test drive meme

[barrayarmods]

Playlists by tsarcasm:
Barrayar ⚔ Cetaganda ⚔ The Invasion

Have you read the FAQ?

The Village ⚔ The Barrayaran Camp ⚔ The Cetagandan Base ⚔ The Fight

You've been on Barrayar for a while now, and you're finally starting to adjust. Or maybe you're not. Maybe this is all still too much for you – the attacks, the constant raids, living in the middle of a war zone by no choice of your own. But if you want to live long enough to make it back home one day, you might as well do what you can to help the war effort. Besides, where else are you going to go?

The fierce Barrayaran winter rages even to the southern end of the continent, and it's been none too kind to Vorkosigan's District. Temperatures at sea level are well below freezing, and up in the mountains, it's even colder. Several inches of snow already blanket most of the mountains all the way down to the Cetagandan base, and the storm that's just started up is only bringing more down. Visibility is low in the flurries, wind swirling snow everywhere, and God help you if you get lost on your own out in the storm. Nights are cold, these days.

A recent attack on the Cetagandan base has left half their facilities damaged and in disarray. Raid parties snuck in by night, planting bombs in previously scouted locations for maximum effect. Damage to the base's water treatment plant and organic grow labs have considerably impacted the Cetagandans' food and water supply, and in the chaos caused by the explosions, the Barrayaran guerrillas raided their medbay and made off with a considerable bounty of medical supplies. One man's bane is another man's boon, and while the Cetagandans have reserve supplies to sustain them for now, some of the damage is extensive and the repairs will take time. But in the meantime, the Barrayarans have scored a precious victory as well as equally precious resources.



the village
The Riverfall villagers are used to the harsh winters of the Dendarii mountains, and though they don't have much themselves, they are happy to offer what they can in terms of cold-weather clothing and extra blankets to those allied with the guerrillas. Despite the cold, the hill children are going wild in the snow, and they may try to lure you into their play by sneakily pelting you with snowballs.

Cetagandan allies, however, may not be met so warmly, and at the first sight of ghem soldiers, any children out playing in the snow will be immediately ushered into their homes. Unaccompanied outsiders from the Cetagandan base might have an easier time talking to the hillfolk, but any attempt at digging information about the guerrillas out of them will get you stonewalled fast. A sneaky hill child or two may steal away from their home to approach one of the "bad guy" outsiders to sate their curiosity.



the barrayaran camp
Morale is higher than it has been in a while after their recent victory, and the guerrillas are in high spirits. And do they ever love their spirits – as night falls, most of the Barrayarans gathered around the campfires are enjoying the deceptively named, dangerously alcoholic moonshine they call maple mead. It might start out sweet, but it burns all the way down, and a few glasses of that stuff will tank even the heaviest Barrayaran soldier.

But the storm rages on despite their celebration, and preparations must be made. Clearing as much snow off the tents as possible will help ensure that no tents collapse overnight, the horses need to be tended to, and the officers are always running training drills. Food is in real supply now, but the guerrillas need help foraging and hunting nonetheless. And when night falls, you'll have to find a way to keep yourself warm – it's a good thing there are a cozy ten of you to a tent.



the cetagandan base
The Cetagandans outnumber their guerrilla enemies almost seventy-to-one, so their base has not been completely devastated, but it hardly looks to be the work of a few raiding parties. Nothing is beyond repair, but the water treatment plant has been taken offline, which means that all water is now locally sourced and must be treated by hand with purification tablets. No one in the base will starve, but fresh food is mostly unavailable until they get the grow labs back online, which means that meals are mostly comprised of ration bars and MREs. Morale isn't exactly at an all-time low, but none of the ghem officers seem to be in a good mood.

