forbarrayar | [ january i log: barrayar ]

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[ january i log: barrayar ]

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm not a child," slips out of her, a little petulant. It's obvious that she doesn't look like much--she's starting to think maybe that's a good thing, if they don't realize what she can do if she has to--but there's something about being talked down to that still rankles a little. (Almost, in fact, like she's a teenager being a teenager.)

That same petulance, not to mention her lingering wariness about the guy (Byerly. By.), leaves her hesitant to introduce herself in turn. But for all she doesn't think she trusts him, she can't deny that he's given her plenty of useful information on this stupid, freezing walk. It might be helpful to have an ally when they get wherever they're going, even an ally kept at arm's length.

"Everyone's a representative of their family," she says instead. You're the sum of the people you know and all the things you learned from them, and all the ways your personality bent those lessons. Even if you don't like them, they're part of what makes you you. And then, after another moment or two considering, she adds, "My name's Beth."

Edited 2017-01-10 20:13 (UTC)

Hah. He shoots her a wry grin, then lifts his eyebrows and gives a flourish of his hand. "A wise wizened crone, hobbling around on her creaky arthritic knees, complaining of throwing out her hip and occasionally coughing up actual dustballs, then," he says, then sweeps that hand to the side so he can lower himself in a little bow. Then he lifts himself up again just in time to avoid actually stumbling on a rock outcropping. As convincingly as it would make him look drunk, he'd sooner not actually fall and break his face.

"So are you a representative of your family, then? I notice you didn't give me any family name. Not that I'd know them, of course, you being a prole galactic and all."

He clearly thinks he's hilarious; though Beth doesn't quite share the sentiment, she also doesn't reply. Complaining here will just confirm whatever he's decided to think about her age. (And maybe if he thinks she's just a stupid kid, that's not so bad in the long run.)

By instinct, she puts out a hand when some of the stone beneath their feet looks like it might trip him up--but he notices, too, and she doesn't actually have to catch his arm. Drawing her hand back, she answers, "I guess I have to be. There's no one else here."

The word prole sounds vaguely familiar, but she can't place where from or what it must mean exactly. She takes a few more steps before she adds, "And it's Greene. Beth Greene."

"You sound a bit sad about that," he observes, sticking his free hand into his pocket. God, he wants to get to camp. He worries he'll lose his fingertips to frostbite soon. He thinks back to those hours before, standing before his drawer of evening-gloves and thinking, no, didn't go with the ensemble. They're not thick gloves, no, but anything would have helped...

"Lonely for the other Greenes, perhaps? Wishing they were here with you?"

Beth's jaw clenches.

She's starting to wish she'd left his coat in the snow after all. He's just being a jerk to be a jerk, and about something she really doesn't want to talk about to somebody like him. Somebody she just met, who's kind of an asshole, drunk, and maybe a little creepy. Who's going to be honest under these circumstances?

As contrary as she's feeling, she can't bring herself to snap No back at him. It feels like betraying Maggie, especially when she'd give anything to see her. Instead, she says nothing, just tries to pick up some speed so they aren't walking next to each other anymore. It's easier said than done, though, with snow this deep and a steepening incline.

Ah. Too much? He glances over at her face, the way she's struggling through the snow to get away from him; apparently, yes, too much. It's funny, in a way; he wasn't even trying to be cruel or mocking in that moment. He was genuinely trying to make conversation. But, well...Things just come out of his mouth sounding sarcastic. And that came out of his mouth sounding sarcastic. And it hurt her feelings. Well done, Vorrutyer.

"I wish my cousin were here." He doesn't know if that will help. Probably not. But it's something true, at least. And his voice is a little subdued when he speaks, with less of an ironic ring. "He'd be furious at me for even thinking it - he'd enjoy this little wilderness retreat even less than I do - but he always does make me laugh. And he makes even completely insane things seem quite rational. All of this would seem vastly less terrifying."

Too much. Definitely too much. There aren't a lot of Greenes left these days--Mama and Shawn died soon after the turn, Daddy much more recently, and all three of them went in violence and fear--and opening herself up to explaining that is more than she wants to do with Byerly Vorrutyer today.

It'd be nicer if he'd just leave her alone, but of course, he doesn't. She should've known better than to hope. But when he does speak again, it sounds a little more genuine. Maybe he's trying to make up for the questions, or maybe this is what he wanted to talk about in the first place; maybe asking her about her people was just a vehicle to get to talk about his.

The thought doesn't make her feel much better, but their captors haven't mentioned how far away they are from their destination. Fighting this snow might tire her out before they arrive, and she can't be tired for that--not when she doesn't know what's going to happen or who they might have to face down. So she stops struggling in favour of the trudging step she's used for the last hour.

