[ 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's been watching her watching the guards. Watching her is, of course, a singular pleasure, and would be no matter what she was doing; that's quite a face she has, and quite a form, elegant and spare. But with her lively eyes, her wary face, her industrious hands - the active intellect that hints at is quite alluring, he must say.

So when she speaks to him where he sits propped up and feigning a hangover, his sigh is only a little pained. ]

Of course. [ He presses his hand over his heart and assays a bow from his sitting position. ] Anything to be of service.

[shri]

[ Their on hand weapons when she finds herself bare does so many her itch. Having one for herself might all of this - food as plain as anything she'd find in England, poor weather, and the loss of her home -- so much better. But she has nothing to do but watch them over her work like a hungry tiger at a flock's edge. Like she's waiting, just waiting, for a reason to pounce and take one for herself. Though she's been in war enough to not be bothered why she hasn't been given one, she's not bitter too much. She wouldn't give herself one, either.

But it gives food for thought, her grand escape attempt in the near future.

Enough that what she can say for him is moderately little. A new comer like herself, like his drink from the way he was nursing his head - not so different to any of her brothel patrons come a morning where they needed to be tossed home to their wives and families.

Perhaps that gives her a measure of familiarity, but she keeps it close. ]

How kind of you. [ It's amused, faintly. ] Come here, I need of your hands, I'm afraid. [ Her hand lifts, beckoning him closer to her. The hardened worn in leather of her gloves no longer stiff from how she's stretched them to her. ]

[vorrutyer]

An enchanting request, coming from a beautiful lady.

[ He mitigates the potential offense that might be incurred by this by offering her a wink. Then he gives a groan, stretches, and forces himself to his feet, making a great show of his stiffness and soreness. For what purpose? To catch her off guard in case he needs to jump her? To catch the proles off guard in case he needs to jump them? Who damn well knows. Still, if he's sure of one thing, he's sure it's good to be underestimated.

He makes his way over, and kneels before her - his manner courtly, his head bowing in respect - and then holds both hands out, palm-up. They're soft hands - haven't seen a day's honest work in his life. ]

[shri]

[ Oh what is she to do with such a figure? Hard not to laugh, turning her head away with it. It's polite, light, even. Another time, her laughter is just one more weapon - mocking and sharp. But for this? ]

Polite hands and a charming mouth. What better help could be asked for?

[ Playful, means nothing, he will not gain much for her bemusement anymore than his helping her means very much when it matters. But as a game - it is pleasant.

Because her hands are not soft, not polite, they are as worn as the leather is. Cracks of scars and starbursts of worn in callouses. They are light, still, but they are no genteel ladies hands. They grip to a blade better than they do to a lover, where such a person might find his hands more an enticing idea.

A brush against them as she takes the first gold chain out from her lap, it swings back and forth, a pendulum to catch the light - and as she had once, she pools it in his upturned hands. From where she's sat however, she does not move too much. Better he's a little above her. ] I need you to place against my hair, against the part of my hair and see that it is even. Easy enough?

[ And trusting that it is, her face turns up to him just slightly, waiting for him to do as she said. A passive order, but one none the less. ]

[vorrutyer]

You're lucky.

[ He adjusts himself to stand behind her. Interesting, those hands, he thinks. This is a warrior woman. From where, though? Not Beta: Betan women can be fierce, but they certainly don't train their soldiers in the sort of combat that leaves those calluses. Pol? Jackson's Whole? Possibly, though the accent doesn't sound right...Clearly not Cetagandan, for all that she has the bearing of a haut. Well. She has what he imagines a haut's bearing to be. God knows that Byerly Vorrutyer has never seen a haut woman. ]

You have managed to ask me to do the one task for which I am actually, truly qualified. A bit of fashion. There.

[ With enormous decorum, he does just as she's commanded. ]

[shri]

[ She keeps still, eyes closed, patient when she wants to be, or at least content. Her life had always been full of people, in one form or another. Whether that was the court her husband had kept, or the hub of a rebellion run out of a brothel house. She's content being surrounded, in her way. ]

You must be in high demand with many women.

[ Digging double meaning, given just how charming he was being. ] Now if you could just hold your finger here - [ she reaches up to the top of her crown, taps next to where she means. ] I'd be obliged.

[vorrutyer]

[ Goodness. Maybe she is Betan. He's been so long surrounded by Barrayaran ladies that her forwardness actually does take him aback a moment. Oh, he likes it, though. Honestly, this whole situation has been...disconcerting; getting to spend a bit of time caressing a beautiful woman's hair is a little soothing to him. ]

Of course.

