nonsuch | & open gen post iii.

She's staring at the tablet as if he's handed her something alien. Those had become standard issue even here on Barrayar at least where they could be afforded. The planets colonized that would find this level of tech unusual is an obscure enough list that Duv would have to look it up. Even then the colonizers would have come from a more advanced planet.

He frowns as he watches her, patiently waiting to see where her reading takes her. Something about her expression has him concerned that she isn't going to find what she's searching for.

"That happened over a thousand years ago," he replies carefully and watches her intently for her reaction. What she's implying would be impossible and he wonders if this is an elaborate ruse by one of Barrayar's enemies. Cetaganda? They would have the time for something this pointless and strange to send a message.

"It's 1867." She says it pointlessly. Like somehow if she does it will make it real. She doesn't know who she's trying to convince, really. He keeps saying these things. "You're lying to me. Stop. I have no patience for it. Whatever game it is you're playing with me, I am not the one to do it with."

He has to be, has to. If it's not then - what is she going to do? Nothing, because she can't. Because she's some place called Barrayar, a thousand years since her home was anything she might know. She knew there was always a chance, taking up the blackwater, that she would live to see such times. But she knew what was more likely: she would die in the fight before then.

Was she joking? The look he gives her in return says everything, that same feeling she has of him lying is one he shares about her. She is the stranger here, out of place in several ways if her story is true, but it's improbable. He isn't a man of science though he wonders if even a damn team of them could figure out the validity of someone claiming to travel through time and space in the blink of an eye.

"The year is 3102," he replies, keeping his tone even. If this is some story she's intricately woven then getting hostile will serve him no good. And if the strange feeling in his gut that she's telling the truth turns out to be right... Well. That would be a bridge they'd cross when they got there.

"What good would it do me to lie to you?"

That's - that's - She flickers, between fear and anger with no other outlet. It's not possible, and maybe she should rage and shout and demand. There is so much at stake. So much she must yet do. She cannot be away from her wars, her battles, her people. Does he not understand? What then, yell at him but who is he to fix this?

It's tempting, tempting to take the relief. He was clearly not in any position to change it.

She takes in a breath, eyes down. Nothing much crosses her face. A sinking behind her position, her rank. In that her hands settle into her lap, weighing her choices. Her stare fixed on him. "Either you are lying to me, or I must accept myself at your mercy, far from my home, from my people. Which would you take?"

He's ready should she decide to turn hostile. They're both armed and he has a nonlethal way to take her out if it comes to it. But she seems to... Not relax, but taking in her situation more pragmatically. If she wants his honest opinion, he will gladly give it. He's never been in the habit of lying.

"If it were me? I would assume the former, but realize the latter is also true," he admits. Neither option had to be mutual of the other. "Whether I'm lying or not, I gather you know nothing of this place nor the people in it."

It is honest, or she must believe it is so. Because he's right, she doesn't know anything about where she is, how these people operate. Fingers curling into themselves. Less scared, more weighing him in particular now.

"Then, I commit myself to your keeping, and you alone, and I ask for protection." She swallows. She cannot say how it works, but she has that he had been honest with her so far, and for now it would have to do.

"No one is asking you to surrender yourself." Well. Not in the way it sounds like she's implying. He's reminded of Barrayar's feudal system in the way she says it, as if he were some Vor lord that was meant to protect those loyal to them. He's the farthest from it.

"You will need to hand over your weapons temporarily at least. Until your case can be reviewed." And he'll have someone get her fresh clothes so she can finally clean herself up.

She doesn't want to, that much is plain. It leaves her open, vulnerable in a way she cannot stand in herself. But if that is how to sort this out in the short term then.

Lakshmi stands and gives him what he wants. Considerable as that is. She unstraps the heavy Falchion from her back, unslinging it over her head to set it down on his desk with a heavy clunk. The wood stock bearing a heavy line of claw marks in the timber, blood splattered across the base. The dragoon pistol is next, laying it and its holster that she unclasps from her chest beside the rifle on his desk.

The last in the long knife, and that, she hesitates with. The others - they are just another weapon, but this? "I would like to keep this. It is... deeply important, and of my husband's family." Of a sort, Sir Bors and what remained of her husband's Shamshir.

So she did have a firearm on her. Old by the style of it, likely 1800s if her story checked out. How he'd find out if it did he's unsure beyond investigating what she's brought with her further. Maybe an analysis of the material composition? Unless someone went through the trouble of making exact replicas, they may be a trace of the truth somewhere in there.

As for the knife, he frowns as he stares at it. She could do damage with that, but surrounded by stunners and plasma arcs she wouldn't get far. WIth some reluctance, he nods.

"Can you hide it?" he asks. "And if you would like new clothing, I can take you to the fabricator and have a set made."

Briefly, she's incensed at the thought, snapped quickly. "It is the blade upon which my people's fate is waged." Grits her teeth, lets out a breath, easing herself down a little. It made sense, at best he just thought her mad, as mad as she thought him, at worst, she was a foreign ruler looking to attempt something to assure her own power.

