[ there's something alarming about this, something off, but sonia's too worked up to care, to notice. every blow just proves piotr and olivia right -- that this wasn't something she could have even remotely handled had she known. ]

This self-absorbed, more enlightened-than-thou horseshit --

[ god, she never curses like this. never used to curse like this. this time, she doesn't hit him in the face -- seized with some violent inspiration, she grabs him by the hair and hauls him down low enough for her to drive one knee into her stomach. not a move she ever learned in self-defense classes, no -- but tucker's been teaching her a few things about fighting, much though she hates it, and he's much better at it than anyone in this room. sonia doesn't let go of his hair, her words hissing, angry and hurt, but her voice starts to rise and grow raw. ]

You are the worst kind of Vor. The worst of them all. All you care about is your own security, your own comfort -- you don't care what happens to the rest of Barrayar as long as you get to linger in luxury and look down your noses at the proles. What do you think is going to happen if the Cetagandans win? Do you think they'll treat us any differently than you do the proles?