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

Lord Miles Naismith Vorkosigan | Vorkosigan Saga | OTA

[dendarii]

When Miles had wished he could go back and undo his mistakes, he hadn't meant this. Not falling asleep in the late summer heat in Silvy Vale and waking up to a snowstorm. Nor his frantic flight afterwards, and near-freezing that would have turned into actual hypothermia if not for a pair of guerillas stumbling across him. One strained conversation later (both had made the hex sign against mutants at him) had told him the insane answer to the question burning up his brain: where the hell is he?

No, when the hell. In the very throes of the Cetagandan Occupation, years before his parents will meet, possibly before his father was even born. He's sorry to say he knows frighteningly little about this portion of history. The outcome, oh yes, and a few scattered stories by way of his memories of Gran'da Piotr. Whatever else he had before has been eaten by his cryorevival amnesia. What he wouldn't give to have Duv here, of all people. A working knowledge of history would have been incredibly helpful for the situation he's found himself in...

It doesn't matter. He's stuck here - now - and like hell he's helping the Cetagandans. That leaves the Barrayaran camp. He lingers around the edges of it, cutting a strange figure in more than one way. Barely 4'9" at most, dark haired and gray eyed, about thirty, and gaunt in a way that suggests a lifetime of medical issues. He doesn't quite seem to fit in with the other natives despite the distinct fluidity to his speech. Many of them stare or glare at his stooped form, or imply some Cetagandan connection. The only thing saving him there is his age: he is clearly too old to be the product of a Cetagandan/Barrayaran union.

A - Celebration!

Tonight, at least, is a good night. Miles is near the middle of the circle, gladly helping himself to (small) portions of maple mead. He isn't surprised by that glorious burning kick it gives going down his throat. Hell, he's looking forward to it. Times may change but the alcohol sure doesn't. Miles is quick to grin when one of the other transplants seems to be having trouble. "Deceptive, isn't it?" he says with a bright grin. "Might want to take that slower."

B - Clearing Snow

The next day is a bit less fun, alas. Nursing a hangover, Miles has volunteered himself to go out into the morning flurries and clear snow. After all, he makes a poor soldier and a worse spy, despite his native familiarity with the area. (He still hasn't quite decided on what the hell he's going to call himself here. Miles, yes. Vorkosigan? Hell no. Naismith is too Betan, and Kosigan ... also seems wrong. He scrapes at icicles as he thinks - and doesn't notice when doing so brings down an avalanche of snow until it's too late.

Welp. He deserved that. Cursing a bit, Miles struggles to dig himself out. His bones may no longer be made from spun glass, but that doesn't necessarily make him much stronger ... "This is just perfect," he mutters to himself. And waves a hand to flag down the nearest person who looks willing to help.

C - Wildcard!

Miles stays close to the Barrayaran camp, but mostly clear of his family members. If he can avoid it, anyway. He is quite sympathetic to newcomers, and readily translates for anyone who is lost due to the dialect differences.

[jacksonian]

They'd made the hex sign at Mark, too, but Mark had scarcely noticed. He'd been more concerned with taking stock of his surroundings. He doesn't think he's gone crazy - he's familiar enough with crazy to be fairly sure this isn't it - so that leaves the possibility that this is real. That somehow he's been thrown back through time to the worst goddamn period of Barrayaran history. ...Okay, to one of the top five bad periods of Barrayaran history. And just when things were going so well - just when he'd been about to get home to Kareen, beautiful wonderful Kareen, with a truly exciting business prospect...The little box with a small sample colony of butter bugs is still buzzing in his pocket. He hopes they don't die in the cold.

Ah - He's not sure whether it's a jolt of alarm of relief that goes through him when he sees Miles. Good, that the little bastard is here; terrible, that the little bastard is in the same insane danger as he is. Worse, even, half-buried as he is in snow. He makes his way over, grabs his brother by the arms and drags him out.

"What," he hisses as he does, "the hell," another tug gets Miles free, "is going on."

[dendarii]

Of all the people Miles thought would help him out of his snow pile, Mark is definitely in the bottom five. Maybe bottom two if he factors in the fact that Mark is willingly helping him out of his own mess. He shivers his way free of the snow and stares at his brother, momentarily lost for words. (What the hell is going on? He'd sure fucking like to know!)

"Mark--" his answering hiss matches Mark's perfectly. His initial impulse to swear is curbed by his own jolt of relief at seeing a familiar face. Even if it sort of is his own. "-- I don't know," he finishes awkwardly. "I've been trying to find out."

