Living in this neighbourhood, in the shape of a human, is not necessarily easy, and yet there is something about the dividing expanse of hillside that secludes Chnum from the rest of Baedal that appeals to Gaius' inherent talent for denial. And also something about the chilly distrust of its residents that suits him too -- a sense of attempted community and friendship itches, on his off-days.

These thoughts and more as he awaits her on the overhanging balcony of a local cafe, dressed in a nice suit and foregoing tie. It's bleak and overcast but a view of a lake is a nice thing to stare blankly at, a ribbon of smoke tendriling up from half-finished cigarette, and a similarly half-finished glass of white wine with greasy fingermarks on its sides sits next to his elbow. There is a certain sort of tension in the sit of his shoulders and his expression is as pensive as a Baltar can get it to seem, and every now and then, he shifts a look at an empty adjacent chair.

Doesn't talk to it, at least.

He'd invited her out and yet does not seem to be the best of company. His waiting is patient, though, content to sit and daydream and simmer.