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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

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a. Barrayaran Camp Party

Okay, you know what? This shit fucking sucked. Not the people (well, a little) or the food (well, kind of), but the weather, with its frigid air and cold winds and snow, fucking snow everywhere. The desert was looking pretty pleasant compared to this, and that in itself had been hell, with the seemingly impossible way could sand find its way inside his armor and him. The heat back then had easily reached a level that was damn near oppressive.

Yeah, all that was feeling significantly more welcoming than this.

Because it still wasn’t snow. And snow made sleeping naked impossible. It made most things impossible, really, like being able to feel appendages that he needed to use when swinging a sword and feet that – who knew- came in handy while walking. Tucker was beyond over this.

But hey, at least the celebrations were fun? He wasn’t one to turn down a party, especially one including some well-deserved alcohol; pass him a cup and he was imbibing to an almost impressive level unless stopped. He just wanted the warmth back inside his blood because fuck this cold. And fuck another war he never asked to be in, but still seemed to attract anyway.

What the hell, right? What the hell.

PVP – Either side

Dude, seriously getting a little sick of bullshit wars here. Tucker wasn’t sure how he kept finding them (okay, well, the first one he understood because enlisting was the only way to get away from...you know what? Nevermind, not talking about it.), but after the Freelancer drama, then stuck in the desert, then more Freelancer drama, then the shit with Chorus, he was over it. He needed a vacation. No, better yet, he deserved a vacation.

What he got was another war. Much like with Chorus, filled with people he didn’t know and politics that he probably should have stayed out of. Hell, he wanted to stay out of it; he just wasn’t given much of a choice. It was starting to feel like a running theme. Fuck you, universe; your jokes aren’t funny.

Which was how he stood there now, weapon in hand, looking about as enthused as he could be. At least Chorus wasn’t this goddamn cold, even if it was littered with shitty space pirates and shittier mercs.

“Look, dude, I’m not exactly feeling this whole fight you, fight me, kill you thing. Why don’t we just call it a day so my badass natural skills don’t completely embarrass you, okay? Sound fair?”

Wild Card-

[Throw something at him! Let’s see what sticks.]

If there's something that Barrayarans are good at, it's drinking, a lot, but this man seems like he could give most of the lot a run for their money. Maybe a little too much. The tall young woman in plain clothes meant more for warmth than fashion has been flitting around the camp during the celebrations, talking here, drinking there, and now she approaches Tucker with raised eyebrows, but a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"That's not maple mead you're chugging, is it? You might want to be careful."

Okay, so the chicks around here weren't so bad at least. Oh, sure, he still got shot down at every conceivable moment, but they were pretty damn hot so it wasn't as bad, especially when there wasn't hulking body armor getting in the way. And most of them could fight; that seemed to be a prerequisite for all the women in and out of his life.

Tucker waved the cup a little, the last of the liquid swirling as he shrugged. "It's something that tastes bad and is getting me drunk; names kinda stopped mattering the second I found out it was the only thing around here warming me up." Which, strangely, could be dangerous, but tomorrow morning's hangover-death was a long, long way off as far as he was concerned.

"Well, you know, that and your pretty face." Annnnd, there we go, with the inevitable come-on and the slight arch of a drunk eyebrow. He leaned forwards, elbow on...well, whatever it was next to him, crates or something, he wasn't exactly paying attention anymore. "What are you drinking?"

Oh, that come on. He clearly doesn't know who she is, which is a point in his favor as far as she's concerned. "We have an old saying here on Barrayar -- if it tastes bad, it just means you're not drinking it fast enough," Sonia informs him with a sunny smile, in direct contradiction to her previous advice. If she's drunk, it's not immediately apparent. Vorbarras know how to hold their liquor. At any rate, she's not as drunk as he is. She eyes his cup with an arched eyebrow.

"Whatever you're having, I think." Without hesitation, Sonia plucks the cup out of Tucker's hand and takes a sip. She makes a face. "Wine. Bad wine. Better suited for children."

Edited 2017-01-08 01:29 (UTC)

Let's be real: even if he did know, nothing short of a nuclear winter resulting in immediate death would even fundamentally slow him down. Titles, names, responsibilities were all secondary to how someone's ass looked, preferably when naked.

But hey, he was better than he used to be. A little. A lot. So that was a thing.

"I think the only way to not taste it is to hook it up in an IV. Which- " One finger pointed at her. "-I'm not really arguing against." Because, in the end, he didn't want much: to be warm, to be done with wars, to be with his super fucking annoying team, to see his kid, to kill a specific merc or two. Simple man, simple desires.

Oh, and talk to a hot chick, so that was one thing in his column.