They won't hesitate to put you to work, either. They need all the engineers and laborers they can get for the grow labs and the treatment plant, and the medbay's inventory needs to be thoroughly audited before they can send a request for more supplies. But if you need a break, it's not too hard to slip away for a little quiet downtime. Some of the lower-ranked ghem ladies might let you participate in some more artistic activities, or maybe some of the enlisted soldiers who are a little more used to you by now might invite you into one of their Cetagandan games of strategy. Or, since the treatment plant only affected potable water, you could appreciate your comfortable surroundings and take a nice hot soak in the bathroom while everyone else is working.


the fight
PVP
You're in the midst of a skirmish with the other side -- maybe you signed up for the battle, maybe you just got caught up in the fight -- but at least it's easy to tell who's on what side. Only one side is wielding swords, and the other guns.

But then you come across someone who doesn't look like they're either -- not one of the rugged Barrayarans or the face-painted Cetagandans, but an outsider, an exotic like you. They must be. So do you fight?

RECON
Maybe you're not on the front lines, but there's plenty more to winning the war than just fighting. You're partnered with another outsider on recon; the ground is cold, and you try not to let your shoes crunch too loudly on snow as you scout, scanning for patrols or supply lines.

Or maybe you're with the Cetagandans, hiking it thorugh the mountains with one of your fellow exotics in an attempt to locate the enemy camp. Except it's damned cold, and there's hidden ice everywhere, and everything is starting to really look the same.

--

Feel free to write prompts for your character on either side -- you don't have to choose just one for the TDM! Just label it clearly so folks know. GO WILD, MY FRIENDS

Comments

Kaidan Alenko | Mass Effect | OTA

[standsentinel]

The Reaper War had been won. The Normandy might have been battered, bruised and limping on FTL drive alone, but they'd patched her hull, broken atmo from an uncharted garden world and pointed her at Earth. An Earth with her great cities still buried in rubble and smoke... but an Earth that had survived, and a galaxy to go with it. 'Battered and limping' was a reasonable description for Kaidan Alenko himself, with his ribs still complaining about being hit by a flying chunk of LAV, but he'd eventually managed to find a space to grab some precious rack time and reflect on the prospect of peace.

He'd woken to find himself halfway to buried in a snow drift, and had been halfway to deciding this was all an elabourate hallucination before wearing an unfamiliar uniform had nearly gotten him shot by the search party that had stumbled across him. The Alenko half of his heritage lent him a certain surface resemblance to the Barrayarans, but his accent, his facility with tech, and his squeaky-clean genes were far more galactic in nature. All the same, he'd found himself quickly pressed into work.

He'd had little time for his customary reflection, but one thought kept cropping up: finding out that he'd come down with a late-breaking case of L2 biotic psychosis might have been better than the reality that he was hip deep in another war before he'd even made it home from the last one.

a. Village Life:

The villagers may be adapted to the climate, but that they're so happy to share what little they have with the guerillas has been bothering Kaidan, or more specifically the lack of reciprocity from his end of the equation. The final straw had been when a widow had seen him shivering at the tag end of a patrol and had grabbed him by the ear in a gesture that could have been carbon copied from his grandmother. He was released to the camp stuffed full of venison stew, and sporting a pair of knitted socks and a bemused expression.

He'd figured out at least one way to try and even the score a little. Thus, his next span of off-duty time sees him back in the village, this time with a shovel in hand as he balances precariously on the roof of the widow's cabin to try and clear off the snow load the way her arthritis no longer permitted her to. He could probably use a hand... although whether in terms of assistance or mocking applause is entirely up to the observer.

b. Camp: Fireside

It's not a proper fireside booze-up until the drunken singing starts. Maple mead appears to be a slightly less lethal (and much tastier) feral Barraryaran version of ryncol, and even the tolerance that his amped-up biotic's metabolism grants him isn't enough to overcome it. Kaidan, flushed and weaving slightly in his seat, is somewhat thickly trying to encourage a little cross-cultural musicology after discovering that some of the very oldest Barrayaran drinking songs share a common Earth origin with some of the oldest ones he knows. "No, see," he's attempting to explain. "The way I learned it from Pressley is only one person actually has to remember the words. Everyone else just sings 'How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now' and the 'God damn them all'. Dead easy."

The song that consisted mostly of creative profanity involving Cetagandans was a lot easier to get going.

c. Camp: Training!

