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

Konstantine Bothari | OTA (potential CW)

[bothari]

Village

[Bothari hadn't talked much to anyone since arriving. It did do to talk to it when it happened. There were people, the cold, the hunger, the smells. All of them seemed real, but Bothari had long since found that it always SEEMED real. The only divide he had was knowing that it wasn't. When he lost that boundary, he lost everything.

The uniform had caused trouble. A sort of resentment. The brown and silver livery stood out, but Bothari wasn't to be parted with it. The suggestion had been stared down, a sort of dark violence stirring in the enormous man's eyes.

He passed the time, the small celebration whirling around him and his small slice of silence, trying to figure out where he really was. Solitary? He hadn't been there for decades. Unless those years, too, were a dream.

He spat, warding off that black, miserable thought. His Lady would see to his treatment soon, and this will all melt away. A shadow crosses over him. He doesn't look up.]

Sod off. [The mutter was deep, barely audible, when you pass too close. But the intense malevolence radiating from the man couldn't quite be mistaken.]

[dendarii]

[ The longer this goes on, the more Miles has to wonder if he's going insane. This (new?) arrival is no exception. He stands over Bothari with a mix of sorrow, longing, and flat out disbelief. Not that he has much to stand over Bothari with. At least the man appears to be the right age, even if Miles is now thirteen years removed from the event. And Miles himself ... He's an inch taller, his spine (mostly) untwisted. But the price he paid for it is evident in the needler scars poking up from above his collar. And the lines on his neck that indicate blood drainage for a cryorevival.

He swallows thickly, trying to marshall his thoughts. How many times had he rehearsed this in the months after Bothari's death? How many apologies had he laid in front of the incense burner? They won't come now. They've turned to so much lead in his mouth. ]

Sergeant Bothari? [ His voice is quiet. ] It's me.

[bothari]

[The voice is soft, nearly swallowed by the howling, bitter winter wind. But it pierces that haze like a plasma arc. Years and years ago, Miles was Her task, the greatest show of trust, the most precious responsibility he'd ever taken on.

He still is, but bow, Miles is HIS headache as well.

Bothari sits up immediately, dark eyes washing over Miles. Finding the odd changes, the age, the height, but the thing that bothered him, that concerned him... The scars at his neck. He KNEW what those were.

He stood, his hands firm but extraordinarily gentle as he pushed Miles' temple to get a better look.]

What the hell did you get into?!

[dendarii]

[ Miles isn't sure if he's going to laugh or cry. He makes a strange, aborted sort of sound instead as Bothari gently manhandles him. ]

It's - it's a long story. Multiple stories. Thirteen years, Bothari.

[ He laughs, finally. It's a high-pitched, fragile sort of noise. God, he's really insane, isn't he? This whole goddamn hallucination is getting even worse... ]

[bothari]

[Bothari had seen Miles in states like this before, usually broken, somewhat bloody. Almost always self inflicted to some degree or another. The scowl deepens.

He jerks his chin towards one of the tents. (Was it there? If it wasn't, Miles would guide them around.)]

Inside. I want to hear it.

[dendarii]

[ He'll get them to a tent, anyway. This is not a conversation to have out in the open. Once they're at least lightly screened from the rest of the world, MIles turns back. ]

The mercenary fleet became a secret arm of Gregor's. Paramilitary. I joined ImpSec and headed the fleet directly under Simon's supervision. And now ... it's all over.

[bothari]

[It's all over? There's a lot of ways that can be taken.



Bothari grabs onto the most important piece (a vision haunts for a moment, her face twisted in confusion, fear, denial and anger, he only saw it dimly, next to the radiance that was her mother.)]

Elena?

[dendarii]

Alive and well. Still happily married. Retiring soon herself to raise a family.

[ Miles is glad to have at least that piece of good news. ]

[bothari]

Married. Properly?

[dendarii]

[ Miles nods at that. ]

Baz has made a very good husband for her. And ... I've done what I can to undo his charges, in case she would ever want to return to Barrayar. But it's not her plan, I know.

[bothari]

[His jaw sets hard at Baz's name, that hope darkening into a glower.] That deserter.

[dendarii]

Yes, him. I know. But she is happy.

okay but i might be sorry about this

[vorbratta]

[ sonia's starved for frank conversation in general, but that sort of rudeness? she looks genuinely taken aback at that, and the man's presence -- sonia draws back reflexively, because the man's presence isn't anything like count piotr's at all, a far different kind of intimidating. one she's far less accustomed to. that doesn't stop her from voicing objection, though, because really, very little does. ]

Excuse me? [ she sounds indignant, and rightly so. and then she notices his uniform. her brow knits. she knows that livery, and piotr's armsmen know her. ] Who are you?

Yes. Yes, possibly.

[bothari]

[He knew that tone. Could pick it out anywhere. Didn't know who she was. Didn't care. They were all near the same. Some of the Vorkosigans had inched out from under that black brush, but Bothari looks up, meets her eyes with her own. She was a Vor. He was so far beneath her as to not even be worth the notice or the scorn, and yet, here she was, wasting both of their time for her class pride.

His expression is stony, blank if not for the seething anger behind his eyes.]

It don't matter, ma'am.

that is a goddamn amazing bothari pb

[vorbratta]

[ sonia isn't her sister, will of folded steel, stubborn and unshakable enough to be married to piotr goddamn vorkosigan. she's willful enough, sure, but she quails under bothari's stare, shrinking away. it's not pride, now, but anxiety and mistrust. ]

Yes it does. [ her voice does squeak a little, despite herself. ] You're wearing House Vorkosigan livery, but I've never seen you before.

