sunchime | ☆ the vorkosigan saga psl post, volume 3

[ It feels good to be hit. Every single blow is satisfying to his soul, somehow. He wants more, more brutally, more harshly, more ferociously. Wants her to hit him three times as hard four times as much. He leans almost lovingly into this latest slap. ]

Sonia, there has been no greater murderer - no greater abuser, murderer - of Barrayarans than Barrayarans. The Cetagandans are to us as a cold is to the plague.

[ she's too angry to notice how he leans into it this time, too angry at the vile words coming out of his mouth. she's too seized with anger to think of anything but hitting him in the face again, nothing more creative -- she's too angry to think, and so her own words feel small in her mouth. ]

You idiot -- [ not strong enough -- ] You fucking idiot -- you think you're so enlightened, but you're just as bad as the rest of them! Just as narrow-minded. [ her eyes narrow to slits, her teeth clenched as her voice begins to waver. ] You're so much more disgustingly Vor than you'll ever admit to yourself.

Edited 2017-03-03 21:52 (UTC)

And how is that?

[ His voice grows rougher. Needier. He wants the abuse desperately, like a man consumed with lust. ]

Go on, tell me. How am I Vor?

[ 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?

[ That blow hurts. It drives the air from him, too, so that he's left gasping, unable to retort even if he had some good comeback. He just gasps a little, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, hunched over with her hands in his hair.

Go on. ]

[ sonia can't untangle the sick satisfaction from the way her mind recoils at all of this. she's breathing heavily, carried away, a part of her unlocked she didn't even know was there. maybe she really is more like her than she gives herself credit for. ]

You fancy yourself a coward. I know you do. But you're not a coward, Byerly. You are just a very short-sighted man. [ her own eyes are still stinging with tears, but she doesn't even notice them. ] Tell me -- if I had told you I loved you that night, what would you have done? I want to hear which lie you'll choose this time.

What would I have done?

[ His voice is thin and reedy. He presses a hand to his stomach and straightens up. ]

What answer do you want? I would have been swayed and tried to bring you with me. And at that time, your impassioned pleas for courage would have rung in my ears and I'd have been moved. I'd have stayed. We'd have been heroes of our time together, a princess and her gallant servant. Something along those lines? Something from a storybook?

[ that dismissal -- that condescension -- that sparks fresh and hurt, and another raw sound tears itself out of her throat. her face is red and tear-stained now, hair caught wet on her cheeks. byerly moves and she moves with him, thrusting her palm out to his chest. his solar plexus, actually. just like tucker had taught her. her eyes grows fiercer. ]

There isn't a word for what you are, Byerly.

[ she thrusts her chin up, eyes blazing. ]

What do you think is going to happen when you leave this room? You know I don't know anything. The Cetagandans know I don't know anything. Why is it that they've kept me alive? Why do you think they kept me alive? What do you think they're going to do to me after you leave this room?

[ because she knows that even the most nightmarish of stores in the war have at least a seed of truth. ]

[ He coughs, doubling over when she strikes him again. His breath rattles in - and then he takes her meaning. He grimaces, shakes his head. There's no mockery, no irony, when he says: ]

You're a hostage. That's it.

[ the fact that mockery is suddenly gone is nauseating and unsettling, but it doesn't weaken her point. she just stares at him, glares. ]

So they're letting their new lapdog privy to their plans now? You haven't been in this war very long, Byerly. They're always hostages, that's it. [ somewhere in there she'd cooled down for just a moment, but her teeth clench again, eyes burning. she wants to him again and she hates it, but her disgust is purely directed at him. ] Had this really not occurred to you when they took me, fast-penta'd me, and threw me in a holding cell without ransom? God, you really are shortsighted.

[ He makes himself look away, then, shrug in unconcern. ]

Well, so be it. You clearly have no love left for me; if we're through, I suppose we're through. I won't waste time worrying.

[ that -- that banishes everything away but the anger, because she thought that maybe, in the tiniest way, he might hold some sentiment to her, even if in the cruelest way. this is a far worse blow than cruelty. ]

This isn't about you!

[ she's stopped thinking, just full-on body checks him in frustration and fury. ]

Ugh -

[ He falls back and to the side. Instinctively, he grabs for her shoulder to steady himself, and in the process drags her down too. He realizes what he's doing as she starts to fall, and he twists awkwardly, desperately, so that he'll fall first and she'll land on top of him. Bony as he is, it's not the most comfortable landing, but it's better than the hard floor, at least. ]

[ sonia hits byerly -- and the floor --with a strangled noise, the wind half-gone from her lungs. it's not a comfortable landing at all, no, but it spares her breaking her nose on the floor or something equally unfortunate. she'd thrown her own hands out in front of her to catch herself in the fall, but instead of hitting the floor it had hit byerly's chest instead, twisting it to an awkward, painful angle. she had bit her lip -- or maybe just banged it -- but a little spot of blood wells up at the corner of her mouth.

she's frantic, desperate, overwhelmed with anger and hurt and everything else, but byerly, cool, uncaring, mocking byerly hadn't just let her fall. she tries to get the wind back in her lungs in short, raspy breaths, and she just stares at him, eyes still wet with tears. ]

[ He finds he can't breathe. In this, a mockery of how they'd been before - their intimacy, their sweetness, their warmth - something rises up in him that strangles all the air from his lungs. He pushes her off of him - desperate, scrambling, frightened - and scrabbles to his feet, backing away from her like from a wild beast. His hands are shaking.

