barrayarmods: (Default)
For Barrayar mods ([personal profile] barrayarmods) wrote in [community profile] forbarrayar2016-12-20 10:13 am

[ 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.
eugengineer: PB: Ming-Na Wen (pic#10678197)

Lady Diya d'Zefyst (NPC)

[personal profile] eugengineer 2017-01-02 02:47 pm (UTC)(link)
The exotics brought to the medbay are taken one by one into an examination room – for a full physical examination, of course, and evidently what the Cetagandan medical personnel consider a 'full' exam is very thorough indeed. Vitals, tests of hearing, vision and reflexes, full-body scans, blood drawn for analysis by the labs – the works. These are conducted by a Cetagandan military doctor, apparently the Chief Medical Officer, and a small team of med techs for assistance.

The ghem physicians aren't the only ones in the room, however. The woman in a lab coat is of preternatural beauty, far beyond even the aesthetically cultivated ghem appearance – and she is clearly not ghem, her face free of paint. She is radiant even in her reserved expression, looking more like some sculpture come to life than a person, almost uncannily so when she isn't moving. Her sleek black hair is long – more than waist-length, judging by the elaborate style it's done up in. It seems the sort of style that ought to be adorned with colorful, decorative combs, but despite her striking beauty, she has an overall air of austerity to her.

She is clearly not a physician, but appears to be supervising the medical examination of each exotic. When she speaks, her voice is just as uncannily beautiful as the rest of her, though she mostly speaks only in low tones to the med techs at first, murmuring vague commentary. From time to time she will address the exotics with questions about their origins or physiology, some of them rather invasive by some people's standards. Although the overall mood in the room is quite clinical, she is nothing less than civil.
ghemhotstuff: PB is Luke Pasqualino (pic#10825071)

Lieutenant Gail ghem-Estif (NPC)

[personal profile] ghemhotstuff 2017-01-02 02:49 pm (UTC)(link)
One of the more curious and outgoing of the Cetagandans is a young man – he appears nearly once a day, if not more – bringing things from outside the compound itself such as candied fruit or, rarer, chocolate along with any other object a person might ask for within reason. He's more than happy to share with whoever asks, and is happy to converse with any exotic about any topic they please. His face paint is less impressive than those around him, indicating that he is of little consequential rank, and what's discernable under the swirls of paint is a face that has been sculpted into attractiveness by some unseen genetic force.

Those exotics who bear little resemblance to any previously established image of humanity bear the full force of his curiosity, although he has plenty to spare for other exotics, and he eagerly peppers everyone with questions – names, where they're from, what was it like. His curiosity and questions, while perhaps invasive at times, are clearly genuine. It never hurt someone to be interested in them, in his opinion.
infailtration: by <user name=martienne> (pic#10657597)

york | ota

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 04:00 pm (UTC)(link)
a cold welcome

York arrives stripped of his armor, in just the thin, skintight undersuit he wears beneath. He's freezing and confused, and gets to his feet to brush the snow off as quickly as he can. Shivering and looking around wildly, he speaks to seemingly no one in particular. The last thing he remembers is jumping into a teleporter, which while it could have taken him somewhere lse shouldn't have claimed his armor. His voice is deep and steady, though, he's not panicking yet.

"D, status report." Nothing. No response, not even a stirring inside his head. He tries again. "Delta, hop to. What's going on?"

Nothing, and now he seems tense. "Delta?" His voice shakes as panic sets in. "Delta!" He touches his head and the implant is still there, but Delta is gone. His gaze is now wild as he looks around at the others, these strangers.

What is he supposed to do now?

the base

No stranger to military bases or protocol, York doesn't question their treatment at the base. Detainment is the best that they could have asked for, really, he acknowledges that, but when it's clear that the Cetagandans don't know how the strangers have arrived any more than they do he falls quiet. What comes next? Do they expect him to assist in the conflict? He's not willing to, not yet anyway.

He walks through the base in a fog, sometimes reaching out to his left to check if anything or anyone is there. He has no trackers and no D to advise him and it shakes him more than he wants to admit. His reaching hand may bump into you, for which he'll apologize lightly and gesture to his face.

