[ 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

[vorrutyer]

He laughs outright and briefly considers capturing that hand - but, no, he doesn't want to do anything to set off her guards. At best, it could lead to an end to the conversation; at worst, it could lead to them clubbing him to death.

"I suppose I'd have to search for evidence one way or another." He strokes at his goatee, and then says slyly, "Is there an enchanted mortar and pestle concealed on your person, perhaps? Hm. Where could you be hiding it? Turn out your pockets, let's see if there's one in there."

[vorbratta]

That earns another little laugh, although she manages to maintain that air of outrage. This conversation is easily the most fun she's had with another human being in a while, even if it is in public, and so she does nothing to discourage him. She is entertained.

"And where would I keep it? My pockets, really?" Scoffing, Sonia turns out her pockets, empty save for a small wad of maple sugar wrapped in paper. She smirks at Byerly. "Well, don't you feel foolish now?"

[vorrutyer]

What about under your skirts? he wants to ask. Under most circumstances, he would - that sort of comment gets a laugh more often than a slap, and honestly, both reactions are equally enjoyable. But, well...He's not going to push his luck too much. This is also the most enjoyable conversation he's had so far, and he doesn't want it to end in a flood of sudden propriety.

So instead, he holds out his hand for the little bit of sweetness she'd taken from her pocket. And he makes a piteous face, begging for that as well.

[vorbratta]

Were they in a less public arena, Sonia might have entertained that question gladly, but instead here they are, sitting in the snow, Byerly making the most pitiful face that she bursts out into a peal of laughter.

"You're a terrible con, Byerly," she says with a flash of her eyes, holding the maple sugar aloft. It's not sincere; she knows he's very much still playing his game. "All that, just to steal a poor, lonely maiden's only sweets? Cold, sir, cold."

[vorrutyer]

"Oh, that's not how I see it," he sighs in response. "How I see it is a beautiful cruel villainess, a captress, coming to her noble and heroic captive - only to break his heart and tease his stomach."

He lowers his spectacularly long eyelashes, only to peer up at her from under them.

"Though at least my eyes are glad and satisfied with this encounter."

[vorbratta]

Sonia, eyebrows raised, withdraws the hand with the paper-wrapped maple sugar to tap it thoughtfully against her chin. "Wasn't I your angelic savior just five minutes ago? Tch." She clucks her tongue at him chidingly. "You're far too inconsistent, dear Byerly. It shreds your case absolutely to pieces."

[vorrutyer]

"The heart is a vacillating thing, dear Sonia," he answers with a sigh. Damn, he'd hoped for a bit of shocked denial of the captive thing, which he could parlay into perhaps a bit more information...Ah, well. Such is the nature of banter.

"And the mind must always reevaluate the situation when given new information. After all, the old information I had to work with was that you gave me groats. The new information? That you didn't sweeten them up like you could have."

[vorbratta]

Sonia purses her lips in a pout, though her eyebrows raise in concession to a good play. God, she's been starved for entertainment like this.

"I don't see why I should just hand off my only sweets to any beggar with a pretty face," she says archly, still tapping the wad of maple sugar. "I brought you food, didn't I? Asking nothing in return. And if I give you this, what do I get?"

[vorrutyer]

"Are we Jacksonians?" he sighs. "Must we Deal? I thought we were good Barrayarans. Honor-bound to care for the weak and downtrodden amongst us." A hand clearly indicates who in this situation is weak and downtrodden. "I, madam, have come here with nothing but the clothes on my back - and the wits in my head."

He tilts his head to the side and smiles slyly, saying, "Well. And the prettiness of my face. But that's something you've no need of, I'm sure."

[vorbratta]

Sonia wrinkles her nose at the implication. Rude, Byerly, rude. She tilts her head back, eyebrows raised, and looks almost theatrically thoughtful.

"Hm. Actually, from where I'm sitting, that's the most useful part of you right now." She gives him a wicked smile. "How about we play a game instead?"