"Hey!" He watched her take it, a little triumphant because clearly it was strong for her to make a face like that and he was just proving--

Proving nothing other than how wrong he was. Yeah, so it was sweet, that didn't mean it was kids juice! "Look, I'm not saying that watching a bunch of toddlers drunkenly telling each other stories of their youth wouldn't be hil-fucking-arious, but I'm pretty sure you're mistaken when you're saying this is kid's wine." And you better believe he was reaching back to reclaim what was his.

Sonia holds the cup out of reach and steals the last sip of it for herself, smirking. "You clearly haven't spent enough time on Barrayar," she tells him, amused. She sticks out her tongue. "I think I enjoyed this vintage more when I was thirteen."

She tips the empty cup in her hand back and forth and smiles. "If you're going to drink, you might as well drink something good. How do you feel about vodka?"

So, was he hearing this right? An attractive woman who a) could drink, b) was offering him vodka, and c) was sticking out her tongue? Okay, Barrayar, you might have just found a warrior for life, because getting him away at this point in time was going to be difficult. When he was sober and remembering all the drawbacks maybe it would be a little easier, but for the moment, loyalty was the game.

"Are you offering me vodka or challenging me to a drinking contest?" It wasn't exactly his thing; if anything, he was more of a beer drinker, but he sure as hell wasn't opposed to it. Hell, with as much as he had, he wasn't opposed to many things. Really, now was the time to ask him to do something crazy; if it wasn't too much energy-consuming, he might actually agree for once.

"Anyone ever tell you not to stick out your tongue unless you plan on using it?" And have one charming ass little smirk and a raise of a singular eyebrow.

See, this is why Sonia likes the outsiders -- so few of them actually know she's an Imperial Princess, none of them make with the frustrating bowing and scraping, and once in a while, she finds someone actually fun. Any Barrayaran soldier with any sense, or at least a sense of self-preservation, wouldn't touch a Princess with a teen-foot-pole in the arena of flirting. This man isn't Barrayaran -- jury's still out on his sense -- and he isn't too bad looking, either.

Sonia only answers that with an impish smile and a raised eyebrow of her own. "Both," she says, airily, and wags the cup at him. "You've never had vodka until you've had Barrayaran vodka."

And now she's turning and waltzing off to find a bottle. Better keep up, Tucker.

Don't need to tell him twice. Pushing up, he followed after her because come on: right now he'd follow her pretty much anywhere. This was the one high point he had since arriving, and he could use something to get his mind off the people he missed and the ones they had killed.

Nope. Let's not bring a downer onto this little party, shall we? It was going so well, after all.

"So, what makes Barrayaran vodka so special?" Were people looking at him? People were looking at him. Or maybe her; he wasn't actually sure. Probably both, although he couldn't blame them for staring; he was pretty awesome, after all.

...That's totally why they were doing it, right?

"Is this the part where you get me totally plastered and take advantage of me?" He shrugged a little as he matched her pace. "Because I'll let you know now that you don't have to get me drunk to do that."

"You'd be useless if you were too drunk," Sonia says pointedly, grinning over her shoulder at him. People are starting to look, and not just because of Tucker, and so she threads quickly through scattered crowds of mostly-drunk soldiers clustered around small campfires, too quick, hopefully, for her bodyguard to catch up with her. He'll probably be unhappy with her later, but -- pfff. A princess trapped in a war has to have a little fun sometime.

She neatly plucks an open bottle out from a soldier's hands as she passes him by. "Hey!" he protests, but Sonia flashes him a smile before he can get up.

"His Countship thanks you for your service," she calls back at him, which seems to keep him from coming after them, at any rate. Time to duck away from the big crowds, although, with the weather, not too far from the fires. She grins at Tucker, swinging the bottle by the neck.

"If you want good tequila," she says, very matter-of-factly, "you go to Escobar. If you want good gin, you go to Earth. If you want absinthe, Tau Verde. But if you want really, really good vodka..."

She brushes a bit of snow off a mostly-flat rock and perches on it, shaking her hair from her face. She pours a generous shot into Tucker's empty cup and holds it out to him with a sharp grin. "Fifty-thousand colonists, most of them Russian, trapped in isolation for seven hundred years on a half-irradiated planet. Barrayarans have understandable priorities."

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Countship? And that little comment kept the guy from chasing after them? Dude, seriously, this wasn’t just any chick, was she? She was vaguely important, something, he didn’t know but he should know and—

--and that was fucking awesome. Hot chick that could get him some perks? Damn right he was all in. Why couldn’t all the ladies that he met through his rather tumultuous time alive be like this, instead of pulling guns against his helmet and beating his ass into the ground on multiple occasions? (Sister didn’t count; that had been fun in and of itself.)

