sometimes i get nervous when i see an open door

[egodefence]

Who: Gaius Baltar and You!
What: He's taking it well.
Where: Either in Mog Hill or not very far from it.
When: Coardi morning. Or, you know, whenever.
Notes: I'd like to get him around about so if this first set up is tagged into, shout at me if you'd like to do things and I can set up a thread!
Warnings: Crying, mainly.

The appeal of an open sky had long since lost its shine after the first few months on solid ground.

But this is different. A functional city, new faces that glance by him without recognition. Animals, economy, the simple sight of a carriage wheel trundling over wet cobblestone. The weather is warm and dry. Standing on the curb a stone's throw from the edge of the Valhalla Inn is Gaius Baltar, who -- while not the most poetic of human beings -- is in awe. Awe in the traditional sense, the kind that is on the verge of teary-eyed terror. It hadn't even occurred to him to do anything with his CiD than check it -- its content was, of course, a lie, and he'd spent the next few hours of his imprisonment in the green tiled room simply curled up in crustaceous defensiveness in the corner and waiting to see what the Cylons would do next.

He has some things in his hand. A cardboard box with some sort of branding is held loosely at his side, and the infamous brochure clutched in his other fist, significantly crumpled. Both of these things are ignored after having been obsessed over prior to now as he regards the street without any idea of what to do.

But he starts walking.

And eventually sits down when he's put a little distance between where he began and now without any real clear idea of where he is, just that there was an empty bench and now it is his. The brochure is folded with slightly trembling fingers and pocketed in the inner of his jacket, before he sets the box in his lap, opens it, and extracts one dark coloured cigarette. Gaius, dressed as he is in his slightly unwashed business suit, his glasses sitting low on his nose and hair in worried, greasy tangles, realises he doesn't have a lighter on him.

"Oh gods," is pure, exasperated despair, landing his face in his hands.

Comments

[egodefence]

"No."

This word comes out emphatic and damp sounding, muffled as it is with hands. With the reluctance of someone who does not necessarily want to deal with anything around him, Gaius raises his head again, sweeping aside hair and taking off his glasses. He does not look especially healthy -- no one was, on New Caprica, not even he, but it's difficult to split that apart from his current state of upset. He's still managed to keep cigarette in hand, for all the good that is.

But-- he peers up at Raylan, somewhat baleful. "You wouldn't happen to have a lighter," sounds mock-composed, an even tone hastily pasted over the cracks otherwise present in voice and demeanour.

[toooldforlosing]

He doesn't, but he fishes in his pocket and pulls out a small box of matches. Raylan ends up collecting things he feels might be useful, and these qualified. He hands them over, considering Gaius' affect. The man doesn't seem tot be on drugs, or drunk, which is already a step up for messy men sitting on benches as a whole.

"New arrival?" he guesses, but it's an educated guess.

[egodefence]

It is not unlikely that the fact that Gaius is not drunk or on drugs is contributing towards being upset; for now, he will settle for this, taking the match box with only slightly unsteady hands, igniting a flame, nursing it at the end of the cigarette. It tastes of home, in a sort of harsh and unforgiving way, but this isn't why it's a comfort -- the chemical reaction of nicotine sponging into his system is all he is after. Perhaps later, when the gravity of the situation settles properly, he will consider it his lingering link to home.

The question is mentally circled, Gaius offering back the box of matches without thanks. His mouth curls into the sneer he only develops when genuine in his disgust, but it's not necessarily directed at Raylan.

"It sounds nice, almost, when you put it like that. Um--" A waver, a hard blink. The saline sheen to his eyes is not actually squeezing out tears, thankfully, just lingering. "Yes, sorry."

[toooldforlosing]

"Well, I think it's clear you got the gravity of the situation without my pointing it out to you." Raylan pockets the matches. "You need anything? Don't have a way out, but short of that."

[egodefence]

"Is it just like this?"

A little sharp, suddenly, paying more attention to Raylan as opposed to categorising him as just another element in the sensory overload of being here. There are knives hidden somewhere in the scattered, emotional, floppy mess that is Baltar, and there's a flash of them in his tone. His hands are steadier. "We're just-- in that room, and, then this. And me, here." He isn't making sense, but it's difficult, ordering his thoughts, which feel like they're flea-hopping around his brain. "You act like this is normal. I don't know you-- you don't know me."

