[ ... is not getting a starter, but if you want to wrangle horses or generally interact with Miles before bad shit happens, he is here. Enjoying horses. ]
TOO LITTLE...
[ Late on the 21st - too late on the 21st, though he doesn't know it yet - Miles finds out that Cetaganda has withdrawn from Vorkosigan Vashnoi. He has to excuse himself from wherever he is for a moment, because his face has gone completely bloodless as the weight of that news settles on him. Cetaganda, completely withdrawn. Fuck. He'd thought he'd had more time - he doesn't remember for sure, but he'd thought the bombing had come later in the war - maybe they are later in the war -
It doesn't matter. He'd already rattled off the signs to Wash, and he sees them all too clearly now. Cetaganda's next steps will be to eradicate the city. How long from now, he doesn't know. For all he knows he's just going to walk straight into death. But - if he wants a shot at this, even the slightest chance of evacuating anyone from the city - he needs to go now.
And so Miles goes around camp, gathering supplies (but not weapons) and every outsider he can find. Grave-faced, clearly desperate on a scale that he's never been before. There's a strange sort of manic energy about him too, a crazy focus that keeps him moving even when he's standing still. Thoughts whirling as he tries to plan the next step. They'll need to borrow a few horses, some basic supplies, but otherwise move as quickly as they can... ]
Just - help me, please. There isn't much time.
[ He will tell most people why he's panicking so badly, but if you'd rather your character be surprised, let me know. ]
...TOO LATE
[ And then, just as whatever rescue party he gets together takes its first step outside camp, a blaze of light fills the sky. Miles jerks his head towards it, his mouth falling open in horror as she watches the mushroom cloud billow up from the ground. No. No no no no. He slumps forward against whatever horse he's managed to commandeer, tightening his fingers in the reins. The one thing he really had a shot had preventing, or so he'd thought. The one thing in the war he'd really been able to predict.
And now that city is gone. Nervelessly, eyes staring forward at nothing, Miles slowly dismounts. There's no point any more. No survivors in that wreckage, only ruins that will glow for the next two hundred years. Only death. ]
Turn back. There's - there's nothing we can do now.
[ He needs a drink. He need to be drunk. He - he can't deal with this. ]
Miles Vorkosigan | OTA
[ ... is not getting a starter, but if you want to wrangle horses or generally interact with Miles before bad shit happens, he is here. Enjoying horses. ]
TOO LITTLE...
[ Late on the 21st - too late on the 21st, though he doesn't know it yet - Miles finds out that Cetaganda has withdrawn from Vorkosigan Vashnoi. He has to excuse himself from wherever he is for a moment, because his face has gone completely bloodless as the weight of that news settles on him. Cetaganda, completely withdrawn. Fuck. He'd thought he'd had more time - he doesn't remember for sure, but he'd thought the bombing had come later in the war - maybe they are later in the war -
It doesn't matter. He'd already rattled off the signs to Wash, and he sees them all too clearly now. Cetaganda's next steps will be to eradicate the city. How long from now, he doesn't know. For all he knows he's just going to walk straight into death. But - if he wants a shot at this, even the slightest chance of evacuating anyone from the city - he needs to go now.
And so Miles goes around camp, gathering supplies (but not weapons) and every outsider he can find. Grave-faced, clearly desperate on a scale that he's never been before. There's a strange sort of manic energy about him too, a crazy focus that keeps him moving even when he's standing still. Thoughts whirling as he tries to plan the next step. They'll need to borrow a few horses, some basic supplies, but otherwise move as quickly as they can... ]
Just - help me, please. There isn't much time.
[ He will tell most people why he's panicking so badly, but if you'd rather your character be surprised, let me know. ]
...TOO LATE
[ And then, just as whatever rescue party he gets together takes its first step outside camp, a blaze of light fills the sky. Miles jerks his head towards it, his mouth falling open in horror as she watches the mushroom cloud billow up from the ground.
No. No no no no. He slumps forward against whatever horse he's managed to commandeer, tightening his fingers in the reins. The one thing he really had a shot had preventing, or so he'd thought. The one thing in the war he'd really been able to predict.
And now that city is gone. Nervelessly, eyes staring forward at nothing, Miles slowly dismounts. There's no point any more. No survivors in that wreckage, only ruins that will glow for the next two hundred years. Only death. ]
Turn back. There's - there's nothing we can do now.
[ He needs a drink. He need to be drunk. He - he can't deal with this. ]