“Um, just who are you, anyway? Because I can’t keep calling you ‘hot chick’ in my head.” And he should probably know this. He should really, really know this. But not-knowing didn’t stop him from following her, from feeling those stares on his back, from moving through the cold with a slight little stumble to his steps because let’s be real: he was drunk. He was just good at keeping it slightly together.

Tucker leaned against the rock she perched on, taking the cup from her on automatic and bringing it to his lips. She wasn’t kidding about the vodka: it was strong but it was good, different than the whateveritwas he had been drinking earlier, the kind that burned on the way down but didn’t set him on fire.

“I love Barrayaran priorities.” He offered the cup back to her, unless she was going to drink out of the bottle, and then he was going to ask her how she felt about being a stepmom for the best alien kid in the galaxy. “What are you priorities? Other than getting me drunk and taking advantage of me, not that I blame you.” Not that she had to try hard. Or really try at all.

Oh, Tucker, if only you knew.

"I'm Sonia," she says by way of deflection, amused. Tucker's refreshing compared to the usual Barrayaran soldier, even though he's a little cocksure for her taste -- he reminds her more of the boys back on Beta Colony, where no one had any of those silly sexual double standards, or ridiculous laws about executing men who laid unlawfully with Vor ladies. Seriously, Barrayar, get with the times.

She leans back on the rock and politely refuses Tucker's cup with a little smile, drinking straight from the bottle. True Vor material, this one. "My only priority," she says, hissing in a breath to chase the vodka, "is to have fun. War is scary and exciting and always, always so chaotic -- but when you've been doing it for long enough, some parts of it get very, very boring."

She cocks her head at him, face glowing with a thoroughly entertained grin. "And who are you? Besides one of the outsiders, I mean."

~~Oh, he was sure of his cock. Bow chicka bow wow.~~

Yeaaaah, there was stuff she wasn’t telling him; Tucker was strangely perceptive, more than the others around him (even if he, too, had been fooled by Felix but everyone was entitled to an off day. Er, week. Look,. Wash and the Reds had been captured and he was off his game then). Even now, things were starting to click, pieces that made more sense as he started to put them into a puzzle, but the picture was damn near fuzzy because of alcoholic glasses.

She’s important. She’s--

But goddamn, then she was smiling and it didn’t exactly matter anymore, did it? And she was talking about fun and was it meant to sound just that dirty in his head? He watched her drinking from the bottle and Tucker hoped like hell she wasn’t taken.

Who was he kidding? It wouldn’t stop him if she was.

“Dude, tell me about it.” One war seemed to just bleed into another one, all of it connected by thin threads, and he could barely remember where it all began. “I mean, it could be worse: it could be just two different colored teams in the middle of a bullshit made up conflict while stuck inside a pretty empty canyon, but this is pretty bad, too.”

Even if a lot of good had come out of Blood Gulch: some of his best memories, and some of the biggest bullshit - fuck you, Wyoming!. But it would always be better where it was more bitching than any real fighting, better than where people died, like it had been back on Chorus, like it was here. He took another drink, finishing off what was in the cup and fuck all, the world tilted a few degrees.

“Tucker. Lavernius Tucker, lover spoken about in all the legends.” He smiled, leaning up a little. “Blue Team, alien diplomat, and Chosen One, but you can call me ‘yours’.”

Fucking smooth.

Edited 2017-01-16 14:00 (UTC)

He almost loses her with the nonsensical talk about the canyon, but his incredibly cheesy (if still a bit nonsensical) one-liners are so entertaining. And, admittedly, he does have a charming smile, and the kind of face that would probably be extremely satisfying to slap, if she ever had the need to. (You never know. A girl has to be prepared for all situations.)

"Aren't you easy." She raises an eyebrow, but she's clearly amused. She takes another satisfyingly stinging drink from the bottle before holding it out, dangling by the neck, grinning wickedly. "Don't you know the girls like it better when you play hard to get?"

And there's Wash, standing next to him, completely unamused. A lover, not a fighter, that's how Tucker's described himself to him more than once, and maybe it's true to an extent but that doesn't mean Tucker's not just used it as a damned excuse time and time again. The weaponry that they've been given is still strange to him, alien, and he keeps turning it in his hand, keeps checking it, making sure it's right and it's functional even when he knows it is.

It's anxiety. They're just out here, standing guard, but there could be a fight at any moment, and it's another fight they really have no fucking stake in, and yet.

