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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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For once, Miles has the opportunity to give his older self a withering look. God, was he really this bad? Talk about uncomfortable mirror.

"Yes, he's male. Hence the he." He clears his throat, realizing he might not be the most embarrassed party in the room once this all comes out. "There was a lot going on at the time. Emiri was a disorienting place, and I was...learning some things. About myself." God. Why does he suddenly feel like he's talking to a teenager?

"Look, the second I realized it was a date, I panicked. I bolted. Left Clark standing there like an idiot." He rubs his forehead and draws in a breath. Here goes. "I did the same thing to Bel on our recon not-date. Right after I'd kissed them."

Well. Let's see how that goes.

Kissed Bel. Kissed Bel. And - bolted from both encounters, but given the way his younger self is staring at him, he doesn't think that was all. Learning things about myself. He can't possibly mean --

Miles abruptly grabs the bottle of mead. There isn't much left by now, but he is drinking all of it. Now.

Oh -- God. If his older self had occasion to be embarrassed, now the younger Miles sure as hell does, too. Is this what Bel and Clark had to deal with? Was it really that bad? Miles sets down his cup and tries to push himself to his feet to put a stop to this, but he's pretty drunk himself.

"Oh -- just stop, will -- " He makes a grab for the stick he's been using as a crutch and damn near trips, lurching forward.

Oh no. He's not letting his younger self get the rest of this bottle. If he's going to have this revelation sprung on him he's damn well going to drown it out with mead. He just holds out a hand to stop his other self from getting close. And also keep him from tripping over himself.

"You stop," he hisses between gulps. "You're the one springing this on me."

It's an unfortunately effective attempt, because Miles has to grab hold of his older self's arm just to keep himself balanced until he gets that stick properly braced, and damn he managed to put weight on his broken leg for just a second and it hurts like a son of a bitch. He hisses back, trying to swat the bottle out of his double's hand just on principle.

"I'm the one springing -- seriously?" Before he was embarrassed and a little exasperated, but now he's indignant and angry. "You're one to talk about springing! How is a -- a frigging sexual revelation worse than what you did? You destroyed everything we've ever worked for!"

He'll put the bottle down, all right, but not until it's empty. Then he plunks it back down on the floor with an unsteady thunk. "This is completely different! Don't conflate the two, you ass!" His steadying hand grips his younger self's collar instead. Not letting him escape. "Is what you meant by losing all grip on your identity? Are you mad?"

Miles actually looks stricken for a moment -- since when did he grow up to be less tolerant? Or is this really what would've happened if not for the weird multiversal intervention that happened onto him? His identity collapse had been one of the most terrifying frigging things that'd ever happened to him, something that this Miles should understand. Miles will admit, he didn't exactly handle the business with Bel and Clark gracefully, but -- not like this.

"Are you?" he sputters back, his free hand going to his older self's at his collar. Well, at least the Moira uniforms have just slightly more give... "I didn't dissociate from sexual panic, you -- " He's about to say you ass, realizes that his older self has already beat him to it, and settles instead of snarling a very rude suggestion in Russian for what the other Miles could do with a horse that almost certainly came from their grandfather.

He is normally more tolerant than this. When it's not about him. When it's not one more piece of identity slipping away from him at one of his most dissociative points. Here, displaced from everything he knows on top of everything else ... No, he's not in ia good place for this right now.

God. He's so done. He's just done. He lets go of his alternate self's collar with a hissed expletive in return - also learned from their grandfather - but keeps his hand there so that he doesn't just pitch him into the fire. "Then what the hell happened." He rubs at his face. "And - why is this part different."

Spoiler alert: of course it's not different. This Miles just never thought to reexamine this part of himself.

It's a relief when the other Miles lets go of his collar, but Miles hasn't really cooled down yet, still in a defensive snarl. Defensive against himself -- well, that one's not even new, really. Yeah, he'd panicked, panicked badly, tried to drown himself in denial, but -- God. He wants to be done, but he's not. Miles glowers at his older self, leaning heavily on his stick.

