tushanshu | ( video )

[A man appears on the network of indeterminate age, extremely short-- under five feet tall, easily-- with a slight hunch to his posture and Germanic features. His eyes are sharply alive, bright with challenge. There's no hesitation as he speaks, in a gravelly kind of accent that sounds almost Russian, the words flowing quickly as he makes them up on the spot.

Right now, he desperately needs intel of all kinds, and eventually a spotter to watch him while he uses his seizure inducer. That fact he's assiduously ignoring. He'd checked his neurotransmitter levels this morning, and he has at least three days, even with all the stress of arrival. No, four days, probably. Five. Really, he can go a lot longer without one than the ImpSec medical staff had given him credit for. --Focus, Vorkosigan.]

So. I see you all have quite a neat set up here. Let's not waste time. Who can bring me up to speed, ex tempore? Surely we have more intelligence than "don't say its name" on our bogey man. Since confirmed facts are likely to be scarce, personal accounts would be acceptable.

I'm also taking proposals for getting miserably drunk at the bar, as is traditional in times of drawn out peril. I need someone to drag me home, y'see; alcohol has quite a soporific effect on my constitution. [And Ivan is unfortunately not here to do the dragging. Miles ignores the resulting pang that inspires in him.

Then he hesitates imperceptibly, the memory of his previous catastrophic failure to report his seizures clanging loudly through his brain. No. He can't ignore this, much as he'd like to. The only thing that scares Miles more than never going home is turning into a vegetable, mindless and drooling. He can at least do the preliminary investigation about options.]

Information about local medical facilities would be appreciated as well. They're not all-- er, at this level of technology, are they? [He looks dubious about anyone surviving on that level of medical care, but immediately recovers with a wide, convincing smile.] I'd just like to know preemptively for when I wake up with a skull splitting headache.

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Well, as part of the Welcome Center, I'll help where I can. Though, really, people will get cross if we discuss it over the network too much, so let's start with the rest.

Brazen Turtle's one of the more famous pubs in Turtle Land. Lots of us foreigners working there which means we tend to gravitate there. There's a few others about the sectors. Though if you slept in some of them, the Kedan would be quite cross.

And Soranik Natu's clinic is the best known place. Though there are a few chemists here and there. But mostly herbs and that sort of thing.

Oh? Who are we hiding the discussion from? Does it have a direct feed into the com consoles, no matter how secure? I'd think its omniscience would have a limit-- though that does make it not technically omniscience...

[Miles recovers himself from getting meaninglessly derailed by offering a lop-sided grin.] That's why I haven't gone by myself. Sleeping in public is never wise; I need an accomplice. But thank you, I appreciate the recommendations. [He definitely won't forget the name, either of them.]

What can you tell me about Soranik Natu's clinic, in that case? I'm afraid I'm used to a bit more than herbs.

It seems to be summoned when you talk about it. Especially on the network. Like I said, people will go bonkers if you talk about it on the network.

[She shakes her head with a little shrug. She doesn't understand it either, but she knows what it can do and it's not worth the risk.] And can't help you there. I don't drink, it always ends in misery and sick everywhere. But I bet you can find someone to have shenanigans with.

As for the clinic, it's in Earth Sector. Quite a few people volunteer to help there who can fix you right up.

Hmm. How curious. [He'll just accept that for now. It seems extremely suspicious to him, and a potential lead in and of itself, but he needs more background before he can shake things up quite yet. Look, he's getting veritably cautious in his advanced age.] It seems some of our fellow foreigners don't share your caution, but if you wouldn't mind meeting up at some point, I'd still like to hear your version.

Entirely all right-- that's really the wiser course. I've had several recommendations already, both for the drinking and the recovery. I should eventually settle into my abject wallowing without issue. [Despite the words, Miles seems almost chipper at this precise moment. He has a goal and he's learning useful things; he's sure it'll be a while before he runs out of that to distract himself with, and he'll have to face suitably depressing reality.]

Cautious is how I do things. Right after sassy. I have reasons not to want to draw attention to myself.[She shrugs.] You can also look back on the network and see for yourself, it's posted here before. Not that I don't like telling my own version of events. Talk your ear off.

[She then snorts softly in amusement and appreciation at his bluntness.] Glad being in the land between life,dreaming, and death hasn't caused you to go off your proper wallowing schedule.

Sassy, now there is a quality I can appreciate. [Unsaid is that caution is not his style, but he supposes most people do get through life successfully with some measure of it. He just finds it boring. Regardless, she definitely seems worthwhile to keep talking to, and she's making it easy for him, so he says,] I'm rather hoping for it-- talking my ear off, that is. Where and when would you like to meet?

Oh no, this isn't proper wallowing, but it will have to do. If there's another way to cope with being abruptly forcibly removed from my duties and-- and my entire planet, no, nexus, I'm unaware of it. [There's a hint of brittleness to him at last, revealing that Miles is taking this much harder than he's projecting, but he has it concealed to not more than that hint.]

And lucky for you, I've got it in spades, balancing out that caution. [It's a bit of a funny combination, caution with adventure and sass. But all have always come naturally to her.] I work at the welcome center if you'd like to meet there. Easy enough to find, right in the center of the city. Big sign, looks friendly and, well, welcoming.

[Clara's grin slips from her face at that. She knows the feeling of bitterness at being torn from life and trapped her. It's been longer than six months for her and some days it takes it's toll. She tries not to wallow, she tends to ignore her darker feelings for better or worse, but sometimes it does sound nice.] Haven't found any either. Other than just picking up jobs and trying to keep busy.

That does make the caution less grating, I can see that. [Only Miles would consider caution to be grating. Is he flirting, or being whimsically egotistical? It's impossible to tell with him.] That would work well. Say, in an hour? I have an appointment later that I wouldn't like to miss.

[Yes, he already has appointments-- he's not kidding about not wasting time.

Immediately he regrets making her lose her smile. Sassy, cautious women shouldn't be brought down by him being a sad sack, and he reorients the conversation on her cue.] And what is the job market like here? I've been told I must be employed, which certainly I have no objection to, but my skill set is... ah... not ideal for civilian life.

I'll be here. Long shift today. [Plus she needs some time to gather her thoughts about how exactly to explain everything she's seen. She's never spoken to anyone who hadn't been there about it before.] Already keeping busy I see.

[She sighs softly and leans back as she thinks about his questions.] As you heard, plenty of jobs are needed but they're never the ones you want or the ones you've spent your entire life training for. Most of them lean towards the extremely mundane, I'm afraid.

The alternative is unbearable, [he confesses in an abrupt moment of honesty that takes him by surprise, before he battens it down.] To keeping busy, I mean. Expect me in an hour. I have some conversations to wrap up.

[Including this one, actually.] I'm wasted in mundane positions, [he protests with the tone of a long-suffering complaint.] I thought I'd finally been promoted past that. [He sighs.] As long as it's not weatherman, I suppose.

[There's definitely a story there.]

Completely unbearable.

[She agrees quietly before nodding at his move to end the conversation.]

No weathermen in Keeliai as far as I know. Keeps us guessing.

At least there's that option eliminated. I'll see you. [Miles salutes as he signs off, though it's far from crisp-- just a hazy, vague gesture toward his temple.]

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