For Barrayar mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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forbarrayar2016-12-20 10:13 am
barrayarmods) wrote in forbarrayar2016-12-20 10:13 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- #cetagandan base,
- *diya d'zefyst,
- *gail ghem-estif,
- adrien arbuckal | prorenataa,
- agent washington | protocol,
- agent york | infailtration,
- darkstalker | threemoons,
- daryl dixon | pigsfeet,
- duv galeni | komarran,
- egil dagsson | norms,
- kaidan alenko | standsentinel,
- lapis lazuli | mirrortide,
- ratchet | asafepairofhands,
- vlad tepes | theyfear
[ january i log: cetaganda ]
Who: Everyone
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Cetagandan base
Warnings: None (at the moment)
welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to beyond the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling. A steep mountain range towers overhead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons, and the foothills behind you ascend quickly into rocky mountain faces. 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 fitted with what look like futuristic tactical vests and armed with some kind of energy weapons that look deadlier than not. They surround you at gunpoint, dealing orders in intelligible English, but with some obscure, unplaceable accent, and their faces are colored with vivid paint. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that you are not the people they at first assumed -- something about Barrayarans, the barbarians in the mountains. The one who seems to be in charge steps away to murmur into what looks like a wristwatch-like communicator. After a minute or two of inaudible conversation, the officer steps back in. He orders his men to escort you all back to their base. As long as you cooperate, that's all that will happen.
the base
You are taken back to a military base of considerable scale and some serious fortification. There are two rounds of guard checks to go through, both taking what must be a lot longer than usual, and it's cold out. You are ushered past the guard checks into what looks like a barracks building, but relegated to a bunk on one end. They seem to have cleared the immediate area, with guards posted at the door, but there's audible activity beyond the short hallway in front of the door. They make it clear you are not under arrest, that you are merely being detained until they have ascertained the situation -- the word quarantine is used, but it doesn't seem to be of a medical sort. Either way, the only people who come to the bunk are those cleared by the guards, and they all seem much more interested than hostile.
They answer your questions with the very basic facts: the people who hold custody of you are the military service of the Cetagandan Empire, and the planet you are on is their Ninth Satrapy, and they're currently at odds with some of the native population. They won't say it outright, but it's clear they have no clue how you came to be here or why, but it's clearly of great interest to them. For the most part, the Cetagandan soldiers are civil, if at times distant and aloof, but if you look a little less -- or more -- than human, they'll eye you with visible curiosity, perhaps even some kind of appreciation.
At daylight, a few women in lab coats and the same face-paint as the soldiers come to the room to escort you across the base to the nearby medbay, two or three at a time. The medbay is an intimidatingly sterile and state-of-the-art facility, all gleaming chrome and polished glass and crisp holo displays. You are taken in one at a time for a physical examination -- they have to make sure you haven't brought any foreign contagions into their base, after all -- but the military physician isn't the only base personnel in the exam room. You hear the word exotic tossed around a few times until they realized they're talking about you. They call you the exotics.
the exotics room
For a military bunk, it's in surprisingly tasteful design. The room sleeps a dozen soldiers, so you even have a little bit of room to yourself, and while the furnishings are relatively spartan, they're hardly uncomfortable. If you're in need of clothing, the soldiers will bring you base fatigues – no rank insignia, of course, but the make of the textile is surprisingly fine.
You're served food at mealtimes, a combination of shelf-stable meal rations and what seems to be fresh food, all prepared with unusual artistry for a military base. There's a sophistication to the preparation that seems more like it belongs in a four-star restaurant than a military base. If you have any special medical needs, they'll do their best to attend to them -- and their medicine seems impressively advanced.
Soldiers and scientists alike come to the room every so often to ask you questions, more like interviews than interrogations, but behind the civility there's a burning intellectual curiosity. They seem intent on knowing as much as you'll tell them, and then some.