Although somewhere in another time and place he was Major Kaidan Alenko of the Systems Alliance, and a Council Spectre to boot, this meant precisely dick-all here on Barrayar. His initial reponse of name, rank and serial number to the questions posed by his rescue party had been met with nothing more than a flat exhortation of prove it. While a better debrief had come in time, he was still out in the training field alongside every other new recruit, sternly ordered to keep the techno-witchery of his biotics tamped down and to focus on hand to hand combat instead.

Being trained was an opportunity to assess his trainers, as well as his fellow trainees, and in between the throws, the knife work with wooden practice blades and a series of thoroughly nasty and effective close quarters techniques that would make a Phantom jealous, Kaidan's been developing a solid appreciation for what the guerilla forces under Count Vorkosigan are capable of, and of just what kind of leadership the man himself inspires.

Some of that appreciation is visible on his face as he takes a breather on the sidelines and watches another round of trainees get introduced to the many uses of a well-placed elbow.

d. Cetagandan Base: Water Treatment Plant

"Oh, come on you son of a bitch." The classic cry of a tech being thwarted by a willful bit of machinery is followed by the clang of a wrench being applied in a precision strike to a recalcitrant valve. There's a hopeful gurgling of liquid through a pipe soon after, and Kaidan pops up from out of cover with a satisfied huff shortly after. Welding and pipefitting's a little more manual labour than the electronics his sentinel class training has him certified for, but he's another pair of semi-trained hands that can, and has been, put into service to get the water back on line.

"For people determined to keep their planet in the feudal age," he reflects as he gathers his tools and moves on to the next spot on the main intake line, "They sure know just where to stick a shaped charge."

[[OOC: Also open to other suggestions! PMable, or pingable over at minor_ramblings.]]

b.

[quitsmiling]

"Who freakin' cares, are you gonna pass the booze or what?" says one of the odder "recruits", and one not well liked among the Barrayarans. The genetically modified raccoon (not that he'll admit to being a raccoon, exactly) holds out a paw with a grouchy sort of demanding expression.

[standsentinel]

A genetically modified raccoon is pushing it even for Kaidan, who hails from a time and place where aliens are commonplace, but that level of genetic engineering is banned by Council law. That they're in the middle of the woods, around a campfire, drinking potent alcohol and now a raccoon is talking to him is just the right level of absurdity that Kaidan blinks in inebriated befuddlement before he remembers the bottle of mead in his hand. (He's been drunk by a campfire in the woods before, and there were raccoons, but they weren't the talkative kind.) "You," he informs the Barrayaran Resistance's oddest recruit with heavy pauses between his phrasing, "Have no appreciation for art."

He does, at least, hand over the booze.

[quitsmiling]

"That," Rocket snorts, "ain't art."

But he does take the drink and have a long swig-- very long, for such a small critter, really. Then he hands it back.

"That," he says, once properly dosed with alcohol, "is some idiot humie tryin' to sing stuff when he's too drunk to hit the notes."

[standsentinel]

"Humie." Kaidan echoes, apparently finding something deeply entertaining about the insult. (It's the 'ie' ending, it makes it sound adorable.) "Seriously? You need better racial slurs, that one's pretty, uh, weak."

He's at least been dissuaded, or at least distracted, from further singing. How long this state of affairs will continue is down to the whims of Madame Mead and her maple-y charms. He still takes the bottle back.

[quitsmiling]

"Hey, where I come from, there ain't a lot of you guys," Rocket snorts at him. "Made it up on short notice. So what, would you prefer 'furless freak'? I can go with furless freak. Takes longer to say, but I ain't as drunk as you are, so I can manage it." So far, anyway.

[standsentinel]

"That's a better one," is Kaidan's verdict after a judicious pause, and another swig of the maple mead. (He's starting to feel like his face is three sizes larger than it should be, but... the stuff's damned tasty.) "Alliterative. But if it's freaks that are furless, does that mean everyone where you're from is like you?" he asks, initially trying for solemn interest before the alcohol sneaks up and leaves him grinning. "Shit -- that would be like some kind of adult version of Bambi. All the cute little woodland creatures toting guns and cursing."