THANKS

[bothari]

[It doesn't get better. The man's lip curls in some parody of a smile as she shrinks. It was more of a baring of teeth.]

No, ma'am.

[vorbratta]

[ this is getting less encouraging every second. sonia is seriously starting to regret ditching her armsman. ]

I know all of Count Piotr's Armsmen by face. But you -- [ he is definitely not one of them, so why is he dressed in vorkosigan livery? sonia's wild imagination immediately jumps to the notion that he's murdered one of them to take his place -- however nonsensical that sounds -- but to imagine the man a murderer doesn't seem to be much of a stretch. sonia's stomach goes cold. ] I don't know you. Where...where did you get that livery?

[bothari]

[Bothari glowers and stands - unfolds, really. Some part of his aura taking a height beyond even his impressive stature.]

I was sworn. [His chin was lifted, back was straight. This was his uniform, his duty.] You're not in the right colors to question.

[vorbratta]

[ sonia goes pale as bothari towers over her, and she takes another half-step back. she's feeling actively threatened now, and she almost wants to turn and run -- no, she really wants to run -- but she won't. she can't. this doesn't make sense, and -- and he doesn't know who he's talking to. she knows she's dressed mostly in hill clothes, it's best for the weather. sonia swallows hard but lifts her chin, balling her hands into fists at her sides. ]

I -- I am Princess Sonia Vorbarra. No matter what colors I happen to be wearing today.

YOU KNOW WHAT: Just gonna put this here. CW: for psychosis, allusions of sexual predation

[bothari]

[There was something to fear. The real kind. Squalid, emptying sort of fear, that had a certain scent. It carried in a way. It was an infection in troops and a pacifier of prisoners. It stirred something that made it all red around the edges, something close to pleasure but not quite... something back in the parts that were caged and locked by chemicals.

And then there was the name.

It cut like a hot knife. He didn't so much move as he seemed to compress a bit, folding inward, watching her with some parts that angry wariness, but the rest that spinal deference that the Vorbarras had earned.]

Ma'am. [Was the only answer that passed out loud.]

YEAH GOOD MOVE

[vorbratta]

[ some of the tightness in sonia's chest relaxes at that show of deference, however slight, but she still feels she can hardly breathe. she blinks and is startled to realize there were tears forming in her eyes. the man's vile aura seems to stir up some deep-rooted fears of living among soldiers, living in war, she's long since tried to quash. no -- no. she can't show fear to one of their own men, save that for the cetagandans -- or maybe not -- but either way, it's much too late. sonia can't will her hands to unclench, but she tries to hide them in the folds of her skirt, and she swallows again. she decides not to correct bothari on his form of address. not worth it. ]

Who -- [ she realizes her voice is still shaking, reins it back in, clears her throat. ] Who are you? Why haven't I seen you amongst Count Piotr's Armsmen?

[bothari]

Sergeant Konstantine Bothari

[Whatever monster was there was back on its chain, but pacing at the edges of it, watching her resentfully. Why wouldn't she leave?

He frowns, voice dropping to a mutter. He knew the answer didn't make sense.]

I'm not his yet. [It wasn't asked, but Bothari continues anyway, merely because it's a comforting thought. A light, a warmth that makes him more real.] He gave me to the Lady Vorkosigan's service.

[vorbratta]

Lady Vorkosigan? But -- there isn't any Lady Vorkosigan. Olivia and Count Piotr haven't had any children.

[ the confused splutter makes it out before sonia can stop herself, but she's not sure she would have anyway. the man might have responded to her name, but he seems quite crazed. crazed enough to harm even an imperial princess in his psychosis? somehow, sonia doesn't feel much less frightened than she did two minutes ago. ]

What are you talking about?

[pigsfeet]

[A shadow passes over Bothari, and it has blood on its hands. Daryl is cutting up a fat dead pigeon, taking the feathers off and butchering it properly for the fire. Sure, there are others who know how to do this, it looks like plenty of the people here are hillfolk grown, but Daryl prefers to do it himself for the food he's eating. No point in giving it to someone just for them to give it back.]

[So Daryl is sitting on a log, a tree stump in front of him with a dead bird on it, feathers stuck to the greasy blood on his forearms, a smear of pigeon on his face. Some of it's skewered and hanging over the fire, some of it's a bloody pile on wood, some of it's thrown into the fire because he isn't desperate enough yet to eat the worst parts of the bird. Living large, here.]

[By the time Bothari notices him, Daryl is too far in to pack up and move away. He just nods in the other man's direction, barely paying him mind.] You first.

aaaaaay! preemptive cw

[likealways]

[ There is a complicated set of emotions she feels when she sees the colors of the livery, more when she lets herself see the man's face. When she lets herself think of the times she has seen that face.

She does not step any closer, nor does she back away. It would be him, of course. In a sea of faces, his would be the first she recognized at a glance and knew in her bones. How different from how they last saw each other, though she saw he kept the livery as well as he could. Perhaps there is some grace that she has not seen her husband or-- Anyone else. Not yet. Please not ever, but it is that thought that makes her speak, makes her placid mask shift slightly.

She is not only Kareen, small and quiet in her second hand threadbare clothes. She is the Dowager Princess Kareen Vorbarra, elegant and calm, standing before him. There was something to be said of the comfort in facing familiar monsters. ]

Bothari.