The nearest bathroom is at the end of the hall, and while they seem to have cleared the area of all other personnel, showers and baths are scheduled, and any trips to the restroom are chaperoned. The guards, while not hostile, are certainly not interested in letting you escape. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.
Well, at least you've got each other for company: the exotics on the Ninth Satrapy.
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Cetagandan base
Warnings: None (at the moment)
welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to beyond the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling. A steep mountain range towers overhead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons, and the foothills behind you ascend quickly into rocky mountain faces. 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 fitted with what look like futuristic tactical vests and armed with some kind of energy weapons that look deadlier than not. They surround you at gunpoint, dealing orders in intelligible English, but with some obscure, unplaceable accent, and their faces are colored with vivid paint. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that you are not the people they at first assumed -- something about Barrayarans, the barbarians in the mountains. The one who seems to be in charge steps away to murmur into what looks like a wristwatch-like communicator. After a minute or two of inaudible conversation, the officer steps back in. He orders his men to escort you all back to their base. As long as you cooperate, that's all that will happen.
the base
You are taken back to a military base of considerable scale and some serious fortification. There are two rounds of guard checks to go through, both taking what must be a lot longer than usual, and it's cold out. You are ushered past the guard checks into what looks like a barracks building, but relegated to a bunk on one end. They seem to have cleared the immediate area, with guards posted at the door, but there's audible activity beyond the short hallway in front of the door. They make it clear you are not under arrest, that you are merely being detained until they have ascertained the situation -- the word quarantine is used, but it doesn't seem to be of a medical sort. Either way, the only people who come to the bunk are those cleared by the guards, and they all seem much more interested than hostile.
They answer your questions with the very basic facts: the people who hold custody of you are the military service of the Cetagandan Empire, and the planet you are on is their Ninth Satrapy, and they're currently at odds with some of the native population. They won't say it outright, but it's clear they have no clue how you came to be here or why, but it's clearly of great interest to them. For the most part, the Cetagandan soldiers are civil, if at times distant and aloof, but if you look a little less -- or more -- than human, they'll eye you with visible curiosity, perhaps even some kind of appreciation.
At daylight, a few women in lab coats and the same face-paint as the soldiers come to the room to escort you across the base to the nearby medbay, two or three at a time. The medbay is an intimidatingly sterile and state-of-the-art facility, all gleaming chrome and polished glass and crisp holo displays. You are taken in one at a time for a physical examination -- they have to make sure you haven't brought any foreign contagions into their base, after all -- but the military physician isn't the only base personnel in the exam room. You hear the word exotic tossed around a few times until they realized they're talking about you. They call you the exotics.
the exotics room
For a military bunk, it's in surprisingly tasteful design. The room sleeps a dozen soldiers, so you even have a little bit of room to yourself, and while the furnishings are relatively spartan, they're hardly uncomfortable. If you're in need of clothing, the soldiers will bring you base fatigues – no rank insignia, of course, but the make of the textile is surprisingly fine.
You're served food at mealtimes, a combination of shelf-stable meal rations and what seems to be fresh food, all prepared with unusual artistry for a military base. There's a sophistication to the preparation that seems more like it belongs in a four-star restaurant than a military base. If you have any special medical needs, they'll do their best to attend to them -- and their medicine seems impressively advanced.
Soldiers and scientists alike come to the room every so often to ask you questions, more like interviews than interrogations, but behind the civility there's a burning intellectual curiosity. They seem intent on knowing as much as you'll tell them, and then some.
The nearest bathroom is at the end of the hall, and while they seem to have cleared the area of all other personnel, showers and baths are scheduled, and any trips to the restroom are chaperoned. The guards, while not hostile, are certainly not interested in letting you escape. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.
Well, at least you've got each other for company: the exotics on the Ninth Satrapy.
no subject
"All right," he says grimly, prying the sheets out of York's hands and getting an arm around his upper torso, dragging him bodily out of the bed with surprising strength, trying not to make too much noise. He hooks one of York's arms over his shoulders and hauls him to his feet, half-carrying him as he struggles weakly They manage to stagger to the door without knocking anything over or kicking up too much of a fuss, and Ratchet stops to thump a closed fist twice on the frame in rapid succession before curling his arm around York's waist again to anchor him.
