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

[use_everything]

[Aral was mostly packed himself. He'd a solid pack on his back, mostly gear for survival if things had turned for the worst. A habit drilled into him by his father...]

Naismith. [It didn't fit the region or the area. It was in no way the cover that it could be. But it was so obviously not right that it held in its own way, lent to theories that sheltered him better than any elaborate story would.]

[dendarii]

[ And Miles flinches like an electric shock just went through him. It might as well have. Naismith ... then Aral has met his mother. But not married her yet? God, he needs to find out more. ]

Naismith. [ He repeats a bit numbly. Space, they need space. Away from the tents, then, and along the path towards the ridge Aral had mentioned. No one within earshot... ] That's Betan, isn't it?

[use_everything]

[Aral hadn't stopped watching the other man shrewdly. (younger? older? It's hard to tell, so weathered with pain lines).. That was a hell of a reaction.

... He needed more information.]

Entirely. [Aral didn't try to deny it in the slightest.] I'm surprised you recognize it.

[dendarii]

[ And here is the crossroads. Either he lies and tries to preserve what little is left of the timeline for the two of them - and how the hell does that even work, with both of them here? - or he comes clean. And takes his chances.

He decides to stall instead, ascending further up the mountain path. ]

I've spent a significant amount of time on Beta Colony. Some education there.

[use_everything]

I wasn't aware the Ilyan family was blessed with that much income. You've fortune.

[dendarii]

[ Ah. So his father did recognize Ilyan's name after all. Miles slows at that, until he's nearly stopped. ]

Not precisely. It's rather more tangled than that.

[ He turns then, and fixes his father with those clear gray eyes. ]

Captain Cordelia Naismith is my mother.

[use_everything]

[Aral stops dead, struck. There's no hiding or ignoring how Aral looks Miles over again with new eyes, browns drawn in puzzled consternation. But those eyes...

It was possible, wasn't it? A son (a mutant?) that he'd never met... after all... he was the same to his own father. Not even a possibility.

... Or. Is that too much presumption? The war was hurdling towards unavoidable conflict, and Ezar is doing less than Aral would like to drag the reins of the War Party. Last he heard, Prince Serg was making noises that Ges would be the Admiral overseeing everything.

... Does he survive that long? Meet Commander Naismith again? Does she find some other love, more stable, more sane, better prospect all the way around for an achingly wise Betan officer.]

...

And your father? [The low tone is completely free of its habitual rasp in Miles' future.]

[dendarii]

[ There are subtle hints there already. His sharp features, his dark hair ... Vorkosigan, if one knows to be looking for such things. Miles, meanwhile hesitates. He could probably fake being Cordelia's son only. But such a thing seems a terrible disservice to his father. Even if Aral may not believe him. Even if Aral has clearly not undergone the soltoxin incident judging by his voice, has likely not even married his mother yet...

No, he's already crossed that line. Forward momentum. ]

You. You are. Or you will be.

[use_everything]

[Aral rocks back onto his heels. Of all the expressions Miles had seen on his father's face, uncertainty was possibly the rarest of them all.

He... didn't know what to think. This twisted child, grown in full. Time travel was certainly undeniable in this unimaginable version of their past. Could it be a trick? No... unlikely, he'd done nothing to ask for the mischief. He studies the boy.

Scarred and lined from a hard life - looking like that, there would be no easy one. He could sit on the camp stool and grant this man nothing more than he could claw out himself. Barrayar was not kind to those who are imperfect. It was a lesson he knew deeply and well, himself.

But his eyes. Miles' eyes were bright, quick and sharp (god they were hers.. she really says yes sometime. Some insanity on her part, some fortune on his. Does she leave when his genes turn out poorly? Does his father disown him and they're all wandering. Is that how they end up on Beta? Or how Miles does? Aral has more questions than he has time to race through them.)... and watching him. For what?]

What... happened?

[dendarii]

[ That ... aches more than he expected. Somehow. Did he expect his time-displaced father to welcome a strange son with open arms? Of course not. But he'd been expecting resistance and thus a chance to defend himself. Not this ... uncertainty. Aral is considering the possibility of having a son, but draws the line at seeing Miles as one of his? He'd thought he was well past the point of being sensitive about his apparently mutated body, but Piotr had torn open fresh wounds.

He takes in a breath, forcing himself to focus. No point for guessing what that question is about. Not with Aral looking at him with those eyes. He bows his head as if in apology for his entire existence. ]

An assassination attempt. Soltoxin. Mother was pregnant with me. You both survived, but the cure was an acute teratogenic. My bones never formed properly.

