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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.

Comments

[naismith]

[Miles likes his parts a little more nuanced than that, thanks. But he wouldn't be very good as a Vorkosigan representing his district, would he, if he couldn't work with the straight forward mentality espoused here.]

Oh excellent, it'll take even less than normal, then, [he sighs, dourly self-critical.] The warning is nice, I suppose. My metabolism disagrees with alcohol, [Miles adds in clarification. Obviously his metabolism's disagreement isn't stopping him from drinking, though.]

What about you, do you like the Brazen Turtle, same as everybody else?

[sonofsamcro]

[Espoused. Dang. Jax is going to feel quite the fool if that word ever enters their dialogue, if only because the closest phonetic equivalent that he knows to it is being "ex-spoused" by virtue of a divorce in the works.]

Brazen Turtle's nice, but I've got a watering hole down in Wood. Kedan what runs it goes by the name Kee-Un. Nice guy, for a shifter.

[That warning and metabolism bit's got him cautious.]

How bad's this disagreement you've got?

[naismith]

[Miles isn't intentionally overly educated and aristocratic, he just... is. But the district his family oversees is composed of some of the poorest, most rural, illiterate people on Barrayar, and he's incredibly fond of them. Jax reminds him of them already with the blithe for a shifter. It sounds exactly like one of them.

He grimaces at the question, but doesn't waste any time on self-pity. He's simply matter of fact.] Bad. I wasn't kidding about falling asleep at the table. If I go out for booze, I make my cousin come with me.

[The grimace shifts into a lop-sided smirk of pained amusement. He misses Ivan already, and isn't that a thought.] What else is family for?

[sonofsamcro]

[That gets him a chuckle and a measure closer to friendly than anything else might've. Jax nods, head bobbing up and down in a relaxed manner.]

Ain't nothing wrong with bein' a lightweight. You come by this shifter bar an' I'll keep an eye out for you. Make sure no one pulls the drink over your eyes. How's about it?

[naismith]

I don't need looking out for, [he's quick to deny, prickly about his autonomy as always. But Miles doesn't want to be rude, and he really does need connections.] But it... might be nice all the same. Thank you.

I'll keep an eye out for you, then? Call me Miles.

[sonofsamcro]

Hey, none of us do, but with all the shifters and bullshit around here? It's nice, like you said, havin' someone what'll watch your back.

[Hey, not meaning to offend, buddy. Just trying to connect with a person that ain't flying three feet off the floor. He hopes.]

Fair trade, Miles. Name's Jax, and between us? I could use a good round of drinks myself.

[This place keeps screwing with his grasp of reality and he needs a break from it that only the bottle gives him.]

[naismith]

[Miles doesn't fly, at least not under his own power, that's true. He couldn't be called normal by anyone's standards, but all the odd things about him are scientifically explainable. He relents, aware of his own prickliness.]

You're not wrong. There is a lot of bullshit. But never let them see you sweat, right?

I think I'm on edge still. No one's attacked me yet, do you know how odd that is? That's usually what happens after a kidnapping-- that or demands. [This is more complaining than anything else, and it's obvious from his tone.]