"Then you're better off wishing you were with him," she says, staring straight ahead. "If he'd be unhappy here."

By pauses, and then lets out a little Hah. "You know, it hadn't even occurred to me to wish for that," he marvels, not untruthfully. "One stroke of ill luck, and I've become a pessimist. Fancy that."

He walks a little further, then continues - "You ought to wish he was here, too, though. You'd like him. Everyone likes him - or, well, nearly everyone. Everyone who's not scandalized by him. He was born a woman, you see - my cousin was named Donna for the first thirty-odd years I knew her - but when the Count died, he went to Beta Colony and had surgery to become a man so he could take over the Countship. It wasn't going to work, of course - the Counts are all hideously small-minded, and were going to vote against him on the basis of his history as a woman, or on the basis of him going to Galactics to treatment, or simply on the basis of having no idea what just happened - but then he was attacked by his rival. And honor compelled all of them to stand behind Dono."

He bounces his walking stick on the ground again and proclaims to the air, "Barrayarans are honorable. You can be certain of that." Another few steps, and then, for once not couching his true meaning in cryptic asides and mockery, he says, "You're going to be all right."

Byerly's picked the right story to get her attention, at least. There's enough to it that she's not entirely sure where to begin--with his cousin, with the noblemen he mentions, with the technology they have here if they can do something like changing a person's sex that easily.

They also have space travel, according to him--like, real space travel. You're probably not supposed to be surprised about the last one. But it still seems impressive to her, the way he mentions it as off-handedly as if his cousin stopped by the store for a gallon of milk.

She thinks maybe he's trying to be nice, the way he tells her she's going to be all right, but the words are such a departure from everything else that she's not entirely sure what to do with them. After a moment, she shrugs. All right is relative, and they're still stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. Even if they weren't, her relative safety is another thing she's pretty sure she's not in the mood to discuss with him.

"Don't you have countesses here?" is what she finally asks, sidestepping all her other questions and vague concerns for the moment.

Ah, good. That's a slightly safer topic. And he's abruptly grateful she doesn't even touch his phenomenally awkward you'll-be-all-right - he is by nature, after all, quite smooth, quite suave, and he stays so by neatly sidestepping conversations where he is not-suave and not-smooth. Trying to provide comfort is - well. No one is suave when trying to comfort someone. But the rights of the poor women on this benighted world of his? Yes, there was ample room for irony there.

"Oh, yes, dozens," he answers easily, then flips up a hand - "All of whom got there by marrying a Count, and their duties consist of ruling his household, not his District. It's a fool who writes off the power of our women, but voting rights rest with the men. Hence Dono's clever workaround. They say that women are just too foolish and short-sighted to rule appropriately. So emotional, they cluck, completely blinded by their emotions. The more charitable ones simply say that a woman's upbringing doesn't develop the skills needed for good governance - though it must be noted that Dono, who had a woman's upbringing, is easily the best of them." And that's hardly even family loyalty speaking - even his opponents have come to rather admire the energetic, charismatic new Count.

"Your clothes hint to me that you're from a rather...egalitarian world. You can usually tell that a planet's all right to their women when it's all right for those women to wear trousers." He gives a little sigh. "This planet's sexism is such a pity - trousers are far more flattering to the backside than skirts."

He's doing pretty well up until he brings up backsides and she has to wonder if he's been taking advantage of the fact that she's wearing jeans. Gross--but what's the alternative? It's too cold to pull off the coat and tie it around her waist. So she tries to pretend she didn't hear that part.

Besides, she's appalled enough at his explanation that she's kind of busy gaping at him. "You can go to other planets."

They have space ships, but women can't vote. It seems insane to her--though it occurs to her after a moment that people with bows and arrows, at least, probably don't have space ships. And plenty of places before the turn didn't let women do anything, let alone voting. They just weren't anywhere near Georgia.

It's enough to make her forget the fact that he'd wobbled over words about being okay, just a minute or two ago. "The strongest people I know are women."

"You can go to other planets," he agrees, "which, not coincidentally, many many women choose to do. It's less a population drain than a population collapse. Which, honestly, we have coming. Women get educated off-world and choose to stay very, very far away - which has led some of the more hideously idiotic old men to propose not letting women be educated off-world. Can you imagine? Hah. They'd revolt. Counts stabbed to death in their beds by their own granddaughters. A bloody, hideous coup. Fools."

By the amusement in his voice, he doesn't actually have all that much pity for this particular vision. He tends to agree with the girl: women, in his experience, have always been far more worthwhile than men. Far more formidable. In a Countess Cordelia-esque way, blasting through enemies, yes - but there's also always been the likes of Alys Vorpatril, with her cool polite words and her razor wit and her ability to wield courtesy like a whip. What a woman.