[vorrutyer]

"My dearest Sonya," he sighs wistfully, gazing at her in lamblike adoration, "there is not a sweeter set of words in all the world. Particularly when that question is asked with a smile such as yours."

He reaches up to his heart and lowers his head in another bow.

"Tell me the rules."

[vorbratta]

Even if it's mostly play on his part -- and he plays hard -- Sonia's enjoying the attention, soaking it up while it lasts. She's almost giddy with it. Her smile spreads, catlike, and she waves the wad of sugar idly.

"I get to ask you questions, and if I like the answers, I'll give you some sugar." A thoughtful pause, and then she tilts her head at Byerly with a benevolent smile. "And for every two questions I ask you, you get to ask me one."

[vorrutyer]

"Hm." Ah. That last enticement is sweeter by far than any sugar at all. Not, of course, that he can be sure that he'll have the truth out of her - he expects she'll withhold quite a lot, as she has quite mastered the art of mystery in her flirtations. But even silences can be illuminating.

"Two for one? A Jacksonian bargain indeed," he says. "One for one. And if I like your answers, I'll give you something you crave."

[vorbratta]

"You offend my honor," Sonia says breezily in protest. Gosh, Byerly, it's rude to keep throwing around the word Jacksonian. "And, might I remind you, you do not possess the bargaining chip."

A little wave of the paper-wrapped sugar. His offer is an obvious bait, plain as day, but Sonia's amused enough to let herself take it. Curiosity beats out austerity every time. She lifts her chin at him, eyebrows delicately raised, trying not to smile, though not too hard. "Oh? And what is that?"

[vorrutyer]

He is a master, if nothing else, of the theatrical. Her question gets a mysterious sweep of his eyelashes, a conspiratorial lean in. A lowering of his voice, and an impeccable mutter in the intimate code of Barrayaran French, "A secret."

Then he leans back once more, a small smile hovering around his well-shaped lips. "I shouldn't ever presume, of course," he murmurs. "But you strike me as a woman who can appreciate a secret."

[vorbratta]

Sonia's eyes alight. Oh, he's all theater, this one, but she delights in it, indulging him entirely and leaning in to meet him. It's good theater. And worth the price of this hard-won sweet -- she'd pay another hundred marks just for five more minutes of this entertainment.

"You presumed nonetheless," Sonia points out, but the corner of her mouth is quirked up in a wicked smile. "But you presumed correctly. Alright, then." She points at Byerly with one slender finger, eyes glittering. "One for one, sugar and a secret. But I get to go first."

[vorrutyer]

He offers her a bow. "I'd not dream of having it any other way." That is not, truthfully, a lie; he wants her to start so he can get a sense of the gravity of the questions he can get away with. No good leading with what is your role in the war effort if all she's going to ask is do you think I'm pretty. Not that he thinks she'll ask that. She's deliciously, refreshingly frivolous in a way that does his heart good, but she's not stupid. She won't ask something with a foregone answer.

"Ask away, milady."

[vorbratta]

Sonia positively beams. Oh, good. She's guaranteed herself at least another five more minutes of entertainment, and she didn't have to spend a single mark on it. She leans back with a thoughtful tilt of her head, twisting her hair around a finger.

"Where are you from? Vorrutyer's District?" Sonia peers at him in honest curiosity. He'd arrived with the outsiders, certainly, but he's the only Barrayaran she's met thus far. "You're clearly a city man, but your clothes..." Well, they're about a hundred years out of date in the wrong direction, and Sonia's not sure how she feels about them yet. "I don't recognize the style."

[vorrutyer]

"Well-spotted." He touches a hand to his heart, bowing his head in acknowledgment. "On both counts. Born and raised in Vorrutyer lands, but a glad resident of Vorbarr Sultana since I was seventeen. And this style, I'll have you know, is all the rage at the moment. Not like your look, which - if I might critique - is terribly out of fashion."

