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WHO: Miles Vorkosigan and YOU
WHAT: Weird little space man enters orbit, immediately breaks arm, generally gets in the way
WHEN: From Cloudreach 30 through the first week of Bloomingtide
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Miles's info post is here! i'm sorry, you're welcome

rift entry (first come, first serve)
It's a classic dream: Miles, back in his academy days, suddenly finding himself sitting an exam he hasn't studied for and is drawing dreadful blanks. More ridiculous still that it's a test on a book he already knows inside and out. It's sitting right in front of him, even. His hand is shaking, gripping the light pen a little too hard. He's been sitting here far, far too long without having written a single thing. Oh, god, he's starting to feel dizzy. His palms are suddenly slick with sweat. The room feels like it's tilting on him -- no, it is tilting -- and then the room vanishes away altogether.

By the time Miles realizes he's falling, it's already too late. He tries to curl in on himself and hit the ground rolling, but he connects with it at entirely the wrong angle and lands on his left arm with a sickeningly familiar crack. Dammit, the fall couldn't even have been that far for how fast it happened. Miles gurgles out a curse, only barely registering the unfamiliar scenery and just how strange the air smells amidst the shock. Oh, that's a broken humerus right there.

The odd-looking little man rolls over onto his side with a groan. Too tall and too skinny to be a dwarf, but at only about 4'9, still much smaller than the average adult human. It isn't until he takes a look down at his cradled arm that he notices the bright glowing green fucking shard in his hand.

"What the hell," he wheezes, trying to sit up, "kind of dream is this?"

those who can't with this guy, teach
Miles is a quick study, and not a terrible student, especially with his abrupt and avid interest in all things Thedosian. Part of it is a transparent and desperate attempt at distracting himself from the situation at hand, the rest genuine interest. Everything here is so new, so different and familiar all at once. There is so much here that reminds him of home in odd, fractured ways. Learning more about this place will smooth those edges, break it down into things he can understand.

He will devour just about any subject matter, but the things that will grab his attention most are military history, politics, and magic. Oh, man, he's got like, a million questions about magic. Maybe your character finally has a willing audience to babble on about their pet subject of choice, or maybe your character's just unlucky enough to have been drafted to give the new guy the Thedas 101 course. Either way, Miles will only stop asking questions long enough to breathe.

sleep? in this economy?
There's a lot about this that's hard to swallow. He's a pretty flexible guy as far as his sphere of belief goes, or at least he likes to think so. Sure, this could all still be a dream, but his broken arm feels pretty fucking real. Hell, where he's from they jump through wormholes. He can take this at face value, at least for now. The only part he's having a hard time stomaching is the part where he doesn't go home.

The trick is not leaving himself any room to think about it. Sleep? Way too much room to think in there. So mostly, at first, he doesn't, except in short shifts when he's exhausted enough to pass directly into blissful unconsciousness. So late at night, when there's no more lessons or real work to keep him occupied, he haunts the library. It's late, and he's generally disinclined to ask for help, so when something is out of his reach, he's more likely to try and scale the shelves himself, as one with a broken arm does.

put that thing where it came from or so help me
Miles's Thedas 101 only goes on for so long, and then he is left to stew in frustration over not being able to join most of Riftwatch on the sudden rescue operation. It seems that as quickly as he'd gotten here, some shit had hit some fan somewhere, and everyone's off on a mission. And he can't go, because quarantine.
Realistically, he understands. He can even admit to himself that he probably wouldn't even be able to contribute much, with his broken arm and only nascent understanding of this world. (Mostly the arm.) But that doesn't leave him any less vibrating in idleness, and he's spent a lot of time in the library, and when Miles doesn't have anything else to engage him, he is at the whim of his own curiosities.

What is he doing? Great question. Probably something he's not supposed to be doing, somewhere he's not supposed to be doing it, although he may or may not be aware of that fact. Feel free to find Miles with his nose in anything mildly illicit, awkwardly personal, or hey, unexpectedly benign.

wildcard
[ feel free to find miles anywhere around the gallows or hit me up at

runawayballista for a starter! ]

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Miles winces at the thought of having fallen any father -- or differently, for that matter. A broken arm is a pain, but he could well have broken something much, much less convenient.

"Oh, I'm a real pathfinder," he chirps, tucking the book under his good arm. Miles is the opposite of averse to chat at pretty much all times. Getting him to shut up is the trouble. "Settling in just fine, I think, all things considered." This is a patent lie. Does Riftwatch offer counseling to its home-bereft Rifters? He can almost hear his mother's practical suggestion of therapy. "No shortage of reading, that's for sure. Sort of refreshing, reading paper books for a change. I forgot how comforting the smell of old books was."