"Restroom," he snarls at the startled Cetagandan guard when they door is keyed open, then drags York after him, exhaling in relief once they're finally out of the exotics' shared quarters. He doesn't bother to look back to see if the guard is following them--he just makes a beeline for the bathroom and keys the door open, then shut behind them, blinking in the relatively brightly lit space. Now for the immediate problem at hand.
"York," he says, not quite letting him go yet, though his grip isn't so tight now that they're not going anywhere. "York, just--focus on my voice, all right? Are you hearing or seeing anything? I need you to tell me what's going on."
no subject
It sounds like the other man is speaking to him from underwater but he can still make it out so he nods in response. He opens his eyes and the room is distorted, like the walls are pulsing around them, and he lets out a low sound of distress, shutting them again. His breathing is too fast and shallow and he's starting to feel dizzy as well.
"Seeing, hearing, feeling. I need it to stop..." Maybe if he attacked a guard they'd knock him out, give him some respite from this suffering. Keep him away from the others, keep him sedated until his brain can get its shit together. Maybe they'd help him. Or maybe they'd kill him. He doesn't know and he's not sure he cares right now which they'd do.
When he opens his eyes again he manages to meet Ratchet's gaze, his voice grave and serious. "I'm a liability."
no subject
"Liability," he mutters more for his own benefit than anything else, his voice strained with firmly squashed incipient panic as he shifts his grip on York carefully, still supporting him. "Oh yes, a military test subject with a brain implant who has neurological difficulties and PTSD, how novel. Come here." He turns York and keeps his hand on York's wrist as he pulls him in again, his back to Ratchet's chest and Ratchet's arms around him to brace his weight as he leans back against the wall, the tile cold against his shoulder blades through his fatigues.
"I need you to focus on my voice, York, all right? Can you do that? Pay attention to my voice and breathe when I do, nice and slow, come on." He inhales, feeling the odd, tightening shift in his chest as his lungs expand against his ribs, pressing into York's back. He lets the air rush out between his lips and slides down the wall, ending up in an only slightly tangled heap on the floor as Ratchet holds on, keeping York upright against him. "I've got you, you're okay, I just need you to focus for me. You're all right."
no subject
"I'll try..." York can feel Ratchet solid and warm against his back, feel the other man's breathing against his neck. He tries to pace his own to it, leans back and tries to ignore all the random false sensory input he's getting from his overcompensating brain. His limbs twitch as he struggles to keep them still, forces down the urge to move and fight. He still feels completely out of control and the need to rein himself in is paramount to everything else. Control. It's his body. He can at least slow his breathing down, that'll ease his heart rate, help the panic. He knows these things. So he tries to focus. He tries, more for Ratchet than himself, which is more than he was willing to do a few minutes earlier.
Having someone to focus on helps. He listens to Ratchet's voice and eventually manages to calm himself -- this isn't real, it'll pass. It'll get better. It has to. York sags back in Ratchet's grip, his head hitting the doctor's shoulder as he breathes deep, shaky but even.
And for the moment, maybe he can be all right. The flashing hasn't stopped, nor the warping of the room, but he can hear Ratchet normally now and the jolts through his limbs have eased up. It's better. "I can hack it," he murmurs, staring up at the ceiling.
no subject
"Nice work," Ratchet says, his voice low and even, drained of sarcasm or judgment or even relief, leaving a sort of easy confidence, like there wasn't a doubt in his mind York could calm himself down and he'd just been patiently waiting for York to realize it on his own. "Stay with me, all right? Describe what's going on, help me understand." His shoulders shake in a soft, huffed laugh. "We've got until the guards decide this might just be the stupidest escape attempt in recorded history and go on and kick the door in, but I'm not in a rush."