"Your badass natural skills still need a bit of work, Tucker," Wash starts, turning to face him, "And --"

A pause. A breath. And then he just shakes his head, turning his gaze out towards the battlefield. Another battle that isn't theirs, another world that they had no real stake in. The Reds and Blues are apparently in some way forever destined to be toyed around with by greater powers, and well, since he's one of them now, in some fashion, then.

"-- Look," he says finally, exhaling heavily. "I get it."

Would you look at that, Tucker. No lecture from Mr Washington.

Edited (i recovered from a lazarus save and it ate my entire tag oh my god im sorry for the like three edits you just received.) 2017-01-09 16:17 (UTC)

Hey, Tucker still described himself as that, but let’s be real: since Chorus, it’s been more “fighter” and less “lover”. And scarier yet was how well he begrudgingly fit into the role, one he didn’t want, one he still didn’t want because the responsibility sucked. People lives in his hands sucked. All of it sucked. But, surprisingly, he did the whole “leader” moderately okay, especially when he was making lieutenants stay back while Captains did the stupid risky shit..

This…wasn’t much better. A new place. A new war they didn’t belong to with new people that they didn’t have any connection to. Tucker didn’t really buy into the whole “history repeats itself/karmic wheel bullshit” but damn if it wasn’t feeling like that right about now. Once was enough, but the Reds and Blues were way too familiar with this damn ride.

At least he and Wash weren’t busy trying to save each other from the opposite sides this time. And at least Caboose and the Reds weren’t having to wade through this bullshit, too.

“Oh my God, they’re better than most of the people here.” Which wasn’t helping his case, really, because he had a feeling anything that wasn’t better than everyone would result in more drills, more practice, more laps, regardless of the authority of old ranks. Tucker braced himself for the inevitable.

Shit.

But it didn’t come, and the Sim Trooper looked over at him hesitantly, waiting. But nothing, still. He blinked once, raising an eyebrow, as he breathed a puff of cold air.

“Get what?” So, maybe he was going to feel this out because that wasn’t vague and melodramatic at all, Wash. Nope. Not one bit.

Tucker's been through a lot.

Some at Wash's own hands, of course -- he hadn't gone easy on him, had been harsher on him than he was towards the others, but only because Tucker was the one he knew he could count on to really make it through, to actually be more of the soldier that they needed him to be. He did come through the other side, grew so much over such a short period of time, and then there's everything on Chorus, too, what he went through to try and rescue him, the mercs. Wash hasn't had an easy life, but he doesn't envy the Reds and Blues, either, with all the constant bullshit they've had to put up with that seems to have very little to do with them.

This is just another step in the same pattern.

"This isn't our war," he says finally. "This isn't our fight. It's another random planet we've somehow been dumped on, except instead of a crashed ship it's some kind of -- wormhole, or something, no one even knows. Just another fight you've been thrown into that has nothing to do with you."

Yeah, pretty much what he thought it would be.

Sure, this shit was getting to be old, old paths that seemed way too familiar to the point that they could be navigated in his sleep. But, hey, at least this didn’t have anything to do with Project Freelancer and the orbit of people associated with it this time; that was both a bonus and a total surprise for once. But without those customary footholds it made it so much more delicate to navigate through this: Tucker felt like he was climbing a smooth mountain made of glass.

It sucked. He didn’t want to climb or navigate or deal with anything. He just wanted to go to home and just do what they did in Blood Gulch. Was that too much to ask for?

Yes. Of course it was.

“Look, it’s bullshit, just like it’s bullshit that at least one of these wars can’t be on a beach somewhere where clothing has been banned and the entire other army is just hot chicks.” His shoulders rolled a little in a shrug, over this damn war, over all of it. “All I care about is getting back to the others before Caboose can set the entire planet of Chorus on fire.”

And…and seeing his kid. Hearing from him. Something. And the Reds. Having a beer with Grif.

“If we have to fight in another stupid war, then I guess we don’t have choice. But you better believe that I’m going to kick whatever asshole pulled us into this right in the dick.”

As much as Wash would like to tell them that there's an end point, that they just need to get this over with and soon they can just go back to their bases in the middle of nowhere and back to their lives, Wash doesn't think they'll ever really be able to go back. They've been dragged outside of that boxed canyon, now, and sure they've been in a few different places like it but there's no going back in that bubble. There's too much going on around them, too much that they've been swept up in.

Wash is used to it. He's sorry that the Reds and Blues have gotten caught in all this, too, but the least he can do is guide them as much as he can.

"We don't have to really fight and put our lives on the line. We just have to play along until we figure out what happened, and until we figure out how to get back." He looks over from him back out at the horizon, his expression grim. "And until then, we lie low -- which sometimes means playing along and doing guard duty."

A small sigh. Look, he's not particularly enthused about this either, okay, Tucker.

