it probably hasn't been washed in…a while. The soldiers bring you food at mealtimes -- not very good food, mostly tough meat and groats, and they keep you your own campfire, just to keep you warm. They've also hastily dug you your own latrine area at the edge of the perimeter, just behind the treeline. No private bathroom stalls in this outfit, unfortunately. The entire camp seems tense and wary, and the soldiers are alert, but they don't talk much. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.

Well, at least you've got each other for company: the outsiders on Barrayar.

Comments

[dendarii]

It was two words, Byerly. For fuck's sake.

[vorrutyer]

Yes, but they sounded sincere. You know how I feel about sincerity.

[ Byerly "this is why we can't have nice things" Vorrutyer ]

[dendarii]

I won't thank you next time. Problem solved.

[vorrutyer]

Perfect!

[ He flips up his hand in approval. ]

Now let's get out of this bloody cold and back into the bloody-cold-with-slightly-less-wind, shall we? Before one of the guards decides we're doing something illicit, immoral, or both.

[dendarii]

Agreed.

[ And with no further sentiment, Miles heads back in. ]

[littlemissfutility]

"Yeah." In her experience, it's usually not a good thing when someone does that. It means they're dangerous. She shrugs, adding, "Maybe he hasn't come to see us yet."

[littlemissfutility]

At the moment, most of what's on Beth's face is determination: to get through the rest of this walk, ideally without tripping, and maybe to keep anything else she might be feeling out of the furrow of her brows. Giving into worry is only going to make this harder for her; showing anyone, even a drunk, that she might be worried could make things even worse.

"Can't think of anything." Beth shrugs at the question--then, a little irony entering her voice, she adds, "I probably don't know what I want to know. Not yet."

b.

[littlemissfutility]

The hospital is far behind her--light years, maybe entire dimensions, away--but Beth hasn't broken the habits she picked up there. She moves like a ghost around the tent, saying little and watching everything she can. They're surrounded by strangers, both in their prison and beyond it; if she has a choice, she's going to figure out who's dangerous without coming under anyone's wrath herself.

(Luckily, everyone's been a lot more civilized here than at the hospital. Wrath is starting to seem like too strong a word.)

So she doesn't interrupt the conversation a man--a doctor? that squiggly stick means doctor where she's from--has with their guards. It doesn't seem to come to much, though she's tensed for more open conflict than exchanged words. After, though, when things are back to normal and she's eaten her lunch, she finds the man.

"Why do you want to go to the medical tent?" The answer's pretty obvious, but she thinks she's probably better off not making the guess herself. Her reason for asking is similarly a no-brainer: there are two stitched-up cuts on her face, like parentheses above and below her eyes, and a plaster cast around one forearm.

[vorrutyer]

"Too right," he agrees with a weary sort of wryness, answering her irony with his own. No fool, she. Nor any shrinking violet, either, he reflects, looking over and seeing those drawn-down brows and that set jaw. Which is...Well. There is something to be said in praise of shrinking violets in a time of war, the sorts of people who'll happily and uncomplainingly hide behind you to save their hides. Brave people are unpredictable people. Brave people are the sorts of people you don't want to start having feelings over. Ah, to be surrounded only ever by cowards and slugs, villains and trembling fools, and feel nothing at all...

"Well." He gives another little hiccup. "If you do think of something, at some point I will be sober, which means my advice will get...oh, worse, probably. But if you still desire it..." He stoops down in a little bow over his walking stick. "Your servant, Miss Greene."

[starsneverpay]

[Elsa looks down him underneath her worn out mascara, there's a warm yet amused smile on her lips. The wariness is good, wise even, even though someone like Elsa doesn't seemingly could posses any threat or danger to people around -- especially in situation like this, you can never be too sure when she's being sincere or not.]

That so. Are you interested in joining them, then? I must say, though, that you don't exactly look like someone who'd be use in a war.

[truevor]

"Trust," Olivia says, "is a rarity in times like these. You are well within your rights to approach the situation with skepticism. After all, it is only what we've done to you." A careful dance of wariness -- one wrong foot and they lose. Their lives, the war, Barrayar. They know nothing about the outsiders, and in turn, they know nothing about them. "And words are easily used and easier overheard."