no subject
no subject
"I've encountered several peer-reviewed papers based on extensive clinical testing that indicate beating your head against a wall will not actually help, please take my word for it. What do you think helped you come down?"
no subject
no subject
"I was thinking being in a better-lit room might be helping too, as long as the hallucinations aren't giving you migraines on top of everything else. The breathing exercises, too." He's quiet for a long moment, digesting what York said and contemplating his place in the universe, specifically right here, apparently human, on an utterly unknown planet in an unknown galaxy with unknown, possibly hostile organics, trapped in a science lab-slash-military base with nine strangers and sitting on the cold floor of a bathroom with his arms wrapped around an ex-military science experiment with a malfunctioning neural implant. He lets out a slow, steady breath.
"I'm glad," he finally says, his voice a little rough. "That it helps. And, I'm not going anywhere."
no subject
He's relaxing now, breathing smoothing out and eyes open again, trying to adjust to what he's seeing. Trying to adjust to everything, still, really. Delta sits at his shoulder and York turns away from the hallucination, towards Ratchet. It's tempting to just bury his face in the other man's neck and pretend none of this is happening but he can't keep his eyes closed forever. And it might not be appreciated.
"I forgot about the breathing exercises... next time." Because he knows there will be one. Kaidan talked him through a panic attack a few days ago and the breathing exercises helped then, he just needs to get used to using them more. When things start going sideways. "They can't be missing this," he says, sounding tired and stressed. "What do you think they do to people around here that cause problems?"
no subject
"If they decide to kick up a fuss over someone attempting to handle neurological damage without trained psychiatric aid, they'll find out pretty quick what a 'problem' actually looks like. ...in the meantime, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I think you're right, that they at least know something's going on, and they haven't said anything yet. You've got enough to worry about."
no subject
There's something protective in Ratchet's voice that soothes York's worry -- he's sure Kaidan and probably Wash would object to his being hauled off, too. Maybe even Daryl. He's not sure if the hillbilly gives a shit, but it would be an excuse to fight. "Staying sane's probably enough to worry about, yeah." He sighs, "I haven't been doing such a great job of it."
no subject
no subject
"Wash is here, you know -- the friend whose implantation failed. So it does get better. He's different, but functional, so I'll take it."
no subject
"What happened? To Washington, I mean, with his AI implantation? Feel free to not tell me, I know it's not strictly my business, but I don't know a lot about these implants to begin with so I'm curious."
no subject
"And I'd tell you, I trust you to keep it quiet, but he wouldn't tell me. I don't know how bad it got for him." He thinks back to Wash's face as he talked, though, how changed everything about him was. "When I say different, though, I mean... he's like another person entirely. It's scary."
He wants to be there for Wash again, but doesn't know if the other man will let him back in.
no subject
"Do you find yourself much changed? I mean, besides the sudden spatial displacement and the hallucinations and the stress and everything else--I know it can be hard to judge, but I didn't know you before, so I certainly can't tell."
no subject
no subject
"I meant more in personality, like you mentioned with Washington. I suspect the physical changes were done more as a disabling mechanism than anything else." He does not sound thrilled about this fact.
no subject
"A disabling mechanism?" He's curious about what that could mean. "You think the dragon used to be bigger or something?"
no subject
"Okay. Good to know. And, yeah--not just him, too. The blue person--Lapis Lazuli, I think--doesn't appear to be laboring under the impression that she's human, which is going to be a huge disappointment for her when she finally passes out because she hasn't eaten anything in a week. She kept going on about 'water powers,' which isn't ominous at all. And, well." He nudges at York companionably.
"Pardon me for saying so, but I'm getting the idea that you aren't exactly operating at peak capacity since your AI was disabled. I don't think all that's a coincidence." He carefully does not mention anything about his own changes--the less he has to lie to York, the better, as far as he's concerned.
no subject
York considers the group, the abilities they might have had that were taken away. He glances up at Ratchet, what he can see of the other man. "Do you feel any different?"
no subject
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I don't know if I can really explain, but this place messed with me too. You're in good company."
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