Which is impossible! Everyone knows him. And he'd be more self-conscious of sounding insane if he wasn't used to it by now.

[toooldforlosing]

"It isn't normal. Isn't anything like normal." Raylan tilts his hat back with his thumb. "But I've been stuck here too long to spend all my time cursing the heavens." Plus there are the periodic city-wide crises. He has plenty of anger, it's just... leashed.

"I'm Deputy Sheriff Raylan Givens, formerly of Lexington, Kentucky. Earth," he adds, dryly, "2011. Maybe 2012 by now."

[egodefence]

"I see."

There's a hollow sort of pause after that, as if Gaius were waiting for some sort of punchline, one that isn't coming. A fine ribbon of smoke continues to wind up like a ribbon from his cigarette, before it goes remembered and he takes a fresh hit from it. "Is that, erm--" No, actually, he's not going to handle that right now. He shakes his head as if to clear it. "I'm Doctor Gaius Baltar. Of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." And there's a searching look over Raylan's expression for recognition.

Of his name, or his origins, at this point. His actual, formal, somewhat prestigious political title remains closed up behind his teeth, some sense of self-preservation forcing him not to spill that detail in case it matters.

Or worse, in case it doesn't.

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan nods, accepting but not recognizing either Gaius' name or "Kobol" more generally. Of course he actually isn't from Earth. Serves him right, Raylan thinks, for being a smart ass.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Baltar, even if we both probably wish it was under other circumstances. Can I ask what you're a doctor of?"

[egodefence]

Gods, it's been a while. Since he's been any kind of doctor at all. Gaius' expression defaults back to bleak before he offers his, you know, actual academic qualification; "Computer science." A beat. "Mainly. Among other... side... projects." He spills some ash on the ground with a neat tap to his cigarette, before he follows the sight of someone riding a horse down the street with the sort of incomprehension that comes with things only getting weirder.

Back to Raylan. "Deputy Sheriff of what?"

[toooldforlosing]

"Here? Mog Hill - the area we're in." Computer science is useful in Baedal to a point, though Raylan can't help thinking they could use more medical doctors, at the rate they're going.

"I was law enforcement back home, but it was. Uh. Different."

[egodefence]

"Oh."

Well, that would explain the charitable inquiry into his well-being, especially if it's a prelude to an arrest for anti-social behaviour. It's a thing that would make Gaius self-conscious if he didn't feel like the world was about to pull away like a sheet off a table and reveal back to him the camps of New Caprica or the interior of Colonial One at any moment now and thus, unattached.

"You've no need to worry. I'll be done here once I have my bearings." The simmering resentment for everything undercuts any hope of civility and respect in his tone, but the words are right.

[toooldforlosing]

"I'm not particularly worried," he says, easily. "Just seemed like you might need help, is all." And in fairness, Raylan's state of suspicion is reasonably constant. "Can't say I loved accepting I'd be here long enough to need a job, but you gotta pay rent, eventually. Being trapped and being homeless sounded unappealing."

[egodefence]

There is a sort of cynical dulling in Gaius' eyes at the prospect of seeking employment and carrying out any sort of semblance of a life here -- every second feels temporary, which honestly, is probably what's stressing him out the most. "I'll have to take that into consideration. How long did--"

He shutters in a breath, easy sarcasm breaking as he reconsiders his question, and asks; "How long did it take you? How long have you been here?"

[toooldforlosing]

"I arrived wounded, so I was a bit of a special case. But as for your second question... little over a year." The bitterness is constrained, but hard to miss.

[egodefence]

As he isn't being shooed away from the bench after all, Gaius is content to remain there until he's smoked his cigarette and simmered sufficiently in his misery. The mention of a 'year' is paused over, cigarette to mouth and a bland blink seeing nothing, before Gaius takes another deep inhale and lazily releases the smoke again.

"Then I see you've gone up in the world. Thank you, ever so; but I don't need help." Apart from the light.

[toooldforlosing]

Debatable, but Raylan will allow "doesn't need help Raylan can provide."

He just nods and says, "Sure. Best of luck, Dr. Baltar. Some people do get home, I hear - some certainly vanish. Maybe you'll get lucky." Though whether that's staying or going probably varies. Raylan tips his hat very slightly.