"What happened?" He doesn't even know how to begin to answer that question, but he's at least tactical enough not to lead with It's not. The other Miles is already acting like a spooked horse. A drunk, angry spooked horse. Fuck's sake.

"I was in close quarters with Bel, stranded in a really fucking strange situation, and they took it all in stride, every step of the way. Clark was a good friend, someone I really engaged with, and then he sat and watched me die. And I still had my head up my ass over it." He shakes his head and pushes the other Miles's hand away from him. "What happened is that for once I was forced to stop and think about what I was actually afraid of."

It seems to Miles that there's plenty to be afraid of on that topic. How many fights had he gotten into as a child for the rumors about his father? And he's been so determined to succeed with the hand of cards he'd been dealt - to have a full Vor life, a Lady Vorkosigan at his side and at least half a dozen kids. Which - aren't necessarily incompatible, but they'll make his life harder in ways he never anticipated dealing with. He's strange enough with his twisted body. He doesn't need to add anything on top of that.

"We lived on Beta Colony for a year," he says, his tone almost pleading. "If it were true we should have figured it out then." But the words lose power the first moment they're past his lips. Saying we instead of you is another indication he's already considering this formerly remote possibility. Hell, picturing Bel here is enough for Miles' convictions to sway somewhat. God. Is there anything left to get upended at this point?

Meeting his future self, that'd been jarring, and hearing about his future death and everything after, that'd been pretty fucking jarring, but this -- the other Miles looking at him like that... Miles just looks at him helplessly for a moment, opening his free hand palm up.

"We were always afraid to be different," he says slowly, carefully, and God, he's really too drunk for this, they both are. "We were sick of it. And it was easy not to think about." Hell, he'd fixated on Elena for over ten years, and that'd kept him plenty busy.

"But after a while, it wasn't that easy there. There wasn't so much to be afraid of. I'm not an idiot, I never thought I'd find Lady Vorkosigan on the Moira, but -- " But that doesn't mean it wasn't worth it. He blows out his breath, biting his lip. "You never knew Clark, but you know Bel. Have you ever really thought about why that always made you jump? Is that idea really so disturbing to you?"

If Bel had truly been out of the question, then it should have been easy. A simple, Betan explanation of his preferences, and easy teasing after. But that wasn't actually the case, was it? Because Bel wasn't actually as clear-cut as that, even while Miles had been pining after Elena. And Bel is not so terrible to contemplate in the abstract either, even with their betrayal. He'd just chosen not to face them head on. So he'd jumped every time, because it had been a murky area ...

Oh, god. All the blood is draining from his face, leaving him looking downright gray as a result. He doesn't want to have this realization here and now. Can't he hold onto one scrap of truth in the face of all this?

"Bel was a great captain," he says, rather numbly. "A good friend. If I were interested - I'm very fond of them--" What is he saying? Are those actual words coming out of his mouth? He rakes his fingers through his hair unhappily.

Watching the transformation on his double's face is deeply disconcerting, and Miles feels like he's experiencing it all over again, and rather painfully.

"They make a pretty great lover, too," Miles offers, hoping the weak joke will help ease the transition, but it just comes out awkward. He sighs, unconsciously mirroring his double's gesture as he rakes his fingers back through his hair. "Look, I'm not saying you have to. Just -- be honest with yourself, that's all."

He didn't really need that mental image right now, damn you Miles Vorkosigan. His own laugh in response is little more than a strangled noise. It's a good thing he's drifting into being super drunk here, courtesy of all the mead he's had, or he might just implode.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters darkly. "Worst fucking place to even consider that kind of honesty." Because holy shit he does not want to contemplate finding himself in the middle of the fucking Occupation.

Miles feels weirdly disappointed at this refusal to concede, and he goes slack, falling back a half-step away from his older self.

"Don't know that makes much of a difference," he mutters, rubbing his jaw. He suddenly misses Bel all the more keenly, feeling stung. And then he adds, knowingly, "It's not like you'll be able to stop thinking about it anyway."