He mitigates this not-quite criticism with a crinkle of his eyes which - well. Which projects warmth. Warmth which is rather unfeigned. Hang him, he's simply damnably charmed by her, is all.

"The same to you. Where are you from?"

[vorbratta]

The warmth is mirrored in Sonia's smile, because for all they're gleefully playing one another, he really is turning out to be good company. She rests her chin in one hand, one eyebrow raised, looking amused.

"Then fashions in Vorbarr Sultana must have changed wildly in the last ten years," Sonia says, a touch dryly, because Vorbarr Sultana's been under occupation since she was thirteen. "And you're mistaken. This right here is haut couture among the Dendarii hillfolk."

A small smirk, a tilt of her head. Her hair tumbles down over one shoulder. "Vorbarr Sultana," she says, and it isn't a lie -- Xav and his wife had taken her uterine replicator back to Barrayar for the uncorking, for the Emperor-her-grandfather's benefit. And then, even more truthfully, "I miss it."

[vorrutyer]

That...surely isn't the whole truth. True, it's certain she isn't a true hill-maid; he's never met hillmen before, no, but he's heard enough parodies of the accent that he can place her as not-from-here. (One of By's favorite satirical programs portrays the former Regent as having a Dendarii hick accent. It's fond, truly.) No - not Dendarii, that accent. But not Vorbarr Sultana...

It was thinking of that satire that helped him place it. She doesn't speak like a parody of the Viceroy of Sergyar; she speaks like a parody of his wife. Betan-inflected, this girl. Which makes her...What? Sister to the other Vor lady? Handmaiden? Servant-girl? Cousin? Mother? (You never could tell with Betans.)

"You strike me as more of a city girl than a country girl, it's true." He touches his chin, and offers, "Of late, there's been a trend towards trousers and tunics as formal-wear." Influence of the new Empress. "Silk, with daring décolletage, in the most gloriously jewellike shades. With your complexion, you'd look stunning in such attire."

[vorbratta]

A pointed raise of eyebrows, although she smiles, pleased, in acknowledgment of the shameless flattery. Sonia remembers Vorbarr Sultana last she'd seen it, barely functioning under the heavy Cetagandan occupation, in a constant state of unrest. As far as she's concerned, Byerly's selling her a fantasy, and one she'll buy with pleasure. Still, Byerly, you're testing her suspension of disbelief here.

"Vor women in trousers? Really?" She looks amused. "Hm. Perhaps you can send me a catalogue. I do like color." A lame joke, but Sonia's struck with a sudden burst of homesickness. She leans forward. "So, what did you do in Vorbarr Sultana once you got there?"

He doesn't really look like he does anything, and she's curious.

[vorrutyer]

"I," he responds with profound dignity, "charm, flirt, and gambol. Gamble, too, rarely. And drink." He smooths down his hair and says, "I have the good fortune and good friends that allow me to spend my time living the life of the mind - going to salons, discussing the events of the day, discussing literature and art. Traveling, at times, with a charming woman on my arm - someone who knows how to laugh, how to charm, someone with wit."

More simply: he doesn't do a damned thing, no.

"And you, dear lady? Since I have never had the pleasure of so traveling with you as my sparkling companion, what do you do here?"

[vorbratta]

Sonia actually lets out the tiniest of wistful sighs as he talks, conjuring up images of what her life ought to be, without this war in the way. It doesn't matter if Byerly is embellishing in any way, which she half-suspects he is, as much as he likes to exaggerate. This is the most bizarre sense of normalcy she's had in a long time. She puffs out a laugh at his question, her smile tilted.

"Me? I help out around the camp, where I can. They tell me I'm good for morale."

[vorrutyer]

"Self-evidently," he flatters smoothly. "Sunshine is good for the soul - all the more so in winter." But his smile turns a little wryer, and he asks, "But tell, pray - how do you help out? Don't tell me they make you shovel snow and the like. I should hate to think of those gracious hands suffering blisters."