But she nods, relenting after a moment. She could do something with it. Looking down at her blood clothes and armour. Yes, she should get something else to be seen in. "Yes, I would... like that." When was the last time she had new clothes? Years ago, now. What a relief. "Will I have rooms I may return to?"

Or a maid, either way. It feels... isolating.

He raises a brow at that. She might fit in on Barrayar better than he thought if she and her 'people' placed that much importance on a simple blade. Never underestimate symbolism and the weight it carries. It's something he's learned well in his studies of this Empire. She's fortunate he's not asking her to hand it over with the rest of her weaponry.

He stands and motions for her to join him as he heads for the door. "You will have a room," he answers. "I'm not sure how long you'll stay there before you're given clearance to leave."

Regardless she would be under surveillance. No doubt this would go to the top and Security Chief Illyan would make the final decision of what to do with their foreign visitor. While he's leading, he watches her out of the corner of his eyes as he heads towards an elevator. It would be a strange, winding trip through the building but they would eventually make it to the fabricator machine that could scan her and issue plain clothes. It would have to do for now.

She follows beside him. The heavy shift of her armour under her clothes - chain shirt, mostly these days - clinks and settles as she does. Making her movements stiff - lost her helmet two battlefields ago and hadn't had an ability since then to replace it. A tangled mess of her hair where it had come free of it's tight braid, mattered with blood and dust, making her clothes stick to her skin. The chainmail a rustle of metal that she takes with each step that makes it loud, but she wears it easily enough to step light. Her long blade is clutched in her hand, all the same. Stiffly kept close with ceremony, rather than deadly purpose. A soldier, just the same as a queen. Stretched out over long battlefields and she meets the gaze of anyone that looks at her openly and flatly as they go past. Determined, flat.

Though, mostly, she hadn't been at liberty to look when she'd come in. Too concerned by what she might find. But she takes it in now, faint wonder that lifts her brow some small amount when she's not looking at others, eyes bright in the things she looks at. Light, so much light, a building that - no, it's not like the Mahal, the Fortress or half the palaces between Portugal and Gwalior that she had crept in and out of since then.

Something else, just as beautiful perhaps, for its difference to what she knows. Confusing, though. Makes it important that she doesn't miss a step beside him, when she shifts her gaze back to him. "Thank you. Will I need to be presented to anyone else?"

Sort of distracted, at least when they get to the elevator, trying to comprehend what they were doing, but better than to ask. He's handling it all as normal but - she'll do the same beside him. Even if part of her startles - a shift of her weight on her feet in expectation - at each little thing she doesn't comprehend.

He hesitates there and glances over as they enter the elevator.

"I'm not sure. It depends on what my superiors determine. If this doesn't warrant the Emperor's direct attention, you may get away with speaking to only Security Chief Illyan." Depending on how interested Emperor Vorbarra got in their affairs or what reached the man. Duv knows if someone claiming to be a time traveler appeared in his Empire and came carrying some proof to support the claim, he'd want to meet them in person. Better to warn her in advance.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to offer much in the way of fashion," said dryly because judging by her attire, she erred on the side of practical. A trait he appreciated. "But we can provide the basics. As soon as I learn more, I can come speak with you immediately."

A promise, as much of one as he can make. There's only so much he can do in his position.

She nods, following along with him. Like she had much of a choice, in some regards. She was no more than a vassal, at this point. Defenceless, keenly aware of her position that she's at the mercy of whatever they wished to do with her. Meeting the Emperor might be a foot towards secure some kind of position for herself.

"I am sure it will be more suitable than being soaked in blood." A upkick of her mouth, an attempt of humour up until she realises he will be leaving her soon.

"It will be you who comes for me?" She turns to face him, looking up at him, careful, watchful. That edge of knowing she's far beyond her own element here. Far be it from her to admit vulnerability, but she is, and she can't imagine he's unaware.

It's not the ideal for her to be in, particularly if she is here by pure happenstance, but it's the best they can offer. It helps that no crimes have been committed by her on Barrayaran soil, it makes it far easier to vouch for her.

"I would hope though I sometimes wonder about Barrayaran clothing," he returns, attempting to keep his voice light as he leads the way off the elevator. Her follow-up question catches him slightly by surprise and he glances over at her, blinking.

"If I am able and you would like me to." Is his careful reply. Ultimately he will do what he's ordered, but if she's most comfortable speaking to him then he has only small doubts he'll be assigned elsewhere.

"I am sure it will be nothing like I am used to," which is to say, she as a moment, the elevator is strange, that feeling of moving and not moving at all. Shifting, rolling, and when the doors open to somewhere else completely, she swallows down on the questions and displaced oddness as she darts out. Taking quick steps away from it.

She'll deal with it, like everything else: later.

