forbarrayar_ooc | test drive meme

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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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sometimes he misses royal status and sometimes he doesn't at all. But, oh, for the days when a frown or a stern word actually meant anything to anybody.

"My servant has better aim, and he can't tell one end of a broom from another on some days."

So he resorts to insults, maturely. Including insulting Merlin, who isn't even there, because he's a good person.

Daryl wonders if this kid knows how to track arrows. They're all coming from one direction. He justifies this as a training exercise, then, to show this kid how to track, and trains his eye for an opening. Insult his aim, huh? This time, he'll show you about aim.

His arrow whizzes through the air, and hits Arthur's upper sleeve, pinning it to a nearby tree. Take that, kid.

He has, theoretically, spent time learning how to track arrows. The law of funny simply wins out. Or, perhaps, he's too piqued to quite make note of where they're all coming from just yet.

Especially with that last shot -- a clean shot through his left sleeve, securely embedded in the tree trunk. Not only does his not-assassin have actual skill, but apparently also a sense of humor.

(You know what else he misses? Chainmail.)

He pulls his sleeve free without much care, tearing it more in the process, and then...actually starts to move in Daryl's direction.

"You can't hide forever."

Daryl should probably stop messing with this poor kid. Slowly, he rises out of the bushes he was hiding in. Daryl is an average-sized man, not particularly tall or broad-shouldered, with a face like a pine-cone, and today he's covered in squirrel pelts. He hopes Arthur wasn't expecting anything special.

He walks over, not deigning to free the boy, and pulls the trap Arthur was about to step in off the ground. There's a dead rabbit in it. Daryl begins prying it free, all without looking at Arthur or saying anything.

It's really good, he used to sometimes think, that he was the youngest brother. He'd be a terrible older sibling to have.

"Gotta watch where you're going," he finally says.

There are a number of ways Arthur could respond to this. He could, for instance, consider that the frankly feral-looking woodsman stopped him from walking into a trap.

Or he could pull a disbelieving face and gesture at the trap emphatically.

"And you couldn't have just said that?"

Daryl doesn't really laugh anymore. Daryl's pretty sure he hasn't since the prison, and he's been on borrowed time ever since. He doesn't laugh when he sees the pretty boy losing it while pinned to a tree. He doesn't smile.

There's just a certain lightness to his expression, but you shouldn't focus on it too much.

He keeps picking at his rabbit. "Didn't feel like it."

It would be the stocks for you if they were in Camelot. He can, at least, enjoy this thought. Let him have that, okay, whether or not he'd actually enforce that were they there.

It's neither very adult nor kingly to roll his eyes like he does, or as exaggeratedly as he does, but he's too aggravated to care.

"Obviously, that explains it."

At least give?? Him a hand??

Daryl won't, can't drag this out any longer. He plucks the arrows from their trees, putting them back in his quiver, and that includes the one pinning Arthur like a butterfly. His conversation is purposefully bland; quips just slide right off him.

"Dunno how else I would."

Thank you: yet another thing Arthur could, but doesn't say. Instead he crosses his arms, as though expecting it possible to look intimidating after all this.

"There's this strange custom most people follow, where they open their mouths and words come out."

Like how he won't shut up, clearly, in contrast to Daryl's reticence.

Daryl knows what to do with people like this. The talkative ones who make a big goddamn point of his silence, they always hit the same points. Daryl stares, mangled rabbit in one hand, quiver in the other, and waits expectantly. People open their mouths and words come out? Really?

Daryl isn't the only one waiting. There's a drawn-out moment before Arthur realizes he isn't going to say anything at all.

Charitably: Almost forgot, an archer with a sense of humor. Uncharitably: Perhaps I mistook a simpleton for someone of skill.

The good thing about the silence, at least, is that it gives him a moment for his temper to simmer. And, incidentally, opportunity to see what it was Daryl was doing.

Aloud, frowning: "You're hunting." A most stunning insight. He looks from the rabbit in Daryl's hands, to the traps, to the woods beyond them. "What game have you found in this forest?"

The rabbit is surprisingly normal-looking; he'd half-expected the woods to be full of monsters, alien as it is.

The kid breaks first. Unsurprising, but it's still a win for Daryl as far as he's concerned. He cocks his head to the side, slinging the limp little rabbit over his shoulder. "Rabbits, squirrels, a few rats. Pigeons. No deer to speak of."

Which is the strangest thing, really. What an odd thought, that he'll never eat venison again.

A few rats. Heaven forbid they ever need to resort to the likes of rat stew to keep from starving; he'd hoped that for a once in a lifetime experience. At least there aren't any unicorns about, nor keepers of unicorns to curse anyone.

He manages, at least, to keep his expression impressively neutral.

"Nothing large," he notes. That could easily become a problem.

Some of the rats are plump for the taking, sleepy with winter and easily shot. Nothing to stick your nose up at. "Yeah, no deer. No pigs, neither." He bends down in the snowy grass, setting the trap back up again. "Not bad, just gotta be careful."

Nothing he should stick his nose up at, perhaps, but he'd find it hard to swallow.

"And hope we're not stretched beyond our means."

Which makes the entire business of people being brought here through time and space significantly more alarming. He doesn't envy the man who has to sort out how to account for interspace travelers when assessing supplies.

Daryl provides another flat look. "You gonna bitch or get hunting?" Sorry, your majesty; Daryl has a limited amount of patience for complaining or prevaricating. He gives Arthur's sword a significant look.

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