[jacksonian]

"Yeah, great job of it out here in the snow," Mark says with a little push at Miles' shoulder - though it's a gentle sort of push. And that's a sign of just how worried and shaken Mark is. That, and the fact that Mark didn't leave him in that pile to dig his own way out. Clearly, in Mark's opinion, the situation is dire enough that they need to circle the Vorkosigan wagons and present a united front.

Indeed, when Mark looks at his brother, his expression is grim and intent. "Are you out here avoiding anyone?" No great stretch to guess what he's driving at: he wants to know if any of the Barrayarans are looking at the mutie with any evil intent. Mark - well, Killer - won't be happy to deal with anyone who's a threat, but he'll be damn well willing if Miles' life is on the line.

[dendarii]

Dire straits indeed. Miles is not about to disabuse Mark of the notion. Is not, in fact, disabused himself, given how absolutely and truly dangerous the whole situation is. Just because no one is actively coming after Miles doesn't mean he or Mark are safe ...

He pauses, though, catching Mark's meeting if not what portion of Mark's psyche it's coming from. "No. Helping, believe it or not." A beat. "I've avoided others more generally. In light of the fact we probably shouldn't meet."

Their family. Their grandfather. Miles shivers a bit, and not just from cold.

B - Clearing Snow

[obtunded]

Miles is here. Of course Miles is here. Whether this is real or because he's inexplicably fallen back into madness - although why his damaged brain would summon up the Occupation and not something he actually has memories of, he's not sure - there have to be at least one Vorkosigan involved.

Well, he's hardly going to leave Miles buried in such conditions, so he rushes to give him a hand. "Good God, Miles, did you not learn better out on Kyril Island?"

[dendarii]

Even in possible madness Simon can't possibly escape from Miles Vorkosigan. Miles gapes for a moment as he realizes exactly who's dug him out - then double-takes again when he realizes that it's his Simon. Not - god, would Simon even have been born yet in this time period? If he has doubts about his own father being alive, then surely Simon can't have been.

He is really, really starting to regret not having studied this historical period more closely.

"It's a different kind of snow," he says, a bit mulish despite everything. Despite the insanity. He draws in a quick breath, hardly daring to be relieved. "What the hell is going on? Do you know?"

[obtunded]

Of course it is, Miles. Totally different snow.

"I don't. The most reasonable explanation I can come up with is, is that it's a Cetagandan mind game." Which would mean they didn't buy the official story about his retirement, Simon supposes.

"An idea that's far easier to swallow than stumbling into actual time travel. Or," he adds, with careful blandness, "I'm simply lost in my own head again."

[dendarii]

Ah. If Miles takes a particularly nihilistic approach to this scenario, he might blame it on being lost in Simon's head too. "Alas, I have to disprove that last one," he says with slightly forced cheer. "Given that I am fairly certain that I exist."

b

[vorbratta]

The younger Princess, suffering from what she's convinced might be a fatal case of cabin fever, is stepping through the snow in thick boots, her heavy wool skirt hiked up to avoid getting the hem wet. Luckily at 5'9, her height spares her the extra effort of trudging through thick snow. The flurries that have been going on since last night have added an inch or two. She's pointedly ditched her Armsman bodyguard for a little me-time, a rather vintage-looking camera tucked under one arm.

But she hears the sudden rush of snow and turns, blinking snowflakes away from her eyelashes. Oh, it's that little man she's been seeing around camp. The one all the soldiers have been making hex signs at. The man's clearly a mutant by Barrayaran definition, but Sonia's Betan half is sensible enough not to take that all too seriously.

And either way, the man's buried under a modest mountain of snow and clearly needs some help. Stifling a rather un-princesslike snort, Sonia kicks her way through the snow to him, reaching for his hand. "Here -- " She's not particularly strong, but she's got plenty of leverage and the man isn't exactly heavy, and she manages to pull him at least halfway out.

[dendarii]

Good enough for Miles, who really just needed a little leverage. He stumbles out of the snowbank and nearly on top of Sonia. Only a last minute rebalancing saves him from an embarrassing plunge. (It's a bit embarrassing to be pulled out of such a silly situation anyway - he'd thought he'd made peace with his stature by the age of thirty, but the constant dark looks and hex signs have been demoralizing--)

As he looks up to thank his savior, he freezes. He knows that face. Has seen it in portraits, the limited holo recordings remaining from this period... If he looks utterly gobsmacked, it because he is. "Princess," he says rather breathlessly. "What are you doing here?"