"I would." She says it firmly like it will be followed. She doesn't have a choice but: "you have dealt with me fairly, kindly and honestly for all I trouble you as much as you confuse me. I would have no one else." Men had once scraped on their knees to hear such words from her, but she does not have that illusion about herself now. Only her own earnesty in reply to his.

"If you are from the 1800s," and he only says this with mild skepticism. Her acting is surprisingly believable and the entire ploy would be outside anything another government would try. Who would expect this to get them Imperial secrets?

He leads her down the hallway, slowly making their way towards the quartermaster. Her admission surprises him and he blinks as he watches her from the corner of his eyes.

"Then I will request I stay with your case." He motions for her to step inside the supply room, speaking briefly with the man there before the guard leaves. The large machine that is used to take scans and make clothes that fit stands in the middle and he motions her to stand in it. "This is a fabricator. It will be able to make you a few sets of clothes. Once you have clearance, I can bring you to a civilian one."

Until then he hopes she doesn't mind fatigues.

She does as he asks, swallowing in the bite of her words at least whilst she's at his leisure, that she didn't have a particular interest in being so utterly dumb to everything around her for no reason. But, for now, she keeps that thought to herself as she steps forward, nodding once that he says he will take her - 'case - whatever that meant. Sure in him and his word to her.

The rest she waits for him to do. Easy to not think about it when there are so many things to look at. So many things to catch her eye, looking perhaps to see if there was a maid or - something like that. Who was making the clothes, who was 'fabricator'? Looks back when she once again can't find anything familiar and nods. "As you will. I am grateful for whatever I receive."

All it takes is a few button presses before the machine whirrs to life. It's a few seconds of scanning before he signals that she can step away from it. They'll have to wait a few minutes before the clothes are finished, but it's one step taken care of and she'll be able to get rid of the blood plaguing her.

"Do you know how you were brought here? Anything that may be of use in finding a way home for you?" Because for now, he's going to give her the benefit of the doubt about her story, no matter how hard it is to wrap his head around.

She's waiting for something - probably more lights to flash at her still adjusting to gaze before he says to step forward. But none of it really seems to happen as she moves forward. Well? She's watching him again, but more - waiting, expectantly for whatever it is that has happened.

To the question, she shakes her head. "No. We were - at the coast. Caught off guard but for a few hours notice. The Lycans outnumbered us and we had been pushed back. At least three to one. I do not know how they found our position but... they said that I wouldn't find it so easy this time to escape." She carries it, blinks, pauses of recollection that make her hover, drawing it up into an order. She must have a dozen times between her transportation from where she arrived at his office. "Then we blew up the ground from underneath them. Something was... off with it. It felt like the world... shook. More so than just for canon fire, which is the nearest feeling I can compare it too. I felt disorientated, blinded perhaps. Then I was here. I barely felt like I could speak, I was so ill and confused. In truth, I thought perhaps I had died. Perhaps I have."

If this was her next life, then so be it, she had accepted it long before this.

He frowns. "Lycans? The name of an organization or a nation?" He recognizes the root in Latin, but otherwise it's unfamiliar to him. Surrounded and overwhelmed. That explained the blood and the weapons she had on her. An explosion, canons firing... Not the usual weapons used in warfare when much of it took place in space for them. As for her dying, well.

"If you died, I would hope you had better idea for an afterlife."

"It is what they are. Beasts. Monsters in human flesh, and an illness to mankind." She comes back to stand beside him to wait until the clothes arrived. Her arms settling by her side, and ready to bolt, ready to move. Waiting for them, always.

"I do not have much of one, in truth. I have no thought it on for years." Perhaps she should have, but the weight of the phial at her neck says that it will not be yet.

The machine deposited two sets of fatigues. He reaches for the clothing and holds them out to her as he considers her words. Figurative or literal beasts? He's seen some of the experiments to come out of Jackson's Whole and the genetic modifications people underwent willingly.

"You will have to elaborate on what you mean by monsters. I've met my fair share of them," he says carefully. "I'm still waiting to hear about your accommodations."

"You would know what I mean if you had seen one. They are twice the height of even the men here. Three times their strength. They have the form of animals, once they shed their human exterior. Claws that could slice a boy in half easy, and bite to rip off an adults limbs from their sockets."

She took the clothes off him, inspecting them briefly. Plain, sturdy and she thinks she can manage it for the time being.

"Before we do - I...." She clears her throat, and looks down at herself. The armour wouldn't come easily. Hiding it well, but she's tired. Exhausted to her core, because she always is. It will be hard to do it alone. "... may need your assistance."

So literal monsters if her accounts were to be believed. He wonders if he could get her to draw or describe them better for an illustration. And he thought he had enough dangers to deal with here.

"We'll have to speak more of your time after you've had rest." More of an assurance to himself. The academic in him would appreciate nothing more than sitting and taking notes of this anomaly. Detailed ones. At her final words, he blinks and takes in her attire.

"With your armor?" he asks for confirmation.

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