"We've a curious history on this planet, though. We lost access to the rest of the Nexus for seven hundred years. Hence the bows and arrows in place of more Galactic stunners and plasma arcs. And hence the sexism."

Edited 2017-01-11 16:24 (UTC)

Well, of course they do. Who would want to stay on a planet where you don't have a say in anything? (Somebody who loves their homeland, even if they don't love some of the people in charge. She knows the answer on a visceral level; all she has to think of is her own home, whatever's left of it now, and it's as obvious as the desire to leave.) (If they were from here, she thinks Maggie would have gone to college someplace else and then come back and given everyone here hell.)

"It's like you got stuck in the dark ages." And they never left. Maybe that's a matter of pride for them--she recognizes something in the way the hill people carry themselves, albeit distantly. The kind of people Daryl and Merle Dixon probably grew up around, stubborn, proud hicks you knew instinctively not to call "hicks" to their faces.

She fixes her gaze on Byerly, considering where he fits. Silly and drunk and rich, even less to do with hillfolk than Beth had with the real rednecks at home, and only a little less out of place on this slope than she is. "Is that why you left?"

"Left?" By's eyebrows quirk with curiosity and surprise. "I didn't leave. Barrayar is still my - " Home? Prison? Personal albatross, hanging about his neck, weighing him down? "Well." He gives a little sigh and a wave of his hand. "Place of residence. Vorbarr Sultana is still Barrayar - though it's a bit less benighted than the rest of the planet."

He sighs again. Would he leave if he could? No, he thinks. He's too...tied to his duties. He loathes this place, loathes the people sometimes - loathes his lifestyle, loathes his friends - loathes his family, God knows - but he lives to serve. His patriotism (a curious thing to have in combination with his hatred of his planet), and his desire to make things different for the people kicked around by the paranoid and powerful, ties him down here. Ah, if he dies here, he hopes he's done enough for the people he cares about...

"And the whole rest of the planet is less benighted than this place. This is the poorest district of this entire world. The rest of the place is less like this, I promise."

That's comforting enough, the idea that even if this is the shittiest hike she's been on since the last time she ended up hiking thrive the forest, it's not the only thing they have before them. At least he can say there are less empty parts to the planet; what they see right now is what they'd get if they were on Earth, no matter where they headed.

"Okay," she corrects herself. "Not left. But you've seen the world. Or the...the galaxy, or whatever."

He's been places completely different from where he's from, even if that's where he came back to. She's envious, in a distant sort of way. (It might not be justifiable, now that she's on another planet, but she always daydreamed about going to faraway places on Earth.)

"Oh, I was just following the party," he says breezily. Or following his duty. Or both, at times - his duty, after all, tends to be reporting on parties and the sedition that might or might not happen there. Still, it's interesting how she focuses on that, isn't it? He turns his gaze on her speculatively a moment, trying to evaluate her expression. Yes, he supposes it would be impossibly exciting to someone who didn't even know of the possibility of interstellar travel until recently, wouldn't it?

So he comments, "It's not expensive, though. Travel like that. If you get out of here, you can pursue it yourself. Could be...fun."

Beth doesn't really notice him looking at her--at the moment, she's stepping carefully over a large stone in the path, determined not to make herself colder by stumbling into the snow. When she glances back at him, he looks the same as he has throughout the conversation. Specifically, right now he looks like the kind of person who thinks everyone should try the things he likes, because he likes them.

"Maybe," she agrees, after a moment or so. She'd like that, truthfully--seeing real cities again, with consistent electricity and running water, and maybe law enforcement, and of course, food that's never been canned--but it can't be her first priority. It's low on her to-do list, well below entries like find out what happened to Earth and go back and find everyone...but he doesn't need to know that. "What's your favorite place you've been?"

"I'll tell you my second-favorite place, how about that?" His first-favorite place is, of course, the Orb of Unearthly Delights. The Orb is, admittedly, probably the favorite place of about a third of the Nexus, a paradise of enthusiastically consensual sensual experiences - and a place that Beth would be welcomed to, given the Betans' liberality about what constitutes adulthood. For Byerly's part...Well. He has a Barrayaran sense of the line between childhood and adulthood - it was set at twentyish as soon as he reached his majority and has been creeping higher and higher every year as he gets older - and this girl isn't there yet. So, no, he's not going to encourage her to go to the Orb.