No thank yous just yet, sorry Sonia. He's too busy staring.

[vorbratta]

Ha! Sonia lets out a triumphant little breath of a laugh once she tugs him free, and she staggers back a half a step with the momentum. Well, not off to a bad start, then. She might not be very judgmental, but she is curious.

And then he gets that look on his face. She's seen it before. That moment when they realize they're talking to an Imperial Princess, the highest of Vor, and they go all shellshocked and eggshells. It's not like she doesn't like being a Princess, far from it, but what does a girl have to do to score a little normal conversation around here? Her brows draw together and she purses her lips, and at twenty-three she is far from a child, but she manages an astonishing pout. She even looks briefly like she might actually stamp her foot.

"Oh, who told? Was it Count Piotr? I bet it was him. Or the Colonel. Or did my Armsman tell you? You haven't seen him, have you?" She huffs in exasperation. "I just wanted a walk. I think I ought to be allowed."

[dendarii]

Not only is he staring up at Princess Sonia Vorbarra's face, he is also older than she is. Dear god. He might just faint if doing so wouldn't just put him directly back into the snow. Shaking his head a bit to clear it, he reluctantly drags his gaze away from her.

"No, no. Of course. I won't tell," he says hurriedly, throwing up his hands. Better to promise that than even try to explain where he's seen her before. (Although he could truthfully say he's seen her portrait ... At the tender age of eight or nine, when he'd dragged Gregor up and down the halls of the Residence screaming curse words at the possible ghosts skulking about.) "And given you've just rescued me, I'm in no position to criticize."

a

[vindictive]

Charlie wasn't necessarily a fan of things like celebrations, especially not ones in military camps. After having been the militia's prisoner during some of their celebrations she's more than a little wary of any of the ones here. But drinking, she can do in moderation. She's gathered with a small group of others, and freely takes a long drink from what's offered to her. It burns like hell going down, and once it hits her stomach she swears she can feel it quake and give a shaking lurch that makes her cough and shiver from head to toe.

Her ears just barely pick up the fact that someone's speaking to her, and she glances over at him with an element of surprise. Generally her permanent resting bitch face kept people from talking to her. But then again, her drinking probably makes her look relaxed.

"I'm thinking it's too deceptive for it's own good. We all might want to avoid it entirely." Unless they want to be hungover in the morning, but maybe that isn't such a bad idea at this point.

[dendarii]

Sorry, Charlie. He's still laughing at her a bit. Because he knows that face very well - has, in fact, worn it himself. He reaches over with the bottle he's holding and offers to refill her glass.

"An excellent plan," he says with a grin. "But only because it leaves more for me."

[vindictive]

"Take it easy with that." A warning really isn't needed, since he seems to know more about handling it than she does. But still, the friendly banter is enough to put a slight smile on her face as she lets him fill her glass so she can take another drink. It still makes her shudder as it goes down, but at least her face doesn't contort into a grimace as it hits her stomach.

"At least if we drink enough, we won't have to worry about staying warm tonight."

c. can't avoid your family forever miles

[truevor]

It doesn't take long for word to travel through the Barrayaran camp about an interloper who is more than happy to translate for those in need. Into all four dialects native to Barrayar, although Russian sees the most use, which is an accomplishment in and of itself. Whoever the man is, he's either educated enough to have gone through the endless language drills Olivia remembers from her childhood or grown up in an environment where he was exposed to it. Either way, it sets him apart from the other few Barrayarans who found themselves in their ranks. None of who she's met, admittedly, but the time for that had passed.

What she doesn't expect is being directed to a short figure -- Olivia's no giant, but this man is shorter still. It's only on closer inspection that she realizes it's the same man the soldiers have been whispering about, one of Barrayar's mutants. Barrayarans, she thinks, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like her mother's, and ignores the superstitions of the planet. There are things Olivia values above all else when it comes to Barrayar, and things that serve as painful reminders of how much the planet had suffered while isolated.

In this particular case she refuses to let superstition prevent them from using his talents to their advantage. Olivia doesn't interrupt his work, whoever he is, but waits until she catches his eye -- inclining her head slightly, gesturing with two fingers for him to come. She's hardly naturally imposing, short and round-faced, nearly swallowed up by the great coat she's wearing; it's in the way she holds herself that betrays her social rank and privileged upbringing.

grandmaaaaaa

[dendarii]

In this specific case, his exemplary talents are being used for mucking out the stables. Thanks a lot, Gran'da. But Miles has taken to the back-breaking work with the same vigorous determination that he'd applied to his translating. In fact, just as he's coming back from the stables filthy and exhausted, someone stops him for a quick question. As tired as he is, he still turns to help for a moment. Piotr isn't the only person he needs to win over if he wants to survive this, though he is first among them. If he's not careful, he'll find a knife in his back one night - unless he makes himself indispensable...

