[ 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

[truevor]

Those poor Jacksonian Communists, all three of them.

Olivia's nod towards him is slightly more amicable at the correct guess of her home world -- so whoever he is, underdressed and out of his element, he's observant enough to catch and identify her accent. Strange, but better that than someone they must carry or risk letting them fall behind. And they can't afford to lose any more Barrayarans, even ones that look like he does. "Once, maybe," she concedes, "but I would rather be here on Barrayar than somewhere else, helpless to watch from a distance."

She is Vor, after all. The Vor, in a way -- not like the Emperor-her-grandfather, but Vorbarra. Her marriage to Piotr Vorkosigan had only changed her name. "I assume you arrived here, with the rest of the outsiders, instead of the result of unfortunate circumstances. Or else you'd be wearing something warmer." He is, of course, free to correct her. But that leaves the matter of what District, and who.

[vorrutyer]

Ha. That just confirms his guess of her Vor status - most unarmed, untrained, non-soldier women would run away from a battle, but a Vor lady? Towards it. They're up here in the Dendarii - is she Vorkosigan, then? He frowns for just a moment, a little puzzled. Surely not. He does not exactly take pains to stay apprised of the comings and goings of House Vorkosigan, but they're prominent to the point that he can't exactly help knowing their make-up. (Besides which, Vor society is his specialty, so...technically speaking, he actually does exert pains to know people's family trees, who's related to whom, who can exert pressure on whom, et cetera. The Vorkosigans simply aren't his favorite, that's all, because they are unpressurable.) There's only Viceroy Admiral Count Vorkosigan, Vicereine Countess Vorkosigan, his favorite dimunitive twerp Auditor, Ekaterin now-Vorkosigan (pity, that), and Miles Vorkosigan's strange clone brother.

"My thanks, milady, for crediting me with that many wits. Indeed; I'll admit that in the milder climes of Vorbarr Sultana, we do not have much of a concept of the chill the poor Dendarii folk suffer, but I'd have at the very least picked out a greatcoat to wear if I'd had forewarning." Just slipping in that reference to his residence, and the climate therein, in case the lady becomes suspicious about whether or not he is truly Barrayaran. After all, if he were Cetagandan - ugh, shudder, perish the thought - he would desperately want some agents up in the guerrilla camp. And who better to be trusted than a Vor?

Her slight warming to him - or at least slight unchilling - emboldens him enough that he decides to ask. "Who's leading this camp? I hope I do not err in assuming it's Count Vorkosigan. No?" Aral Vorkosigan, after all, has the experience, and it's his bloody District. Would he have returned from Sergyar yet, though? Or perhaps it would be a better strategy to keep him there, to lead a second front...

[truevor]

Vorbarr Sultana, a place that has, in her memory, taken on the appearance of a dream. Half remembered, hazy, unreachable. Occupied by the Cetagandans, sully streets and buildings with centuries of history because they think it is their right. They might believe they were the galaxy's experts in bringing planets to their knees, but they've never tried their might against a people who had to bring their own planet under control to survive. "Summer brings better weather, but nothing as warm as to invite an evening walk along the Star Bridge." One day, she thinks, she'll have that chance again. Once they've won.

He seems familiar enough with the workings of the Vor for an honest answer -- and any Cetagandan informant worth their salt would know who commanded the Barrayarans in these mountains, so her answer would do nothing to threaten their position. "General Count Piotr Vorkosigan, yes, since the death of his father at the beginning of the Invasion." A man she barely remembered from her days at court -- the Vorkosigans had never been rich, and were more destitute than usual for such an old Vor family by the time Piotr inherited the Countship. But after this Olivia can't see that Barrayar will owe anyone more for its freedom.

[vorrutyer]

"Ah." That is a joke, of course. Of course it's a joke. A rebuke to his curiosity. Who commands these guerrilla mountain forces? Piotr fucking Vorkosigan, fuck off. Except that she says it so matter-of-factly. It's not a screw-off answer. It's not a joke answer. It's a...factual answer. Really providing the information needed. And this woman is...straightforward. Seems straightforward.

"Uhm." He reaches up to stroke his moustache, drops his hand again. Pushes a lock of hair from his face.

General Count Piotr Vorkosigan.

General Count...

What a strange dream this is.

"If you will - suffer another question, milady," he trills. "Exactly how far away is summer? By which I mean - what is today's date. Please give the date in full, if you would, including the - uhm - year."