"But have a little faith," he says after a while, looking back at him at something that might be a smile. "Caboose isn't the only guy back on Chorus."

And okay, maybe Tucker doesn't trust the others all that much either, but -- Wash has seen all of them come along way, and he's confident that they aren't going to set everything on fire. Or maybe they will, but it'll somehow turn out to be helpful, or something. They'll manage to hold their own. Tucker's grown plenty, too, after all.

York didn't want to be in this war either. He has no alliance to the Cetagandans, even if they did save the 'exotics' from freezing to death. He doesn't trust them, he doesn't want to fight for them, and he doesn't want to be here but he is. He hasn't been given a choice. No one said he had to fight for them well, though, and all of his shots either miss or barely graze the Barrayarans -- and only grazing if there's no other choice and he's going to be attacked if he doesn't. He could slaughter them all and it's clear from how he holds himself that he does know what he's doing at least. But he doesn't.

When he winds up opposite from Tucker he doesn't shoot, he listens. And grins. "I'm not feeling it either, man. But I'm not sure it's your skills that would embarrass me."

Finally someone who didn't want to fight, who was over the whole damn thing just like he was and shared his level of “fuck it”. The fact that he was on the opposite side? Even better. Maybe they weren't all dicks after all, which was hard to believe considering all the things whispered at the base. But hey, he wasn't about to argue.

The fact that it could totally be a trap? Yeah, it crossed his mind. It was impossible not to when betrayal and bullshit went hand in hand with just about everything that seemed to happen on a daily basis.

Though, this guy, Mr. I-Got-A-Messed-Up-Eye-And-Not-Rocking-The-Requisite-Cool-Pirate-Eyepath, wasn't exactly winning him over with comments like those. Tucker’s eyes rolled, shoulders shrugging because come on. Come on.

“Well, I mean if you want to think that to make yourself feel better, whatever.” What a great stance to have when in front of an enemy. Sure. “But let’s be real: it already looks like someone got you once.” And he tapped his own eye in reference. Not really installing confidence in his words.

Granted, if he had a clue how he got that, shit would be a totally different story with a hint more understanding and sympathy. Because, seriously, he got that whole thing.

"I could prove it if you want, but I'm not really in the mood for a spar either." Or maybe they should. It would be putting on a better show than the two of them just standing there in the middle of an active battle. York tilts his head to the side to show that they should get out of the ways.

"I didn't get this here."

Let's be real: neither was Tucker. Oh, he could spar, but it would be a waste of energy when this shithole was super cold and it was just a bonus to finally find someone who didn't want to do any of that fighting-training bullshit. Why go fucking it up with actual work?

Yeah, he was still waiting for an answer on that one because none seemed good enough.

"Don't worry, I get it; I wouldn't want to be embarrassed either. It's okay, dude; let's just pretend we didn't see each other."

He didn't drop his weapon, didn't lower it completely, but he certainly got a bit more relaxed on it. That eye didn't here, huh? There was a story attached to this, wasn't there? And normally he wouldn't give two hard-earned fucks about it, but what else was going on, huh?

"So, I'll bite: where'd you get it then?"

Oh, York still trains. He can't let himself get soft in a war environment, though it's refreshing to meet someone from the other side who isn't just blindly charging into gunfire with a sword, like most of this fight has been. He doesn't believe the Cetagandan claims that they're all barbarians -- hell, he's considered defecting to get away from the colonialist bullshit -- but the Barrayarans aren't making a good impression either.

York shrugs. He could make up some badass story, but he doesn't see the point. "It was a training accident. I got hit with a grenade."

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test drive meme

Lavernius Tucker | RvB | OTA (Totally late to the party here; hope it's okay?)

a. hope an NPC tag is okay!

Of course! I'm so sorry for him in advance.

DW BRO I'M CANON SAVVY (i'm sorry too)

THEN YOU KNOW THE SUFFERING! (let's all just hang our heads)

SO MUCH SUFFERING also i'm sorry about sonia

ooooh nothing to apologize for!

;D

this is just asking for trouble

sonia vorbarra is made of trouble, i feel sorry for tucker

Don't you dare feel sorry for him! Also, sorry this took so long!!

you're right we shouldn't feel sorry for either of them AND DW ABOUT IT!!

NO GUILTS! NONE!

if tucker winds up with the outsiders in game he is going to get in Real Trouble

jUMPS ON THIS would've been earlier but had a busy weekend, hello tucker pvp prompt if this is ok

Nooo worries! /hugs these tags tightly

aaa been busy and lost track of tags some, sorry for how late this is

No worries at all! I'm just working on my app. :x

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pvp!

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