When the other woman -- Maharani -- introduces herself, Olivia lowers her head again in greeting and acknowledgement. "Well met," and that's said with a twist of her lips, because both of them know it's hardly that, "Maharani." But there is no spark to signify Olivia recognizes or knows it's anything other than a name. "I am Countess Vorkosigan." The whole weight of her title, Princess and Countess Olivia Vorbarra Vorkosigan, seems pointless to use with people who have no knowledge of their system. Just the most relevant one will do.

Reaching her tent, Olivia pulls and ties back the tent flap -- for her safety as well as the other woman's. Olivia has no plans to make the other woman feel as if she's being led to a trap.

arrival

[littlemissfutility]

[Until the woman speaks, Beth doesn't realize she's staring. She's just trying to get through this, her arms wrapped around her, focused so strongly on putting one foot in front of the other that she doesn't notice much else.]

N-- [It's so cold that she has to clear her throat and trying again, but it has the effect of making her sound uncertain. Which, in itself, isn't exactly inaccurate. The woman has a fierce stare.] No. Sorry.

[truevor]

Eyes narrowing slightly, Olivia mentally retreats away from sympathy to a fellow Barrayaran towards wary skepticism. "That is correct, although doubtless they wish to change that as soon as possible." It had been a constant worry -- while Yuri was in charge of the ground forces and her father any off planet support they could muster, the Emperor-her-grandfather was Emperor. His capture or death would deal a spiritual blow that Olivia isn't certain Barrayar could recover from. Even his natural death would throw them all into chaos, however ready Yuri was for the role.

Eyeing him again, Olivia frowns. "It must have been some party, if you had forgotten the year." She'll forgive him for losing track of the date. Easy to do, for some Vor.

[truevor]

The staring threatens to stretch into some form of discomfort before Miles speaks, one of her brows creeping upwards. The lines in her face smooth out with the bow, her return dip of her head shallow but respectful all the same.

"Well met, Miles Illyan. I do not know what will come of it, but I will do what I can to see that the General Count will at least hear you out." It isn't much, she knows that, but Piotr can be... difficult, at times. It is at least better than a refusal to see him outright. Illyan will have to prove himself from there.

[vorrutyer]

"Ah, well, what can I say?" He throws himself wholeheartedly into that offered escape, swallowing down his panic to offer her a bleary smile. "One does find one's consolations where one can...And believe me, I did not remotely expect to find myself here. I thought that, well, naturally, I'd end up simply sleeping it off, no harm to anyone, not tripping anyone up or having to ask for any sort of dates or times or anything of the sort..."

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't understand any of it. But he does understand safety, and understand that at times safety can lie behind a Vor woman's smile as much as it can lie behind a Vor lord's weaponry. More. And so he heaves a little sigh, and pulls together the tatters of some lies -

"I do wish I might have presented myself to you in a better fashion," he says. "With a bit more dignity and decorum. Do forgive me. It was my intention to join the fight, but I hadn't thought that my comrades would smuggle me up here when I was unconscious from drink. I had thought they'd have had better sense than that. My apologies. Byerly Vorrutyer." He sweeps her a bow. "No one close to the Count Vorrutyer; do not search your memory to see if you've heard of me, for I am of a cadet branch of no account."

[vorbratta]

Sonia shakes her head. "He hasn't, no. The Countess has been by a few times, though -- she's hard to miss, too. Always wearing her husband's greatcoat -- she practically swims in it, but she manages to make it look dignified."

Her sister manages to make almost anything look dignified. Count Piotr -- dignity, sure, but he was mostly hard-faced and, at times, terrifying. "The General Count's a busy man, but I'd be surprised if he never came by at all. Although," she adds, making a face, "you're not missing much."

[vorbratta]

Sonia's face glows with delight and interest. Everyone's always much too busy for art and music, at least out here. Back in Vorbarra's District... Hm. Sonia smiles in return, turning the sugar over in her palm.

"If they ever did, they've probably been broken down and used for firewood by now." A pitiful waste of a musical instrument. This damned war. "I'd like to ask you if you sing, but -- I believe it is your turn to ask a question." She grins a little wider, eyes alight. "Or would you consider the game over?"

[dendarii]

One audience to convince his grandfather he's not a burden. One audience to prove himself worthy ... It won't be enough. But he'll try his damndest anyway.

He bows rather low in response.

"Thank you, my lady," he murmurs. "It is all I can ask for."

[shri]

"Your grace," she tones it back with a bow of her head in respect for title. That would - explain a great deal. She hadn't seen many other women here, and Zarya had told her how they weren't inclined to let women fight.