[quitsmiling]

"No, they're all not human, you asshole," Rocket growls, swatting at his knee with the back of one paw. "Ain't no thing like me except me. But humies ain't all that common out where I come from. Ain't even got out of their own solar system yet."

[standsentinel]

He's holding it together so far, even nodding thoughtfully as Rocket reveals he's one-of-a-kind... but then he has to go and say 'humie' again. Under the influence of the maple mead, Kaidan snickers, promptly says "...Sorry!" and then tries to stifle a laugh again. "It's just... humie, seriously. Sounds like it should be the name of a character on a kids' show."

The hangover he's going to be dealing with come morning should be a decent bit of penance.

a

[sibearian]

"My friend, you are about to stand on an ice patch!" Zarya calls up to Kaidan. She hasn't necessarily been watching him specifically, so much as when someone is on a roof covered in snow, they are pretty visible, even from a distance.

"Perhaps you would be better off not standing so precariously, no?"

[standsentinel]

"What?" is a predictable response, followed a moment later by Kaidan pivoting away from the treacherous patch with a "--Shit. Thank you." that's managed to mingle soldierly profanity and innate Canadian politeness. (Clearly the problem is that ice patches on rooftops don't mesh well with hockey skates, or he'd be just fine.)

The crunch and hiss of shovel against snow is followed by a few more scoops of it getting tossed off the side of the roof, and then the sound pauses as Kaidan uncovers a universal truth about home maintenance:if you start a simple project, you're going to find another project after that. "...looks like there's a hot spot up here," he reports down to Zarya, in case she's as interested in the roof as he is. "Must've melted some of the load last time there was a warm spell. Do you know what they use for insulation around here?"

[sibearian]

Funnily enough, she hadn't just moved on after warning him. She's invested in this roof, now. It's going to drag them both down.

"I do not, but I cannot imagine plugging a gap would be too hard."

[standsentinel]

Kaidan stamps about a bit more, trying to spot additional icy patches while also avoiding slipping on the wooden shakes that are being used as roofing material. After another near-slip, he decides to take help where it's offered, or at least implied. "Can you do a little ground recon? The angle up here's bad for spotting any more icy spots, and we should probably get the whole surface clear before we think about patch jobs."

The report back to their superior officers should be an interesting one, at least. (Well, it all started because a sweet little old lady gave me a pair of socks, sir...)

[sibearian]

"Ground recon? You are asking the right person, this is my speciality," she laughs, hopping over a low wall to get a bit closer.

"There are quite a few. Mostly near the top. Perhaps she has bats in the attic?"

Ah, the domestic repair snowball continues downhill.

[standsentinel]

"Didn't think they'd be sticking you with a fighter cockpit," Kaidan agrees, with a chuckle, "Although I've been wrong before." Although the last person he'd met that looked like they might be even approaching her weight class is one James Vega, and that young lieutenant's approach to piloting doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

Taking a moment to thank whatever questionable forces landed him here, and not Vega, Kaidan scrapes away more of the snow at the spots that Zarya's pointed out and surveys them with a thoughtful frown. "Could be bats, could be weather, but it looks like something's pulled a lot of the shakes off her ridgeline. It's been a while since I've spent much time with a splitting axe, but... I think we can do this. We'll have to check her attic, though."

The snowball gathers speed.

[sibearian]

"I am going to assume you know the resident of this house, and we will not just be two strangers barging in."

She watches him scrape the snow away, hands on her waist.

"I think you know more about carpentry than me, but I do not mind assisting where I can."

[standsentinel]

"Ma Morozov," Kaidan supplies, chipping away at a stubborn section of mixed snow and ice near the cottage's stone chimney and sending shards of it flying. Catching the sunlight as they fall, the effect is almost pretty, if you ignore the biting cold. "Her son was killed in a skirmish with a Cetagandan patrol last spring, she said, and he used to take care of repairs for her. There."

The roof, with all of its secrets revealed, now stands acceptably free of snow. Kaidan tosses down the shovel, before half sliding his way down and onto the woman's woodpile, the better to turn up beside his new partner in home renovation. She's got nearly a half foot in height on him, so he's left to look up as he smiles with a bit of sheepish amusement and admits that "What I know about carpentry wouldn't fill a page... but I figure having a patched roof that doesn't look pretty is better then having a roof that leaks, right?"

