multiversallogs | Entries tagged with gaius baltar

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.

synergismus

Who: Everyone!
What: Events around the city, any time.
Where: Everywhere in Baedal.
When: Whenever you’d like.
Notes:
Behold, your all-purpose open game log. There are a couple pre-written starters to help you generate new and open CR, and you may also use this post to start your own group activities or planned threads. GO WILD!
No one is late to this post. You may use it forever.
The companion thread for this post is right here!
DON'T THINK TOO HARD ABOUT IT JUST RP.
Helpful links: Neighbourhoods, City Map.
Lucky Pastry Advice for the Month of Velldaren: A truly rich life contains love and art in abundance.

Warnings: Zombie horrors in the appropriately titled ZOMBIES! thread, otherwise TBA. Please put warnings in subject lines of your comments if content warrants one.

boomvox

Who: Everyone.
What: The Grand Re-Opening of the Gravity Falls Station.
Where: Babylon.
When: Veerdi to Sukkardi.
Notes: Party post!!! Go nuts y'all.
Warnings: Probable alcohol (and drug?) use. Flag stuff in subject titles if it needs a warning and I'll edit it up in here.

It's clear from the first moment anyone even gets on the Skyrail tonight that the Stratosphere Entertainment Group's pricey investment is going to pay off - every rail car is crowded with people decked out and excited for the event. To natives of Baedal, the idea of a holiday is days off work, maybe some camping - escape is alien, a little frightening, and completely thrilling. Even when the Gravity Falls station had hosted other venues, it was nothing so ambitious as to capture the imaginations of the city as a whole. And to immigrants to the city who no longer have the luxury of even simple trips out of town - well, it's priceless. A bittersweet but suddenly vital excursion.

Doors open just as the sun begins to set, the light reflecting off the water of the ocean illuminating the great floating platform as if the entire sky was on fire, before slipping into deep purple then black, the ceiling of their experience dotted with brilliant stars. Staff members wrangling the hazards of the first night are anxious but excited, kind and helpful even if they end up frazzled by the overwhelming turnout. There is security, all sporting neon purple shirts with lion logos, but even by their own admission, they're only there to breakup fights - and even they're smiling all night, too.

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.

Multiversal

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Entries tagged with gaius baltar

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