[ He murmurs that into her ear, pitching his voice a little low. He straightens up a moment later, touching the indicated spot with a feather-light touch. ]

I suppose you normally have servants for this?

[shri]

[ He's almost as bad as the Marquis, Lafayette didn't have enough hours in the day for how many women he sought to seduce, and she'd only ever indirectly met the man, it seemed a fair comparison.

But far be it for her to be crass at the best of times - it's good to keep people on their toes - see what he might do with it. She says no more, her face up but her eyes are lowered, demure except that she clearly isn't. She has no reason to suspect him of being up to too much other than drunkenness and lechery, given everything so far, it comes mostly from her own need to misdirect.

But, she supposes, at least inwardly noting how his breath is a warm thing on her skin where it is frozen otherwise. Just for herself, to think on later, just like he's nothing terrible to look at either, if the inclination was to look. ]

Once, yes.

[ With his hold in place, she begins to rake her hair, comb it in blunt strokes of her fingers into sections, drawing the front parts over her shoulders as she fishes for the next gold chain. Intricate piece of work that it is, why she needs the help is plain, she traces a line up from her ear, back to the top chain, and there she hooks it in place before she does it up at the piercing in her ear. Secures itself in place, before she begins on the other side. The long wide brace of gold that frames her face. ]

I have no business pining over them when I've found such a worthy replacement.

[ Purposefully deflecting. He doesn't need to know anything about her. Nor why she's just so comfortable eliciting a perfect stranger to do something so personal. ]

[vorrutyer]

You know, I think that might be the first time someone's ever called me worthy.

[ The your humble servant routine always does work well on these sorts of elegant, noble women. And it works best, he's found, when the elegant noble women have a debased worthless creature they can elevate. And there is nothing more debased than the dissolute, disinherited fop, is there? So he says it with foppish affectation - but underneath that, there's just a hint of vulnerability. Carefully calculated. ]

I must say that serving you is a rare pleasure. What's your name?

[shri]

[ Her head turns, as he asks, her eyebrows going up and mouth pulling a line, smiling, light. But it's edged - ah, what is in a name, or so the English poets waxed.

If anything else, she might bend to that vulnerability. ]

One who knows that to ask for something like that, it must be given first. No matter how sweetly you ask, sir.

[ Her fingers fiddle at her ear until it's fastened too, and she begins to pull her hair back over the metal. Like secrets, she hides them away, hair pulled up high at the back of her head the way her husband had preferred once. Her face becoming as she is - nothing open to her, not anymore. A second longer, and she'll be a stern-faced ruler again, with no more games in her. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ What a charming change from what he's used to. Normally, people want their names to be known, like a name is equal to status, which in turn is equal to personal qualities. His lips quirk up, rather charmed by her reticence - and charmed by her faintly challenging air. He does like a woman who poses a challenge. ]

A bargain, then, is it?

[ And he answers, simply: ]

By.

[shri]

[ Her legs uncurl from underneath her to stretch out a little, getting comfortable. The length of her back extended as she tilts her head slightly. ]

You may remove your hands.

[ His task is done and she doesn't give him his response immediately, just shifts herself so she can finish scraping her hair up to where she ties it messily away from her face. ]

Maharani.

[ That is a challenge too - to see if he will know title from a name. If not, well, she's in the habit of answer to it anyway, and she has no want to give her name when it remains a crime to breath it, to anyone. ]

[vorrutyer]

[ By, clever as he might be, is also a school drop-out. And even if he weren't, Barrayaran schools don't include enough about Old Earth that he'd know anything about that. He barely managed to learn Barrayaran Russian, let alone any of the Sanskrit-derived languages. So instead, he smiles and says: ]

How lovely.

[ He steps back to consider her in all her regal beauty. She is impressive, isn't she? It's half from a desire to disarm and half from actual desire when he offers: ]

Speaking of my hands, though - I should tell you that my neck massages are rather famed.

[shri]

[ Well, he's no one she needs to worry about now, whatever he might turn out to be - and he's just so helpful, isn't it? And her hands drop back, bracing on the ground. ]

Bold. [ She tones it back sharp, quick, just this side of a warning of letting him presume too much. But it's relented again as quickly. ] When I need of one, perhaps I shall ask.

[ If nothing else, it's too tempting an offer to not keep him at an arm's length. Fall into one indulgence, and you'll fall into another and another. ]