multiversallogs | OPEN :: I used to live in a heartbeat city

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OPEN :: I used to live in a heartbeat city

Who: Thrice & YOU.
What: Biking, chatting, reading books, or whatevs.
Where: Anywhere and everywhere in Baedal.
When: Sukkardi
Notes:Upon arriving in Baedal, Thrice had a few goals:
   (a) Contact Petra.
   (b) Find employment.
   (c) Continue his 'real' work.

Working for a courier service means that Thrice can be found anywhere in the city, usually on a bicycle weaving around and through traffic almost as if it doesn't exist. When he's able to really hit his stride and transcend his usual distracted way of interacting with the world, Thrice is able to unconsciously react to events that haven't yet happened and move through crowded streets without any difficulty at all. To an outsider it may look as if he prefers odd, circuitous routes through the city, but by following his gut instincts, he'll dodge accidents, potholes, unexpected pack animals and toppling fruit carts all without slowing down.

Others in the cohort are likely to see him riding by, but unlikely to stop and chat with him unless he's slowed down for a break. When not on a bike, Thrice can be found at TeeMuu chatting with the Math department, looking for some rather obscure texts on algorithms in Flyside, or returning to one of Ceith's temples to start negotiations that will eventually end in his sending a letter back home.

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Having the opportunity to watch Thrice at work on his bicycle is an interesting thing, and would not have come about without two facts: one, that Jason had been temporarily held up outside Ceith's temple, and thus in a position to observe Thrice, and two, that at first glance, Dick bears some resemblance to Thrice. That's what initially makes him look, as irritating an instinct as that is. Then his attention stays for the maneuvering. Look, there's no TV here. This is good shit.

When Thrice has actually reached the temple, and may presumably be in the midst of securing his bicycle, Jason says, offhanded, barely looking at him, "Nice riding."

"Thanks," he says with a bright smile and a moment of eye contact before Thrice is seemingly distracted by something just over Jason's shoulder. Hanging his helmet off the handlebars, Thrice runs a hand through his short hair, spiking it up before trying to fluff it up into a more regular, less hedgehog-like pattern. "Do you ride?"

Edited 2011-11-13 02:15 (UTC)

Jason deadpans for a second, glancing between Thrice and the bike. "I'll have to start. It's just... I'm used to motorcycles."

But he shrugs that off. Fuck your expensive and hard to get fossil fuels, Baedal. "You know a good place?"

"I've never been on a motorcycle." While Thrice can do quite well running or on a bicycle, without physical effort to help focus his mind he's too distracted to drive. "And I know it's not as fast as a proper one, but there are a few places that do a hybrid bike that you can dock and charge?"

He's still using the loaner bike that the courier company has given him, but was told that once he's saved up enough most other bikerunners pick up a hybrid to help with the biggest hills and longest routes.

While he appreciates the thought — and certainly, that's better than nothing — Jason can't quite suppress a wince.

"Whereabouts?" He sounds almost sad. How low he has fallen.

Thrice closes his eyes to help him recall his mental map: "There's two, the first is just south of Grafton Square on Herbert, near a house that looks like a hive of bees, and the second is at Uka and Thandiwe, by a house with windows that look like they've got a moving rainbow oil slick. The second one is more expensive, but they've a better selection, even some bikes that can run on myco."

With a shudder like a dog shaking off water, Thrice returns to the conversation and his usual state of vague confusion.

Coming naturally armed turned out to be a benefit to Rhade. It meant when he went into the fog, he was prepared, and it was well worth the adventure.

He didn't know much about the side-effects. His dreams had been unpleasant the night before, so he looked a little tired as he was crossing the road. With senses as keen as his, he had no other excuse but exhaustion to credit for the way that he stepped out in front of and nearly didn't get out of the way of Thrice's bike in time.

He clutched a clattering leather satchel against his stomach, bulging with the items he'd collected and was searching for the nearest shop to sell them in. Were he weren't fully aware that it was him almost stepping in front of Thrice (and there weren't witnesses) he might have not admitted to the mistake. But-

"I apologize..." he rubbed his eye tiredly as he backed onto the sidewalk.

Thrice is usually pretty good about leaving enough space between his bike, random pedestrians, and whatever other strange obstacles pop-up around the city. On the rare occasions when he does get a bit too close, he makes sure to stop and check in.

"Don't be, don't be, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I should have been paying more attention." He shoves a CB radio back into his bag, as it was nearly about to fall out.

"I'm afraid I might have lost my way though. I forgot my map-" another clue to his lack of comfortable sleep "-and I need to find one of the shops where I might be able to pawn off items retrieved in the fog."

Thrice hops off his bike, angling it to better lean against a nearby wall before he pulls out his CiD and calls up a courier's map.

"What, umm, what kind of things do you have to sell? I've been running over the city and maybe, to apologize, I could suggest a place?"

He hesitates. He's paranoid by nature, and can't divulge everything. "Small electronic items." He could ask about the gold from there. He was under no illusions about what gold was and wasn't worth, and whether or not this man was polite he wasn't automatically inclined to trust him.

That didn't mean he had to be rude, of course. "I would appreciate that."

"What era?" Thrice thumbs through the maps on his CiD, flagging three locations. "The first two'll take anything really, the third works with far future items, I think? Tubes of nanoparticles and whatever other strange, strange things come out."