The medbay is also a place he recognizes and knows well, and he submits to the examination without complaint. They prod his scars and examine his bad eye and take great interest in the back of his head where the neural implant is placed, and that'll be when he speaks again, asking a million questions. Is it intact? Could it have been deactivated when he arrived? Can they get it working again? The medical personnel don't know, as it's so foreign to them, and York's manner deteriorates further. He needs it to be working, he needs D. He doesn't know how to be alone anymore.

the exotics room

York is now looking shell-shocked, his good eye staring out into nothingness just like the bad one. He changes into the base fatigues and follows along at mealtimes but hardly eats, for now seemingly unappreciative of the comforts they're being offered. Sometimes he doubles forward with his head in his hands, shaking. He feels empty, hollow, like a part of him is gone.

He clearly needs help, this is more than being scared of someplace new.
infailtration: custom art by <user name="thebutt">, PLEASE DO NOT TAKE (7-1)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 04:07 pm (UTC)(link)
When the techs find York's neural implant they wave the doctor back over, speaking quickly and with great interest, asking him questions about what it is and how it got there. York doesn't answer, just asks if it's still active and if they can get it working again. They don't know, but he's agitated and causing a bit of a commotion that may draw the Lady over. He wants to see their equipment to try and scan it himself and they don't want to surrender anything to the stranger. Understandably.
infailtration: (pic#10657599)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 04:14 pm (UTC)(link)
York may be a bit out of his head but he's still observant of his surroundings. Hyper observant, even, without Delta to contribute. So he notices the man that keeps coming back, coming back with treats for them, even, and thinks maybe he'd be sympathetic. He approaches without his usual charm, simply opening with a desperate, "Can you get me back to the medical bay..?" He's hardly slept the past few days and there are dark circles under his eyes, a general pallor to his appearance. Maybe he's sick?
norms: (pic#10842719)

egil | original | ota

[personal profile] norms 2017-01-02 04:34 pm (UTC)(link)
the base
[ He's okay with the snow. He's almost okay with the base and whoever all these people are leading them around, but what he's not okay with are the women dressed in lab coats. Egil protests almost immediately—loudly and a bit too violently when he's expected to follow them off somewhere. A few of the others who'd gone before him didn't seem to have an issue with it, but how could they know what they would do? How could they know what people like them have done? He's shaking when the soldiers drag him out, and when they finally dump him back into the room, there's a oddly wild look to him. He's paler than usual, a light sheen of sweat dampening the hair at the nape of his neck, and he scrambles into one of the corners, crouching low and watching the others sharply before he sinks down and slides his arms over his head. ]

« They're going to kill us. » [ It's mostly a mumble, the Icelandic rough on his tongue, and if anyone wanders close enough, he's just going to look up at them with a scowl. ] How can you believe them? [ The words are bitter, though it's mostly a front to hide just how terrified he is. ] They say we're exotic, but what are they?

the exotics room
[ Adjusting is easier than he feels it should be, but things have certainly been worse. He's used to the cold, hard ground and the sounds of the fiare close, a warmer comfort he might have appreciated than all of this pristine nonsense. The only thing he's marginally grateful for is the solidity of the ground compared to the roll of the speranţă, and it's around lunchtime that he finally drags himself from the edge of the bed he's shoved himself into. There's a routine he's picked up on, at least, and that makes whoever they are predictable enough that Egil is almost comfortable with it. Almost. The food, however, isn't anything he's ever seen before in his life, and a questionable look passes over his face, foregoing any utensils that might be readily available and inspecting it with his fingers. He jabs at something and watches it melt, frowning at it.

He glances at the person closest to him. ]
Are you really going to put that in your mouth?

[ Egil doesn't know how long it's been since he'd last eaten. At this point, he's having a difficult time remembering what that might have looked like, but he's sure it'd been better than this weird thing. Anyway, he's not having any of it, and he crosses his arms with a huff. ]
pigsfeet: (miss congeniality)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-02 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)
By Daryl's standards, he's been a damn saint so far. He hasn't hit any of the guards, hasn't tried to escape the guards, hasn't tried to punch a goddamn hole in their shiny walls. He does it for the other people here. They're terrified, and he knows making the kind of fuss he's itching for will just spook the guards and get them all the closer to being lined up against a warehouse wall.