"The Spacefaring Museum on Beta Colony. I know that probably sounds dreadfully dull, a museum for heaven's sake, but it's actually quite fascinating. Tracing the development of the technologies through the centuries. If you can endure something educational, that's the place to spend your time." He considers, then allows, "That or Crater Lakes on Escobar."

"Why your second-favourite?" she asks, the corners of her mouth twitching up. That only makes his first-favourite sound a little more interesting to her, even without knowing what it is. The places, anyway, aren't really the point. He's starting to seem like the kind of person who's going to talk whether she wants to or not; if she pushes the conversation toward him, he can fill up the silence with whatever he wants.

After a moment or two, she adds, "I always liked museums."

"Little miss curiosity," he comments, smiling despite himself. Ah, his weaknesses...He can't help it. Give him a nosy, precocious little brat and he'll find himself congenitally unable to be properly withering and cruel. Truly, it's a bit pathetic. If his fellow town clowns knew of his soft spot - or if they knew he had any soft spots at all - oh, they'd rip him to pieces. Better to hide that down deep, thank you very much.

"My second-favorite because my first-favorite is a secret," he responds. "Anyway, you'll quite like Beta Colony, then. They're hideously educational. All over, trying to force all the information they possibly can down your throat to make sure you're a maximally educated citizen who can make the best possible decisions at all times, as though information will make that happen." He flutters his hand dismissively. "It's both charming and very obnoxious."

"A secret," she repeats, making no effort to hide her dubiousness. He's allowed to say or not say whatever he likes, but the way he says it doesn't really make it sound like he wouldn't tell anybody. It sounds like he wouldn't tell her, though she's not sure why.

"I don't like museums that much," she admits, with a little shrug. There just aren't that many that can be visited at home, these days. It's novel, thinking of visiting one. After a moment though, with an expression that's unsmiling but not exactly unfriendly. "But I could visit one or two. Couldn't hurt to find out how y'all get around."

The more she understands the kind of space travel they have here, the more prepared she'll be to navigate it.

Ah, youths. God forbid they express passion for anything. It's so endearing, in its odd way. "No, information is always key," he agrees easily, restraining himself from mocking her - purely because it would reveal his age, of course. The thing about mocking the teens is that it always does make you feel so dreadfully old. "And for that, Beta Colony is the place to go. They'll load you down until you're about ready to retch from overindulgence in knowledge."

He hesitates, then advises her, "Make certain you avoid Jackson's Whole. At all costs." He gives a small wave of his fingers. "It's a...dangerous place for someone in your situation."

Passion is easier when she's talking to somebody she actually knows. And easier if it's something she cares about, for that matter. Music, maybe, or how big Judith's been getting--

Or maybe not, when she doesn't even know whether Judith's alive. She lets his descriptions of Beta Colony fill the empty space, wondering whether it's warm there.

"What's my situation?" she asks, hearing something in his voice change. She can't quite decide how, but something seems different as her gaze skids back his way. Somebody ignorant of the area is her guess, but there are plenty of other potential weaknesses in her possession. She's young, she's essentially powerless if they really do things by counts and royalty, she's a girl--and it's starting to sound like that could be a problem.

Luckily, a name like Jackson's Hole isn't exactly inviting to start with. It's got to be easy to avoid.

"You have no money," he answers simply. In many ways, Jackson's Whole is actually quite a lot more egalitarian than Barrayar, then Cetaganda - honestly, by some measures, it's even more egalitarian than Beta. No prejudices about age, gender, background, none of it - the only rule being that if you have the gold, you make the rules. But if you don't... "Anyone who lingers in Jacksonian space runs the risk of being kidnapped and sold into a work gang, unless they can pay more than the work gang would. It's an old smugglers' colony, and it has no laws at all. If you're wealthy, you can run the place. If you're not - " He waves his hand. "You're vulnerable to every predator in your vicinity."

He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Unless, of course, you're a deadlier predator than the others. The very clever and vicious do find the Whole to their tastes, at times. But forgive me - you don't exactly seem the sort."

It's tempting--very tempting--to say I've killed people, or maybe just Everyone still alive at home is deadly. But it would be stupid, too, and not just because she's learned from the hospital that what people know about you, they can use to hurt you.

He's right that she's not a predator. She didn't like killing people, and if she's going to do it, she wants to be sure she's killing the ones who really need to die. That might be deadly, but it's probably not deadlier than the average gangster. Saying anything would be stupid, especially if it got around enough that other people took notice and figured they could take advantage of the opportunity.

Nobody's ever going to use her to do their dirty work again. Not if she can help it.

So she just shrugs, her gaze lingering a moment too long before she turns her attention back to the landscape. "I think I'll skip it. Sounds like it's run by a bunch of jerks."

[ january i log: barrayar ]

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