and that was the turning point, that was one lonely night.

[egodefence]

Who: Gaius Baltar and You
What: A day, or several, in the life of Dr. Baltar.
Where: Around and about, specifically: Serpolet (Tinker's Lot), Echomire (Madrasati), Chnum. Will add more as they happen.
When: Vaguely the last week and onwards.
Notes: Post text is general narrative, I have some specific starters below. Hit me up if you would like to tag somewhere and would like me to set up a thread, or just go ahead.
Warnings: Scifi swearing!

"Here's to the Colonies."

This was said after Gaius had lit the last of his fumarella leaf cigarettes -- he'd allowed them to stretch this long, already substituting cravings in between with more local smokes. By now, the last cigarette is very dry, but not stale or badly tasting. He burns his lungs on the first inhale but swallows against a cough, huffing out smoke through his nose in a cartoonish whuff of breath, before leaning right back to enjoy it. His apartment is a small thing, but he keeps it compulsively neat, save for a work bench that is messy with computer parts and tools.

A brief commission with the City's government had seen a little relief, wherein he'd purchased for himself a new soldering iron and a few months worth of rent at a workshop in Tinker's Lot. And food, obviously, but he's never actually lost the hungry edge that most of those New Caprica refugees had taken on after the first few months, and those that know him now are accustomed to the sharp edges he's made of, bony beneath his suits and expressions.

The clock chimes in reminder that if he wants to make it to Madrasati in anything resembling on time, he ought to move now. He lists about the small apartment to collect his things -- tools one would not expect to be brought into a doctor's clinic, for instance, but he's a special sort of doctor.

Cigarette stub is dropped into a teacup he's been using as an ashtray out of sheer laziness from a month ago, and he leaves, slinging a tie around his throat, the last taste of home tasting like ash at the back of his throat.

Comments

[dieneidio]

“I've got to get new ones done up for here, with the right bloody number,” she reflects, because scribbling all over the damn things is not going to work forever. Besides, she was only carrying so many of them in her purse in the first place. She'll run out, sooner or later. Presumably she'll get a paying gig before that happens, at least. “Dunno if what, though?”

Probably 'if you can actually get one of those', she theorizes, but it's a pretty successful conversation piece even if she can't. Some people apparently appreciate it when you at least pretend to have a reason for accosting them in the street that isn't 'because I'm new in town and I can'. Anyway, she might find something else interesting around here, given the preponderance of unfamiliar machinery. Worth looking into.

[egodefence]

She will probably not get a paying gig from Gaius, but he just absently turns the little rectangle around in his hands in lieu of giving it back.

"If you'll get something specifically horse-like," is a bit more optimistic. This is nice, it's like he's capable of carrying on banter and conversation like a normal functioning human being -- he vaguely remembers doing that sometimes. "It's shockingly not outside the realms of possibility, though. I was amazed to run into something normal."

Because fighter space jets that run on science fiction fuel is his normal, and has been for a long time even before they all became galactic refugees in a military fleet.

[dieneidio]

“Normal is as does, innit.” She looks vaguely entertained by the idea of that as being anyone's normal, albeit not surprised or too confused - enough of a reaction to peg it as 'not hers', but not so much of one as to indicate she didn't see something like that coming. She might be new in town, but apparently she's got experience to call on. “Well, if wishes were Ducatis I'd have one of them instead, but probably I'd better get used to doing a lot of walking.”

She looks sufficiently athletic to not be deeply bothered by that, at least. She probably did a fair amount of walking to get here in the first place - and it's a good thing to do, in a new place. You never know when you might need to be able to know which way to run without having to think about it too hard.

('Frequently', if you're Enfys.)