He's aware of these places not only because of his job, but because he's already working on a series of side-projects. In order to get a letter home, he had to enter into an agreement with Ceith and to complete his part of the bargain, Thrice needs a few odd supplies.

Boredom brings Angela to the library. She's running out of money and with a limited amount coming in, there's only so much mooching off of other people her pride can take if they're not going to pay her in exchange for her art. So she's here to put her other skills to use, looking for texts on the network of Baedal and any information on the technology of the devices they seem to hand out like Halloween candy.

She could poke at it and figure it out herself and the thought has occured to her, but a lack of a decent screwdriver stopped her. Angela doesn't know how lucky she was that she had to end up at the library, poking at books on the shelves and looking at anything that screams COMPUTER PROGRAMMING to her. Nothing as of yet. Shucks.

Should she ask a librarian or manage to wander her way into the programming section, Angela will likely find a lanky sort of fellow surrounded by a few books and taking notes. He seems to be particularly interested in the intersection of magic and technology when it comes to encrypting information on the network.

Asking librarians for help is really a last-ditch effort. As long as this library doesn't have magical books that move away from the reader on their own, Angela can handle the search herself.

Finding the correct section is easy enough, finding a couple more books that catch her eye is even easier, however, finding a seat? Not so much. The only available space is at a table that looks fully occupied, but all Angela needs is a little room to flip a few pages to see if one of these texts will work for her. "Could I borrow this?" she asks after making her way over to the table with four books held in the crook of one arm and pointing at the chair across from him. "I promise to give it back when I'm done."

It takes Thrice a few seconds longer than normal to look up from his books and then register what Angela is saying.

"Of course. It's all yours." He smiles politely, but there's an unusual distance to him; almost as if he's only visiting whatever planet they're on and he could vanish at any moment.

It's noticable, but it's nothing that bothers Angela too much. She's used to humans acting like they're just stopping by on Earth for the moment while pretending to be Earthlings as well. Just look at who her best friend is.

She nods and takes the seat, settling in for some serious studying... which only last about ten silent minutes before Angela closes one book dejectedly and opens another. Seriously, with as little information as she's found so far, one would think the cohort network was FBI maintained.

Thrice reads quickly and absently takes notes in a neat, but incomprehensible personal shorthand. From what Thrice has learned, large parts of the network are maintained by Ceith's will, supported by technological systems that are integrated via various forms of magic. Most security risks have to do with citizens tampering with their CiD rather than an assault on network provision itself.

Angela can't help but take notice at how quickly Thrice is collecting information. Maybe he's hogging all the good books; with the amount that litters the surface of his side of the desk, it's very likley. Cue Angela sneaking peeks at his notebook with it's impossible to understand writing.

Cheating is clearly not allowed here.

There are bits of scribble that are probably recognizable as page numbers and other referencing systems, but the vast majority of his work is a comparison sheet between traditional programming functions and their magical equivalents.

"Am I in your way?" Pause. "Did I already ask that? I don't think so, but if I was and am, I can move."

She can get the programming functions part, but it's the magical territory Angela's brand new to and will probably never understand no matter how many books she's read.

"Mmm," she hums in the negative, still glancing at his notes, "I'm just jealous you seem to understand all this when I don't."

"Oh. I don't." Not yet, that is. When he actually starts to move beyond a vague grasp of theory and on to practical application he still won't understand, but he'll be well served by his intuition.

"What are you looking for?"

"Those notes could have fooled me," she says with a nod towards said writings.

Angela closes the book she currently has in her hands and lays it on the table face up with her hand on the cover, effectively hiding the title: NETWORKING FOR DUMMIES - BAEDAL EDITION. "Something about how the network is built. How easy it is to program for it. Things like that."

"Do you work in magic or coding?" From what Thrice has uncovered, most people who arrive in Baedal are familiar with one or the other and usually have to run whatever they're doing by someone experienced with the local systems.

"Art, mostly, but coding comes second," Angela confesses. "I have a degree in both, but I'm lost when it comes to this kind of networking."

She's sure there's some magic involved with it, but how much and what is lost on Angela.

"If you put together what you want, you should be able to talk to Kavan or Ceith's people?" The unfinished part of that sentence would say that they ought to be able to put her in contact with someone who can adapt her ideas and coding to whatever the local standard is.

"Who or who?" Not much of the religious sort other than going to church on Christmas and Easter, Angela's pretty much skips the part of the brochure that went on and on about which city god went for what and who worshipped it. Heathen child.

Thrice looks pensive for a moment, then fusses with a bit of his CiD before writing down directions to the appropriate temples and sliding it over to Angela. "They're not bad and you can pick up an offering from someone outside the temples."

She picks up the paper carefully, not unlike it's about to blow up in her face and reads the notations. Still doesn't make much sense to her, but she's worked with less and gotten answers then. At least this is a lead.

"So I have to sacrific something to the tech gods? An Apple III? A Tandy?"

Thrice makes a face. Why would the gods care about those things? He's fairly sure that she intended to make a joke and that he ought to respond appropriately but he's too preoccupied with working out his own problems to muster up 'proper' manners.

"I'd ask the priests to be sure."

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OPEN :: I used to live in a heartbeat city

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