[ There's a deep weariness to his tone. A story he's told many times back home, and never here. (No one would understand the distinction. There's no point.) ]

[use_everything]

I'm familiar with it. [There's. Some relief, and then some horror and consternation mixed together. His face is pale, remembering. In a fit of abstraction, he elaborates,] Got hit with it back in the early service days. Brutal way to kill a lot of people.

Who the hell would use it for assassination? Of a goddamn Captain?

[No, this is solely anger now. For his House, his servants, his father, his armsmen. For Cordelia. For Miles. How dare someone endanger them all to get to him?]

[dendarii]

[ Ah. Anger. Anger Miles can deal with; it's much simpler than the uncertainty he'd seen on his father's face. And besides, he has a simple enough explanation for that question. ]

Not a Captain, no. By then you were the Regent.

[use_everything]

[Regent? HIM? How? Ezar certainly favored him, and Aral certainly had his own aspirations to politics, especially after that march across that wild planet... but the succession line is clear, and in no need for an outside ruler.]

Good god. Was that madman declared incompetent? Or did he get himself killed?

[dendarii]

Killed. During the Escobar War.

[ And here Miles hesitates, unsure of timeline paradoxes. Just warning his father about a soltoxin attack is likely enough to change his own personal future ... But going into any more detail about Escobar seems frightening in the extreme. That's more than his own life at stake. And he has no idea if his father would try to prevent Serg's death to prevent his own Regency, or if there are other political hazards that were only barely missed in the real timeline.

In the end he decides not to elaborate. ]

I don't know how much I should tell you. [ He says, apologetically. ] God knows what our presence is doing to the timeline already.

[use_everything]

[He's not nearly drunk enough to say the treason on his mind. "Well, at least something good came of that lunacy." Aral's expression quiets, though, thinking. There are a hundred questions and... the other man brings a good point: how many of them are wise to ask.]

Just so. [Which leaves... now what. He... falters for what next, how to go back to talking to this man, without the comfortable waters of politics and war.]

[dendarii]

[ Miles too is at a loss. He'd hoped for a bit of relief, perhaps, in one person in this camp knowing his real identity. Now it seems rather more like a double burden. Two possible vectors for unmitigated disaster instead of one. God. He needs a drink. No, he needs to go home. Away from this mad part of history and the hex signs and his grandfather's unflinching judgment.

He sits for a moment, dropping down on a stone that had been sheltered under a nearby tree branch. No snow on it. Exhaustion adds lines to his face to go with the permanent creases from pain and frailty. ]

I'm ... obviously not going by Vorkosigan here. Gran'da would probably kill me if he knew. [ For the time travel, for his apparent mutancy, for being an accidental spy of sorts ... Many reasons, all of them justifiable. ] I thought it unwise to claim Naismith for my own. Doubly so now that you have.

[use_everything]

He... could come around with time. [He said, a certain sort of caution to his tone, but more hope than sense. Or perhaps, just urge to defend the father whose approval was that hard to earn. Some invisible points to earn.]

... but obviously, I see your reasoning.

[dendarii]

[ Ha. That's a familiar impulse. If an infinitely strange one to see coming from his father. Even Aral desperately wanted the old man's approval, once upon a time. Before Miles was born and dashed all that to pieces ... Miles swallows rather thickly. ]

He did. Come round with time, I mean. I loved him very much.

[use_everything]

It.. couldn't have been easy.

[dendarii]

Of course not. But I am a Vorkosigan. We're nothing if not stubborn.

[ That flash in his eyes is purely Naismith, though. ]

[use_everything]

[It truly is. He can't quite help an answering quirk of the lips.]

Just so. [He frowns up at the sky for a moment.] Come, lets get to the game trail before we lose the light. [He sets out, bullishly pushing his way through the deeper drifts. It's actually nearly half an hour of walking, picking their way arduously up the mountain before Aral tries again. Uncertain, it. Still seemed unreal.]

I understand your point with my own life. But can I ask of yours.

[dendarii]

Right. Of course.

[ He lets out a puff of warm air, coalescing into a cloud around him. And continues up.

Aral's question catches him off guard when it comes, seemingly at random, nearly half an hour later. He has to stop to stare back at his father. ]

Me? You want to know about mine?

[ If only this had happened a few months ago, before Naismith had been declared well and truly dead. Now ... he looks a bit stricken. ]

[use_everything]

[He angles a look back at... the other man. He couldn't quite. Put 'son' there yet. Some part of his thoughts seized up and hitched on the word.]

Is that odd?

[dendarii]

It's ...

[ Not odd to ask, he supposes. But he looks down at the snow anyway. ]

Poorly timed. I've made an incredible mess of my life.

[use_everything]

Then, let me ask this:

How old are you?