Multiversal

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.