She waits for her to walk forward first, before she follows in under the tent flap - and she has not adapted well to the cold, that stepping to be shielded even slightly from it is a relief. "Are you solely in command here ?" A woman she might be, but higher rank, and being told that they couldn't, didn't mean it didn't happen anyway.

[shri]

[ She's scowling, still, as she looks at the girl hard, taking in how she's shivering, and - she couldn't be more poorly dressed for it.

She's still scowling, that isn't improving any time soon, but she beckons her closer. ] Come here, girl.

[littlemissfutility]

[Well, she could be a little worse off, she figures. Her cardigan is holey, but it's still better than just her shirt alone. Still, it turns out cowgirl boots aren't great in snow.

And the woman's gesturing her over. Shit. Ignoring her would probably be a worse idea than trudging closer, so she takes the few steps closer. There's a certain wariness in her eyes, though.] Yeah?

[shri]

[ It's like watching a skittish deer, all doe eyed and nervous. Sweet and frozen at all her edges - if not for the wounds on her, she might think not too much of it. But someone hadn't been so kind to her, so recently. It's enough at least, that Lakshmi doesn't get frustrated with her. Instead, she just unwinds the red sash from her waist, a forceful tug to get it out from underneath the wide belt at her waist. ]

I'm losing fingers just looking at you. [ She holds it up, all bright burnt red and gold in the white landscape, bright, almost. ]

[littlemissfutility]

I'm okay.

[Accept a sash now, and you might have to repay it later. More importantly, the woman deserves to keep warm, too. It doesn't look like the woman has enough on, with or without the scarf. (Not that it matters too much. These guards can't keep them walking through snow forever--their destination must be nearby. If it isn't, she's pretty sure there'll be a revolt--from her, if no one else.]

It's beautiful. [Surely something so nice would be worth something to the woman. It seems wrong to take it, even with the knowledge that might be demanded back to Cetaganda.] You should keep it.

[shri]

[ Her eyes roll, fondly if nothing else. She doesn't have much of an interest in keeping things simply because they are beautiful. ] Cold doesn't care about beauty. Better you than me, believe me. Take it, because the colder you get, the more likely you are to fall behind.

[ Her eyes drift, sharp, just the once to the soldiers, hopes it's enough to indicate. ] And not everyone has a care to be considerate to those unable to move forward.

[ A double layered word - she has no reason to trust these men. Not if there was some kind of war on. It bred cruelty, of even the most basic kind. ]

[traitorous]

Maine was born on a desert planet with towering sand dunes and violent dust storms that lasted for weeks at a time. The first fifteen years of his life weren't easy, and shit only got harder on the day the Covenant swept into his system with their city-sized ships to burn his planet until the mountains of golden sand turned to shiny black glass. His home was an absolute wreck even before the Covenant came, hardly worth saving, but that didn't stop the UNSC from evacuating as many people as it had ships to carry them.

The UNSC didn't have to do shit, and it did.

She didn't have to do shit, either, and she did, despite his tumultuous, fist-swinging entrance. Even for a man like Maine, it's hard not to respect the level of brass it takes to approach him when he's at his ugliest, snarling and bruised and ready to lash out at the first person who looks at him wrong. He presses the scarf to the side of his face when she gestures to her eye, mentally filing a reminder to return it to to her later, once he's cleaned the blood from the fabric.

The soldiers sort through the small crowd behind them, checking each person for weapons and speaking in sharp English that occasionally lapses into quieter Russian. He can hear as they move further away, heavy boots crunching over snow and rock, and it's only then that he takes a moment to look around.

He has a mountain at his back, and a line of trees in front of him. There are no weapons just conveniently lying around within arm's reach, but there's a particularly sharp broken branch jutting from the ground by his knee, the same branch that put a gash in his thigh minutes earlier. No, that's stupid, fuck the branch. He doesn't need a makeshift shank to kill some people. He looks over his shoulder. Ten soldiers? Fifteen? Twenty? It's hard to tell in the dark. Now that he's slightly more focused, he's sure he could take out at least a quarter of them before they bring them down again.

Also stupid, for a multitude of reasons. Not worth it. Get your shit together, asshole.

Maine ties the scarf around his thigh and drags himself to wobbling feet. Lakshmi is graced with one squinting, speculative stare before he leans in toward her, offering her an arm to help pull her up.