Don't look at me like that. God, no, don't... ]

[ he only knocks her to the floor in his scramble away from her, and she tries to catch herself with the wrong hand, rolling to her other side with a pained hiss so she can sit up. her hair is just a wild mess, stuck her face and neck in tear tracks. her heart is thudding so hard it's making her head hurt -- the anger and fury and frustration are all still there, but sonia's throat is suddenly thick and her stomach clenches.

she doesn't think she's ever seen that look on his face before. she's never seen him afraid before. afraid of her? god, no. he'd shown no fear through that beating, just that cold mockery. she cradles her strained wrist in her lap and she's still just staring at him, wide eyes tracking him as he moves. god, his hands are shaking. she feels sick, in more than one way. he's never looked at her like she was something to be afraid of. her voice is choked, thick, still a little gasping. ]

Byerly --

[ A plausible story. He needs a plausible story. They'll be watching via cameras, listening in, everything. He needs something reasonable, something that they'll believe, something that isn't this girl is so much to me, she means so much to me, and all I want is to spirit her out of here to somewhere safe, away from this war, and I'm afraid that if she touches me I'll break down altogether.

Something like - ]

Watch where you kick. That hurt.

[ It comes out in a strained voice. Half-desperate. Only half plausible. ]

[ no, something small in her mind whispers, and sonia's chest seizes, and now she finds she really can't breathe, her last breath trapped in her lungs. for a moment there's no trace of the angry, hurt woman hurling the most painful blows she could come up with, verbal and physical. for a moment instead there sits half-sprawled on the floor a scared and hurt girl, more vulnerable than she's ever realized she could be, and she isn't shaking, but she might as well be. she doesn't get up from the floor, just watches byerly and tries to swallow. her mouth opens, her throat works, but nothing comes out. she feels suddenly, nauseatingly hopeful, burning up in the back of her throat before she can swallow it down. no. there's nothing to hope for here. there is no hope here. there is no hope here...

she can't think of anything to say. she can't even bring herself to get up from the floor. and then her breath comes back in a rush, and she starts to cry. ]

[ He can only watch that for a moment. Then he has to look away. God, all he wants to do is go and hold her. Offer her a handkerchief. Tell her jokes and feed her ridiculous lines until she starts laughing through those tears. Flirt and tease. That's all he wants. But that's not possible here. That's not possible for him. All that he can do is - is stare off to the side and say, roughly - ]

Stop that. That's not going to get you anywhere. [ A beat. This is bad. This is wrong. This is stupid. This is stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, the only thing that's worth anything is maintaining his cover. But his eyes slide over to hers, and he holds her gaze as he tells this lie: ] I'm not like General Vorkosigan. You can't just throw a temper tantrum and have me give in like he does.

[ she starts to feel angry again, if only for that faint flicker of hope, but it isn't enough to get her up off the floor. she can't quite stop crying, not just yet -- you think this is a temper tantrum? doesn't make it out of her mouth, probably for the better. she hiccups, trying to get her breathing under control, but she holds his gaze, her eyes burning with a desperate challenge. she wipes the tears off her face with her good hand, smearing that little well of blood over her cheek. ]

And what -- [ her voice is shaking, thick, but her gaze doesn't waver. ] What is it you're not giving into?

Edited 2017-03-04 00:44 (UTC)

[ No. No...She's too upset to catch on, it seems. That little falsehood, that story of Vorkosigan ever giving in, it had escaped her notice. Damn it all. Possibly...Possibly for the best. ]

I haven't the faintest. What is it you want from me, exactly?

[ the crushing tide of emotion hasn't stopped, not for a second, but the tears are dying down and god, she's getting a headache, but she's getting some of her wits back, too. the entire room feels blurred around her except for byerly, in perfect focus. she rubs her wrist, trying desperately to tease out truth from hope, but there's confirmation bias on every side. she wets her lips, tastes blood for the first time, puts the heel of her hand to her mouth. ]

What do you want from me? [ her voice is hurt, angry, hoarse from yelling, and adrenaline still pulses through her, the only thing keeping her up now. but the look she gives him is very odd. ] You came in here. What the hell do you want from me, Byerly?

[ not hope. don't let it be hope. i can't bear to hope again. she fights with herself, cyclically, because she cannot decide which is worse. and what she's done to him -- oh, god. for a sickening moment, she wishes he had forced himself on her, because if there was any hope to be had, any sliver of light, it might better have been concealed that way. ]

Oh, I don't know.

[ He shrugs indifferently and raises his gaze to the ceiling. I don't know, I don't know... ]

A bit of cooperation, ideally. It would be nice if you could give your parole and be out and walking around.

[ she narrows her eyes at him, mind tangled, frustrated all over again. she feels sick thinking about it, but the rage had been easier. clearer. he isn't looking at her, but she doesn't take her eyes off him, even as she slowly pushes herself to her feet. ]

Somehow I don't think your ghem lords would be so keen on that. I could cut myself open right now, spill every useless thing in me, and they still wouldn't let me out of this cell.

[ she's still struggling to keep her voice even, but she's thinking better now, enough that every word there was deliberately chosen. she wipes the last bit of blood from her mouth and walks back toward him, slowly, closing the distance he'd so frantically put between them. just to see what happens. ]

Are you referring to your secrets, or your blood?

[ His gaze drops down when she moves close. His eyes are wary. He doesn't quite flinch away, but he's clearly considering moving back. But there's always the possibility that she's moving in to slap him again, which he does desperately crave. ]

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