[truevor]

Olivia's eyebrows return in their raised position, but she answers him anyway. "Galactic standard? The second day of the first month, 3024 CE. Was that not the case when you last were in Vorbarr Sultana?" How strange, if that were true. And yet his finery might give such a claim weight -- none of them have the time or ability to create such things for themselves in an occupied city.

[vorrutyer]

"Well," he lies desperately, "I am very drunk. So I honestly could not say."

3024. Yes. Certainly. Of course. So...who does he know who would play this trick? Kidnap him, drug him, leave him in the mountains with a lot of Occupation reenactors? Richars? No, too clever, too without malice. Dono? Sufficiently clever for the Count, but too malicious - and too much work. He had actual governing to attend to. Ivan...? Hah. Vorfalkonner didn't have the resources, nor any others of By's usual raucous set - Vorgalantis, maybe...?

It...was an elaborate prank, though. Very exceedingly elaborate. And dear word but this young lady did look the spitting image of Countess Olivia Vorbarra Vorkosigan.

"So...Emperor Dorca. Is Emperor still? I haven't had news of late. The Cetagandans haven't caught him yet." He takes care to make his voice a bit ironic. If this is a prank, he does want to seem in on the joke. If. It is a prank.

[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.

[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."

[truevor]

A Vorrutyer. Olivia herself has no quarrel with any of the family -- beyond what bitterness might remain for her father's legitimization and her grandfather's marriage to her grandmother once the Vorrutyer Empress had passed. They have always been an odd family, if the right hand of the Emperor for centuries. And old Count Pierre Vorrutyer had taken no small number of Cetagandans with him when he finally went. How much that dedication stand with this Vorrutyer remains to be seen.

But that would not stop her from being unfailingly polite to him until he proves one way or the other. The dip of her head is shallow, but respectful. "Very well, Byerly Vorrutyer." She does not, however, introduce herself. Even recovering from a hangover, Olivia figures that any Vorbarr Sultana Vor worth their salt can deduce who the High Vor woman with Count Vorkosigan is, even if she hasn't been in the public eye for ten years. "If it was your intention to fight, perhaps you would do well to appeal to Count Vorkosigan himself and present yourself in short order. We can always use another pair of hands." It's said as neutral as possible, but there's a sharp glint in her eyes.

If there's a moment of weakness, Olivia will strike. They cannot afford missteps, not now, and she'll be damned before she lets herself be the cause of one.

[vorrutyer]

Appeal to Count Vorkosigan himself...Right. Through some miracle, By suppresses a flinch. If-this-is-all-true-and-not-a-prank (that caveat is beginning to run together as one fluid phrase, now, appended onto the beginning of each and every thought) then Count Vorkosigan will not mean Aral Vorkosigan. Not, mind, that By isn't afraid of Aral Vorkosigan - on the contrary, the thought of the Great Admiral fills By with gibbering terror. But that's nothing compared to the hoary old Dendarii mountain wolf that is the Great General. Piotr Pierre Vorkosigan is the breed of beast you can only be comfortable viewing in a zoo. In the wild, it's best simply to run away.

Help me.

"When we have a bit more freedom of movement, I shall," he agrees, his voice just a little faint. He clears his throat and continues, stronger, "Do you have any idea when that might be, milady?" Perhaps so I can turn tail and flee? No...He knows, grimly, that he won't be able to do that. He has to stay and fight. He took oaths - not to this Emperor, not to this ImpSec, not to these people. But he took oaths.

[truevor]

A small, faint smile hits the edge of her lips before it fades into a perceptive blankness broken only by one raised brow. "I do not. The Count has other things on his mind, at present." And the outsiders are not worth taking him away from that when they do not present a threat. Or at least one not mitigated currently by their guards -- if she truly thought they were more than that, she wouldn't consent to meeting with any of them.

"Of course," she continues, with an air of nonchalance, "you would be allowed to meet with him if you had an escort. Someone who could vouch for your sincerity and eagerness to join the cause." Olivia would never think of interrupting Piotr for something so small as making sure this Vorrutyer cousin of his could join the fight, but she's not above letting the threat of it hang over him to see his response. His behavior previously does not endear him to her, or make her inclined to trust him further than she can throw him. "It wouldn't do to let that enthusiasm go to waste -- it is sorely needed here."