[ 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

[shri]

She bows then, deeply, and it's to hide something all sharp, pointed in her gaze and in her gestures that is just there, this victory will be hers. With all respect to her husband, of course, but nothing would keep her from putting a blade in her hand, one way or another. If she found anything to serve in him, in turn, it would be because of her, and no one else.

Wielding in service for such a lady was more than a worthy pursuit.

"I am Maharashtrian. We know a woman is equal to the work of a man. I thank you for allowing me this chance to show it."

Breathless, eager, she is better in the fight than she is standing idle. It's bright and smiling in her eyes, for all she keeps everything else tempered. Has something to latch onto now, a chance. She has been a tiger prowling in a cage looking for a way out and now she had just a breath of it, it flooded her lungs with purpose.

[truevor]

"I did not grow up on Barrayar," Olivia tells her, returning the bow with a shallower one of her own, but no less lacking for the amount of respect she extends to the other woman. "But every Barrayaran woman knows this to be true -- Vor and prole alike. It may be too much to ask, but every moment you show it, it is my hope that Barrayar as a whole comes closer to recognizing it."

Her father is the accursed progressive in government, but those that assumed his politics -- and those of his Betan wife -- didn't trickle down to his children in some form or another were only deluding themselves. Olivia will compromise much for the occupation, for there is nothing if they don't win. But that does not have to come at odds with dragging it all towards some sense of equality. After all, Piotr had been the one to suggest that not all officers had to be Vor.

The look in the woman's eyes is one that gives Olivia heart, and her own smile back at Maharani. She will do what she can to help the other woman, in whatever way is possible for her to. It is the least she can do. "Good luck to you, Maharani."

[shri]

She squares her shoulders, broad breath across her chest where the old and well worn blue jacket pulls with the familiar stretch - like she readies, even now, for battle. Though, of a different sought.

"I did so for the women of my homeland, in the ways that I could, and I am humbled to do so now for you. As I am sure the other women will be."

She cannot trust a noble, she knows, in the same way, she could not be trusted as Queen, either. One's home, one's family, one's people, always - bar no one - came first. In the same way, her loyalty, would always be to her cause. It was how it had to be, to be anything else, was a betrayal to the name - whether that was Jhansi ki Rani or Vorkosigan. So she hovers on the edge of leaving, edge of something else, lips parting on something softly, before it resolve first in her eyes, then her hand as it sweeps before her, then in words.

"As long as I am here, I shall serve you first, in all things, my lady. Only ask of me, and I will do what I am able."

[truevor]

There are no laws, it occurs to Olivia, that make Rani's words treasonous -- or rather, Olivia's acceptance of it. No one thought to rule on a woman's ability to keep armsmen and oathsworn; always preferring it to filter through one's husband or father. She is not undermining, they are playing the game by the rules set before them.

If she could, she would take the offer, the almost-oath, into her hands and cradle it to her chest as if it were a physical thing that mirrored its value. Barrayar has no currency as valued as one's word, nothing more precious as honor. It is a funny thing, Olivia thinks, that she prefers that to Beta Colony. Her childhood home offered truth and transparency for security; and after a decade on Barrayar, she thinks she would take Barrayar over whatever Beta has to offer her.

"May I never cause you to waver, doubt, or become forsworn."

It is no formal oath -- no one is putting their hands between her's -- but it is enough. Olivia knows her responsibility with Rani's words, can feel the weight settle in her bones alongside those of a Countess and a Princess. A burden, maybe, but no less than any other she has had to carry. Willingly, and with honor.

[shri]

It doesn't have to be too late for them. Her mind is full of it, as she watches her. It is too late for her. The world she knew was gone. A feudal Queen, the oldest customs that had set her in place, were swallowed up, eaten by beasts, drained of life by awful creatures. Gone, gone, gone to the empty maw of am ever hungry Empire. Like the demons created that had given her nightmares as a child, gnawing, consuming, even of which that created them. She doesn't think they know how to stop. She too, has been torn to shreds by them.

She bows again, stiff, her own people's custom - she kneels on one leg, and touches the ground just in front of her feet. A gaze up, soft and harsh in the same instant. How she might have been, when she had so desperately whispered the words. they will not take my Jhansi from me. She swallows on something old and painful in the throat that has clearly never quite healed.

"Blessings upon you and your husband, Countess. Long may you fight, and may you never know what I have." It means everything, nothing, losing a war and forgetting what life could have been, even in fond thoughts. She is tired and - it's too late, for her, she knows. She will never be the woman she was.

It doesn't have to be too late for them.

She rises again, still head down. Amusement rich in her tone. "If you will excuse me. I must go tend to my own war preparations, it seems." She's sure it'll be nothing less than a battle to get what she desires.