Oh, his younger self has won already. That last comment is absolutely true: now that the subject has been broached, Miles won't be able to stop thinking about it. He'll worry at it like a dog with a chew toy until he finally gives in, and then ... He's still stranded in the Occupation. This is still going to hurt a lot.

"Not fair," he says with one last burst of petulance. "You had a whole ship to figure yourself out with. And Bel." God, he would kill to have Bel here to help him work through this right now.

Seriously, Bel Thorne, where are you right now.

"Yeah, it was great," Miles says flatly, still feeling a little stung. He's not swayed by that last show of childish protest. "Being stuck aboard a ship run by a committee of inexperienced, underqualified civilians, universes away from anything even resembling something familiar, struggling to figure out who I was without Barrayar or the Dendarii, trying not to get killed again?" He knows he's raising his voice and he's too drunk to keep it down now. "Yeah, that was a real luxury."

Sorry other self, Miles has no sympathy for you on this one. That's an incredibly shitty situation ... but Miles just sweeps an arm out at their surroundings.

"Compared to being in the middle of the fucking Occupation? Yes. I'd take your ship right about now."

"Nobody said you had to act on it," Miles shoots back, shoving back away from his double, and he lets himself stagger back into his chair none too gently. Whatever. "What do you want me to do, lie to you? You asked."

"Just drive myself mad with uncertainty. Yes. An excellent plan." Because like hell he's going to feel settled until he has acted on something. Thoughts only go so far, no matter what he's up to.

God. He is really regretting this whole conversation. "I was hoping to discuss something lighter than death. Should have known we're never that simple."

Miles is regretting this conversation a hell of a lot, too, and he's feeling more judged by himself than he ever thought possible. He sinks back into the chair, his face dark.

"You're overreacting," he snaps, uncomfortably aware of the hypocrisy. God, this is so fucking weird. "So let's talk about something else instead: why are you so intent on being so frigging miserable?"

That deserves (and gets) an eye roll. What a melodramatic pair they make.

"Weren't you just yelling at me for having destroyed everything we worked for?" he spits back. "I've a right to be utterly miserable. Everything's gone to hell and now I can't even go back to fix it." If this damned time travel had only provided him with an actual opportunity to undo things rather than just mess things up worse. Then he'd --

A blink. The alcohol is blurring him worse than he'd thought, because he'd almost forgotten the whole point in confessing everything to his alternate self. Abruptly, he reaches out to grab the other Miles by his collar again. "But you can."

"So that's it?" Miles starts angrily, trying not to get dragged into what might just be a circular argument and failing spectacularly. "You fucked up and that's it? You're not even trying to -- "

But then his older self grabs him by the collar again and nearly unbalances him. Miles tries to shove his hand away, understanding dawning on his bewildered face.

"What?" Miles can't seem to get past the angry disbelief part of this conversation. Too drunk. Seeing himself at full stop like this -- this had better just be one of his shitty low periods, his future self had better bounce back from this. "That's what you're focusing on?"

His hand is deflected, but Miles still leans in close. There's more fire in his eyes than there was a moment ago, at least. (He will pull out of that slump one way or another, and not just by forcing his alternate self to fix things.) "Why the hell not?" he says fervently. "Just catch up to Mark a few days earlier. Help him with the damned strike team, and then drag him back to Barrayar to be part of the family. That's all you need to do." And Mark can escape torture too, and Miles won't die, and - it's the best solution, isn't it? Completely undo the need to wreck himself in the first place.

Good God, is this really what he looks like when he's like this? He had no idea he looks just as insane as he feels sometimes. He draws back another half-step, looking at his older self in disbelief.

"What?" He shakes his head. "Drag Mark to Barrayar? That was never in the plan! What happened to just -- letting him live his life, be whoever or whatever he wants to be?" Oh, right. That apparently resulted in his own death. Dammit. Miles shakes his head vigorously, which only makes him dizzy.

"Look -- no. I'd talk to Bel and make sure that whole debacle never even happens. And Mark -- he was on the Moira too, for a while. He...saw what happened to me." When his identity utterly collapsed. That hadn't been fun. "Maybe it'll be different for me."

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