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[naismith]

[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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[skybluejeep]

Thirding the call for the Brazen Turtle, I work there and it's super high-class, no drunken brawls or anything. If you're in to drunken brawls, we can't help. Customer is not always right when it comes to that.

As for the rest of it, uh. There's the time that it got itself on the network somehow, with all the appropriate terrifying shenanigans along with. Made a bunch of vague threats against the baby turtles here and then never came back. Don't know if that's a good thing or not. Medical treatment, there's a clinic in, uh. Crap. I wanna say Metal Sector? I think? I've never been, I don't know, I'm healthy as a horse.

[naismith]

I prefer a lack of brawling with my intoxication, not to worry. Brawls don't favor me. [For obvious reasons, such as being tiny and frail, though Miles would resent both such labels.] It seems quite the hot spot. I'll have to visit.

[His light, airy tone fades into something appropriately contemplative.] I saw that post. What is its interest in the turtles? We all seem convinced it's out to kill them wholesale, but why? I find "intends to destroy all life in existence" somewhat lacking, as far as motives go.

--And I've been referred to the clinic adequately, but thank you.

[skybluejeep]

Yeah, but all super villains want to destroy the universe. It's in their union charter, if they don't at least try they get drummed out. And the last thing we need are non-union villains floating around.

Honestly, though. I have no idea. I mean, I was told by our former emperor that I was here by mistake and should stay out of the ensuing war. Big old self-esteem boost there, thanks.

[naismith]

[This is a kind of meaningless blather Miles is entirely unfamiliar with. That's what happens when you have precisely one friend your age growing up who isn't the dour, nearly silent Emperor-to-be. He missed out on some almost all normal teenage socializing.]

That could be encouraging, [he offers.] It means you're free to do as you wish, take whatever role you desire. No explicit purpose. Not my sort of thing, but I know some take to it.

In any case, villainy does not have a union charter, as such. It is entirely a matter of perspective. No, I'm not satisfied with this motive, not at all. [He's mentally adding it to his already considerably long list of "things to look into".]

[skybluejeep]

I'd like to believe that. But you didn't see the look on her face. It was like...an exterminator eyeballing a cockroach. Hard to take a role that way, really.

It's really hard to get any kind of real information about this villain, though. There's no Google here, and libraries are expurgated like whoa.

[naismith]

Cockroaches have real advantages, [he advises without missing a beat, largely because he's been in that position several times before himself and loathes it intensely.] No one notices you. Convenient for a host of purposes.

[Not everyone entered the intelligence branch of an intergalactic military at age seventeen, Miles. Or held it as their fondest life's work.]

Damnably inconvenient, yes, but there's still living memory. Someone must know something somewhere, some hint that will lead us on the right track. I'll find it. [His dogged determination is certainly hard to doubt, at least.]