All of that means he's completely unprepared for the sight of his grandmother beckoning him over. He doesn't completely recognize her either. Sonia had been one thing - he'd spent enough time in the Residence to absorb her image - but he's sorry to say he's not seen much of his grandmother. Maybe if he weren't exhausted he might make the connection ... but all he sees at the moment is a Vor lady. A high Vor lady, by the looks of her. He obediently approaches at her gesture. "My lady," he says, bowing his head a bit. "Apologies for my state. It's been a busy day."

grandson!!!

[truevor]

Olivia would be put off by the state of him if she wasn't already familiar with stable work herself -- a fondness for horses isn't something the General Count has a monopoly on, after all. "Ilyan, was it? So I understand." Piotr's doing, mentioned off hand as something for the 'mutie' to do. There's no doubt that he let Barrayaran prejudices compromise good sense, but Piotr isn't beyond seeing reason. Surely Miles Ilyan had more to offer than shoveling shit.

Waving his apology away, Olivia gestures him forward to walk side by side with her. "It has come to my attention that some of your talents have been," her lips purse, slightly, "wasted." Which is the kindest term -- she understands her husband's reasoning, what little of it he'd shared -- even if she doesn't agree with it.

sup cuz

[whatdidisay]

Ivan does not look willing to help. In fact, Ivan has a general shifty look that one adopts at times of required family gatherings when one really does not want to be there, and is hoping to escape notice by any relatives by hovering on the fringes with their fingers crossed and a plate of pie and a glass of wine that has already been refilled twice. They don't have wine here, just that awful maple mead, and Ivan has not yet reached a level of self-loathing that will convince him that drinking the stuff is worth it.

He doesn't even have pie.

Still, Miles is suffering and he isn't, and if there is one thing that Ivan enjoys (beyond women and sleeping with them) it's getting one up on his smaller, hypermanic cousin. It's probably Miles's fault they're here in the first place -- it had been a thought earlier, but shoved to the side when he hadn't found him. But now that he has Ivan knows the truth. It is absolutely the fault of his Lord Auditor cousin.

Ivan takes a few long strides over to Miles, wrapping his hands under his arms and with a well practiced move, hoists the other man out of the snow. "Hello cuz," he says, "fancy meeting you here, up to your waist in trouble as usual." He's warming up to get to the blaming part, just give him a minute.

[dendarii]

Miles squawks at that. He'd asked for help, not to be lifted out by his armpits. It's demeaning, dammit, and he's in the middle of a camp of people who are already looking at him like he's nothing. Miles squirms, turns to try and deck this guy - and then he sees who it is.

"Ivan?" Miles gapes up at him, lowering his fist. "What the hell are you doing here?"

[whatdidisay]

Setting his cousin down, Ivan shrugs. "Hell if I know. Anyway, aren't you the one to be asking? This is probably your fault." He says, with all his usual self-confidence. Who else could be responsible for getting them both into this mess? Ivan shudders at the thought of it all, looking out across the camp.

"So how's old Great Uncle Piotr been?" Ivan has been avoiding him because he's not an idiot, in his opinion.

b

[ex_bossily211]

Clara's in the middle of carrying some parcels across camp when she spots him, and she sets them aside in order to make her way over to him. "I don't think this is how you're supposed to play in the snow," she teases, crouching down so she can start using both hands to scoop snow away from him.

Once she manages to get enough of it away, she offers him her hand so she can help tug him to his feet. Without gloves on, her hands are currently more than a little frozen and numb, but she manages to curl her fingers around his hand and grip hold tight as she pulls.

[dendarii]

He flushes a bit, but gladly accepts her help. It doesn't take much to lever him up; he's very light.

"Ah, my hero," he says as he stands. "I was doing well enough until I fell in face first."

[ex_bossily211]

"I don't doubt it for a second," she laughs a little, flashing him an amused little grin. "As dashing as you were covered in snow, I think you're better off not freezing to death beneath it."

There's a pause, as she glances up at the nearby tent. "Were you trying to clear it away?"