( video )

[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]

As I've seen. That's at least not totally outside the realm of explanation, though it is very curious.

[Dryly,] Giant warships, yes; giant turtles, no. A bit of a different breed. And I admit your point, lady. [Miles says it formally, as a real title and not a casual form of address.] Wisdom and logic are indeed strategies, but quite elusive, aren't they? They certainly never survive first contact with the enemy.

[Funny how what was once wise becomes foolish once you get a new perspective on something. Miles has been surprised out of obliviousness enough times to know that.]

[mythically]

Diana, please. _{( she waves a hand. )}

If that's the case, then maybe they weren't what you thought they were.

[naismith]

[He doesn't gainsay the informality, merely smiling instead.] Then you'll have to call me Miles.

Hmm, do you think so? I fear wisdom isn't so broad as we'd like to think. Perhaps I can know what's wise for me, but I doubt I could know what's wise for anyone else. And the older I get, the less I think I know what's wise for me, either...

[He's liable to wax philosophical all day if someone doesn't stop him. It's a nice distraction, and he sorely needs a distraction.]

[mythically]

And you don't think that realizing that is a wisdom in and of itself? _{( she's laughing, but not unkindly. )}

[naismith]

[He grins, accepting the teasing without difficulty.]

Are you calling me wise? I can think of five people off the top of my head who would vehemently disagree with you.

[mythically]

You could be, in theory. But I can't be sure yet.

[naismith]

You'll have to tell me when you've finished your assessment.

[mythically]

I'll be sure to, Miles.

In the meantime, have you found everything you were looking for?

[naismith]

[He brightens.]

All except a bar companion to drag me home. Would you like to volunteer?

[Shame, in Miles? Absolutely none.]

[mythically]

Hm, that depends. Are you buying the drinks?

[naismith]

I'll buy the first two of yours, [he says promptly, recognizing his cue.] My budget won't stretch for much more, lady-- ah, Diana. New arrival, you know.

[He's saving it for contingencies. What contingency that might be yet, he has no clue, but something always arises. At least he won't have to try to fund a personal mercenary fleet at the drop of a hat. He's pretty sure.]

[mythically]

A new arrival with manners, it seems. _{( she caught that "lady." )}

But a good deal all the same. Which sector are you in, Miles?

_{( she can fly; she doesn't expect people to come to her. )}

[naismith]

[His sheepish smile is genuine.] Perils of aristocracy. Trained into us from birth. [Miles doesn't slip up with the forms of address when he's undercover, but he's not really undercover here, and maybe it's something about Diana. Or maybe he's feeling especially Barrayaran today, in the face of his grief at losing it. Either one is possible.]

Metal. I'm certain I can find wherever you'd like to meet.

[mythically]

There would have to be some fallbacks to privilege. _{( not that she's entirely aware of her own privileged standing. she's a princess, but also belongs to a sisterhood of equals, so even if she was considered in higher standing she's never really thought of herself that way. in any case, the hierarchy of man's world is still a sometimes nonsensical thing to her. )}

A friend recommended a place _{( here )}. Does that suit?

[naismith]

Overly complicated manners least of them, [he can't resist drawling, with amiable willingness to mock the whole concept.

A quick smile.] I'll see you there. Seventeen hundred hours?

[mythically]

So you will.

_{( ooc / would you like to log, action, handwave...? )}

[naismith]

Excellent.

[ooc: Log delivery! :>]