The whole thing, the false politeness, the smiley bullshit, reminds him more of Terminus than he'd like to admit. Being rounded up and told to bend over and cough in a fancy lab doesn't help. Terminus didn't have a lab, they didn't care that goddamn much. But the clinical way Gareth and his shitheads looked at them, like they weren't people, just things to be used up, sets him back farther than he'd like to admit.

It all comes to a head when a doctor asks him to open his mouth so she can stick a swab in it. "Screw you," he says, his voice a low growl.
mirrortide: (066)

[personal profile] mirrortide 2017-01-02 05:30 pm (UTC)(link)
It's the fact that Lapis has no idea what is even going on her that makes her rather compliant. She doesn't understand what's going on, or why she feels so... off. Why she feels like her form is wrong and if she could just stop her body from shuddering every now and again, it'd be great. There's something wrong with her powers too. No matter how hard she tries, she just can't call her wings.

Now that she's been ushered inside and is apparently going through some sort of examination, she's given up. She doesn't exactly fight it, but she does try and pull her limbs away from any sort of grabbing. She'll answer the questions though, because maybe if she's compliant they'll let her go?

"I'm from Homeworld." To answer the question about her origins. "Gem, Lapis Lazuli." To answer the question of her species.
pigsfeet: 1/2. moonshine. (im a real model.)

daryl dixon | the walking dead | ota.

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-02 05:31 pm (UTC)(link)
a. WELCOME TO BARRAYAR.
It's hot and chaotic in a hospital that hasn't seen air conditioning in over a year. The air is humid, muggy in the middle of summer, and then it's not. The skin on Daryl's face prickles-- the tears still on his face cool at an alarming rate. His unsleeved arms begin to shiver. He's pretty sure he's never been this cold.

He sees he's not alone. There are others caught in the cold darkness. He searches for a familiar face, and finds none. Standing sullen and angry, he watches as the soldiers gather, guns raised, and keeps his head down. He knows when to wait for an opportunity.

As cold and angry as he is, this is a good distraction. It takes his mind off what just happened back in Georgia. This is cold, terrifying, but it's not Grady, it's not the gun in his hand, the sight of her bleeding out on the floor. He keeps trudging onward.

He sees someone trip in the deep snow, and catches them before they fall completely. "Watch it," is all the comfort he can muster.
b. HOME BASE.
The little room they're set up in is creepy in its cleanliness. Daryl hasn't seen anything like this in years. It shouldn't goddamn exist.

He sits in a corner like a caged animal, hackles raised, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He doesn't answer any of the guards' questions, facing them with a complete silence, and doesn't ask any of his own. But it's clear he's listening, watching, waiting, for anyone careful enough to look. He doesn't have the most welcoming demeanor, sitting there alone, head bowed and expression twisted in a dark glare.

When the guards and scientists finally leave, he gets up, and begins checking the walls. He runs his fingers over them, climbs up on tables and bets to pat down the ceilings, looks under the beds. He's clearly searching for something, and doing so with a stubborn efficiency.
c. EXOTICS OR BUST.
When they're all herded in for a 'checkup', that, Daryl thinks, is the end. He waits in the back, ready for them to start opening people up. It doesn't happen the way Daryl expects. Whatever they're doing, whatever they want, it's clearly something bigger than just food.

That just means it's worse.

He watches the line of people get called in for 'tests', and he studies the room. "Ain't no easy exits," he mutters. "They know their shit. Done this before."
threemoons: (001)

Darkstalker | Wings of Fire | OTA

[personal profile] threemoons 2017-01-02 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
A. Welcome to Barrayar

It was cold. It was cold and there was snow and if his father had somehow found a way to get him to the Ice Kingdom Darkstalker was never going to forgive him. Not that there weren't already a million reasons he hated Arctic, but this was certainly near the top of the list. He knew his father had wanted to get rid of him since the day he hatched, he just never expected he would actually do it, especially if it meant using magic. Which he must have done, because there was no other explanation for how Darkstalker wound up here.

He started prowling around the area, which was when he noticed all the scavengers. He'd never seen to many in one place, and none in the wild before. They seemed bigger than the ones they'd had at his school.

"Well at least I won't starve," he muttered to himself, poking one of them experimentally with his claws.

B. The Exotics Room

Darkstalker entered the room with a haughty glare that would make his father proud. They honestly expected to keep him trapped here like some scavenger. The nerve. He'd already protested but the scavengers here were suprisingly well armed and for some reason he couldn't breathe fire or use any of his powers. So all he could do was follow their instructions and wait.