[sibearian]

"A sad truth of war," Zarya says, shaking her head. She's seen villages ravaged before, family split apart because of the omnics. Hell, her own village was destroyed by them.

"In winters like these? I would hope so. You lead the way, my friend. You two have a past - I am just a stranger."

[standsentinel]

"Such as it is," says Kaidan about his past with the widow. He explains that "We'd only met once before, because she said I looked hungry. And, remembering my own grandmother, I'm smart enough not to argue when a little old slavic lady informs you that you're hungry."

As they round the corner of the house en route to the front door, it belatedly dawns on him to hold out a hand and give Zarya something more than 'my friend' to identify him with. "It's Kaidan, by the way. Kaidan Alenko."

[sibearian]

"Yes, denying old women who have decided you are hungry. This is not a good idea."

Even at Zarya's size, she's had the same treatment as Kaidan on several occasions.

"--Of course, my apologies. I had been wrapped up in the roof problems. I am Zarya. It is a pleasure to meet you."

[standsentinel]

Perhaps especially at her size -- a proper babka's arguments would instantly crystallize around the notion that she can't possibly be getting fed properly. Kaidan looks up at Zarya and grins. "Then you're going in warned that she might just take one look at you and break out the stew pot before you're allowed anywhere near the attic. Glad to have you on my team, Zarya."

The path to the cottage door has already been swept clean of snow, the work of a grandchild too young to be pointed at the roof, but not so young as to escape chores, and Kaidan's careful to knock the snow off his boots before stepping onto the porch. (Someone, somewhere along the way, has taught him proper manners.) Setting the shovel beside it, he knocks at the door and announces them with a "Ma Morozov? I'm done your roof, but we spotted some leaks..."

The woman who answers is Barrayaran-ancient, bent nearly double with years of hard labour and anywhere from a hard-won 50 to an immortal 80 in age. She's about half of Kaidan's height, but she looks up and over Zarya without batting an eye. Her greeting is in a polyglot of Barrayaran Russian and English, with a heavy hill dialect all thrown together, but the gist of it is clear: there will be a break before any further home repairs are started on.

i'm sorry

[sibearian]

Zarya happily responds and has a short conversation with the woman - while she speaks Russian, the two languages are similar enough that they can understand each other in what is essentially their home tongue.

After a moment, Zarya lets out a loud laugh as the old woman titters and shuffles off to the kitchen.

"She says she very much appreciates everything you are doing in return for her. She also says you have a nice ass."

well, he do...

[standsentinel]

Kaidan, meanwhile, is left with picking out the English from amid the hill dialect, and the odd Russian word that matches up with his See Spot Run level of Ukrainian. (It's a long distance between mass relays, sometimes, and a man is occasionally bored enough to try some extranet learning about his distant heritage.) He completely misses what sparks the laughter, although some subtle male instinct about what two women might find to laugh about with him in the room has him looking vaguely uneasy.

Whatever he was going to say vanishes as soon as Zarya translates, leaving him with his mouth open and one hand raised. Eventually he closes it, ears gone faintly pink. "Well, uh... tell her thank you? I think?" My, what a lovely hand-carved shelf on that wall over there, let's stare at it for a bit, yes.

them form fitting future suits

[sibearian]

"I will be sure to tell her you are pleased she thinks that!" Zarya laughs, obviously enjoying the situation far too much.

"Seriously though, she has made a stew. Vegetables and spiced deer!"

[standsentinel]

"Oh hell..." Kaidan mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face before peering over at Zarya with a slow shake of his head. It's as if the spirit of Ashley Williams has reincarnated itself in a cheerful tank of a Russian woman. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he says dryly, before the promise of stew wins an honest chuckle from him. (And a small rumble from his stomach -- shovelling off rooftops is suprisingly heavy work.)

"Just be careful," he warns. "Ma Morozov's stew is so delicious you might just find yourself up on her roof, too."