He went straight for the far end of the room, taking stock as he went. Twelve bunks, and only nine captives. No reason to let the extras go to waste. If they were going to be there a while, he was going to make it as comfortable for himself as he could. Darkstalker stopped at the second to last bunk in the row and started shoving it towards the one in the corner, pointedly ignoring if either had been claimed already. There was loud scraping noise as the furniture moved across the floor.
infailtration: (pic#10657609)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
There's a dragon.

Probably just some kind of alien, but it sure looks like a dragon to York, which is almost enough to make him wonder if he's dreaming all of this. Almost -- the cold sure is real enough, his fingertips turning blue as his thin undersuit does nothing to keep him warm.

And then the dragon's heading for him, and prodding him with a claw. Did it just talk? It did. About food. "Hey! Watch it with those!"
infailtration: by <user name=martienne> (pic#10657597)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 06:10 pm (UTC)(link)
York is ahead of Daryl in line for the examinations, and hears the other man muttering. He turns so he can see the stranger with his good eye. "At least they don't seem to be hurting anybody, they're all coming out alright."
pigsfeet: (pour one out.)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-02 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Daryl looks up with a canny eye; he studies the man before replying. His face is all screwed up, hell. This guy's seen some shit, even if he doesn't seem like it.

"'Cause they want something," Daryl grumbles, "and it ain't more tea parties."
mirrortide: (011)

Lapis Lazuli | Steven Universe | OTA

[personal profile] mirrortide 2017-01-02 06:15 pm (UTC)(link)
[A: Exotic room]

Well, it's not the barn, and Peridot isn't around. Still, Lapis pointedly refuses to put anything on her body that isn't the crop top and skirt she's already wearing. Which means she's in bare feet. Still. It doesn't look like that's about to change either with the way that she completely disregards the clothing offered. Instead, she just sort of flits from one spot to another, looking around restlessly.

For the record, she's not blue because she's cold. That part is completely natural. She is cold though, judging from the way she's walking around with her arms around herself and shivering now and again.

[B: Meal time]

She doesn't need to eat, so she doesn't. It seems to be expected of her though, but Lapis just sort of helplessly looks around to anyone else who may be eating as well. "Do you want this? I'm not putting it in my body." Maybe she'll feel hunger eventually, but right now she's more or less none the wiser.
infailtration: custom art by <user name="thebutt">, PLEASE DO NOT TAKE (5-3)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)
"They've clothed and fed us, I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. And--" and he actually wants this exam. Maybe they'd be able to tell him what's wrong with his implant. But he doesn't say that, just lets it hang in the air between them as they shuffle up closer to the med bay. He fusses with the cuffs of his base fatigues and takes in Daryl's appearance.

"What's the last thing you remember?"
mirrortide: (007)

B

[personal profile] mirrortide 2017-01-02 06:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Well, that's something she's never seen before. And it's moving the beds, apparently? Sure, whatever. It seems to be one of the other captives, and Lapis, having no experience with a dragon, simply assumes that it must understand her or else it wouldn't be here.

"Do you want some help with that?" Because that sound is intensely grating, and the Gem would like the relative silence back over it.
pigsfeet: 1/2. fence. (i will leave my gloves on)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-02 06:24 pm (UTC)(link)
You shouldn't. You shouldn't give these people the benefit of the doubt. You shouldn't trust them worth anything. But then, there's no reason for Daryl to trust his fellow 'exotics' either. They have his sympathy-- a fact he's far from willing to admit-- but they don't have his back. They're not safe either.

So he doesn't give any more warnings. They'll only fall on deaf ears, anyway. This guy wants to skip right up to the slaughter, so let him.

"Atlanta," he says. "You?"
pigsfeet: (#regrets)

steven mealiverse.

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-02 06:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Daryl hasn't touched any of the food on his plate either. As far as he's concerned, the way the blue girl is staring down at her food with disgust is smart. These people clearly have the resources to dose their food with whatever they want, and scruples aren't even a question. If they can, they will.

"Nah," he says, and then, "dunno what the hell it is."
standsentinel: (alliance posterboy)

[personal profile] standsentinel 2017-01-02 06:28 pm (UTC)(link)
It's after one of the exquisitely prepared mealtimes that York has a visitor by his bunk. The major's had time enough to process -- or at least compartmentalize -- his own change in circumstances. He'd heard the younger man's panicked voice in the middle of their arrival, and the parallels to Joker's frantic cries to EDI in the wake of the Crucible's blast front were all too clear. Now, seeing him curled in on himself like this, moving like an automaton when given direction, the parallels are too sharp to ignore.

(Shepard, he reflects, would probably already have the kid's life story and be busy with an impromptu side trip to get just the exact part to fix whatever's up with him.)

Still, Shepard's not here, and he is. The young man is some sort of military, he could piece together that much. He pulls up a chair, hunkers with his knees apart and his hands clasped between them, and musters up a little bit of Major Alenko, commander and babysitter of biotic spec ops and their complicated woes. "Ah, I'm guessing the last thing you want to do is talk about it," he says. "But I think you probably need to. I'll take a sitrep, if you're up to giving it."
infailtration: (pic#10119109)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Atlanta... you were on Earth?" He blinks, surprised. He was born on Earth himself, but hasn't been back since he started service. "I was getting into a teleporter on Heian. Makes a little more sense it might have fucked up, but I lost all my gear getting here. And the guy in my head."

It feels strange to be talking to someone else, if he's honest. He's used to Delta's constant observations, so the conversation with Daryl only serves to make him feel more alone.
mirrortide: (007)

[personal profile] mirrortide 2017-01-02 06:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"I think it's supposed to be food?" Lapis supplies helpfully. "I've seen others eat it." Which is, you know, fine and all. But she's still not going to put it into her body. That means she'd have to shape shift a digestive tract and boy, what a mess that would be.

Lapis has no idea she already has one. Whoops.
eugengineer: (pic#10725600)

[personal profile] eugengineer 2017-01-02 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)
"Please calm down." Lady Diya doesn't raise her voice; she doesn't need to. It sounds clearly through the medbay. "We are not interested in hurting you, but you will be sedated if need be. Our med techs will be handling this equipment."

No threat; merely a statement. She steps in closer, shoulder-to-shoulder with the CMO, nearly as tall as him. "We aren't familiar with this technology. We can offer you no diagnostics, no useful data. However," she says, and the slightest shift in her placid expression warms into an almost-smile, "I assure you we will run every available test."
infailtration: (2519159)

[personal profile] infailtration 2017-01-02 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)
York lifts his head at the sound of a chair being pulled up, and looks surprised when the man who sits in it speaks to him. He's military as well, York surmises, and finds himself straightening his back and tilting his chin up -- a situation report, he can do that. He can. The man's eyes are kind and focused and York clears his throat to answer.

"He's gone." His voice sounds shakier than he would like, and he takes a slow breath to calm himself from the panic attack he'd been working himself into just moments prior. "I have an AI -- a program -- living with me. I did. I'm supposed to. But he's not here with me anymore and I--" He shakes his head. He's in one piece, he's been clothed and fed, and their detainers are kind. He should be okay. He needs to pull himself together. But his good eye shines with desperation. "I need him back," he admits. "The med staff think it might be the implant."
asafepairofhands: (human - what the hell)

the exotics room

[personal profile] asafepairofhands 2017-01-02 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)
By now, Ratchet's starting to remember things his overworked processor--brain, dammit, missed when he was first sitting in the freezing wind. The memories are weirdly fuzzy, his recall imperfect, but some things stand out strangely, faces and voices in the disorienting whirl of snow and cold.

"Hey," Ratchet says, his voice hoarse as he looks down at York--who seems to be even more badly disoriented than he is, which is impressive. He reaches out, fingertips brushing the soft fabric covering York's hunched shoulder. He drops to one knee to get a slightly better look at York's face between his palms, his own brow furrowing.

"Who's Delta?"
eugengineer: (pic#10725617)

[personal profile] eugengineer 2017-01-02 06:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Compliant, but wild underneath; no civility behind it. He reminds Diya of the planet's native people. She looks up as Daryl snarls at one of the med techs and she frowns slightly, just the smallest twitch of her lips.

"I would ask for your cooperation," she says reasonably. "We have no interest in using force, but we must complete a full examination in order to be certain you do not present a health hazard to the occupants of this base."

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