"How do you read books at home, if not on paper?" Julius asks, genuinely interested. He's known more than a few rifters, and at least one well, but given the variety of their backgrounds, each one is effectively a matter of starting over culturally. "It's a shame, in some ways, you came to us now; our parent organization had a larger library yet, but we've rather lost access. Or at least easy access; volumes might be had with some diplomatic finesse, but neither quickly nor easily."

"Ah, the politics of the inter-library loan," Miles says genially, now firmly locked into this conversation. Reading is a good distraction, yes, but conversation with another living, breathing person is infinitely more engaging, and he seems to have stumbled upon a remarkably pleasant conversation partner. What are the odds at this time of night?

"With discs on book viewers, for the most part," he starts, then realizes that he may have to explain computers to this man -- then subsequently realizes that it might be shockingly self-centered to assume he's the only Rifter here from a world with computers. "You still see paper books lots of places, but mostly as antiques -- plenty of planets don't have the lumber resources to justify spending a bunch of it on hefty paper books when you can fit several volumes onto one little disc. Very efficient for travel and shipping, too." He makes a little C with his good hand, a vague approximation of the size of the discs.

"We, ah -- we don't have magic where I'm from, such as it is here, except in fiction and old myths, so I suppose we compensated with computers. But there was an ancient Earth writer who said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. I'm beginning to come around to his view on things."

"I think I've heard computers mentioned, but I confess I still don't really have a grasp of what they are. Obviously they do more than compute sums, as the name suggests. Regardless, it would be convenient to have a lighter way to carry texts. I was only able to choose a volume or two when I left the place I grew up, and I suspect a lot of the volumes I left behind were destroyed through either malice or carelessness."

Perhaps Kinloch Hold's library is still sitting there, intact, but Julius would be extremely surprised.

"I certainly know more about magic than advanced technology, so I suppose I come at the comparison from the other direction than you," he adds, gesturing to suggest they might sit. (He assumes Miles' legs are fine, in contrast to his arm, but he also suspects they might want to chat long enough they'd be more comfortable seated. At least they aren't bothering anyone else at this hour.)

"A little misleading," Miles agrees, "but it's what they started out as. Turns out you can do just about anything, if you've got the right numbers."

He takes the proffered seat, and it isn't until his feet are off the ground that he realizes just how tired they are. His toes dangle an inch or so above the ground, and he looks thoughtful. "It is handy for storing large amounts of information. It's all done with rocks and magnets, you know. Sounds ludicrous, doesn't it? That we've settled dozens of worlds, all thanks to rocks and magnets. And you can't forget the numbers," he adds. "Numbers are everything. Five-space math'll turn your brain inside out."

He lets out a sort of whimsical chuckle at that, his mind starting to wander. "I'm a soldier, not a tech," he confesses ruefully, and inwardly he watches for any reaction to that. Scorn or disbelief or even mild surprise, that someone with his body, his disabilities would be allowed to be a soldier. "But I wonder if you couldn't build some kind of magic-based computing system. Just for storing information, even. We use special kinds of lights to write information to those discs. Does your magic do anything with light?"

Julius considers the question seriously. "Many spells give off light, but generally that's a side effect, not the main intention. Glyphs, for instance, tend to glow when they're triggered. And, of course," of course, "you can use magic to create fire or lightning, but those sound a bit violent for the type of thing you're proposing."

He retrieves the paper he'd been using before he started talking to Miles and jots down a note. "...I wonder. We're already using magic to communicate through the books. Engineering some sort of larger storage could be tremendously useful on its own, even if we don't approach your world's capabilities. Open a book and summon the contents of any one of a dozen volumes; you could carry one codex on your travels and not a shelf's worth."

He glances up and adds, "Has anyone showed you the magic books yet? I suspect the welcome may have been abbreviated with so much of Riftwatch away at once."

"Oh, I think you could get there eventually. You just need a start, that's all."

He sits up straight at the mention of magic books, looking quite alert. "No, they have not. Magic books, you say? For communicating what? I thought these -- " He toys with the crystal hung around his neck. " -- were what you use to communicate. Is this for something longer distance? How does it work? Do you write something on a page in one book, and it appears in someone else's?"

"Yes, that's the idea. I suspect your new arrival orientation may have been cut short given the all-hands situation elsewhere. The books, though, they're quite clever."

He reaches for his, which was in a small stack he'd been working from.

"The sending crystals are still what we're using, in a practical sense, but you can insert it into the spine like this." He demonstrates. "We'll have to set you up with a book of your own. By default, the message goes out to everyone and is labeled with your name, but we've worked out how to do anonymous messages ⁠— largely used for stirring the pot when someone gets bored, honestly ⁠— and messages to specific recipients. Take the sending crystal out," he does, and flips through the pages. "All blank again."

Miles blinks, taking that in, then barks out a short laugh. Yes, yes, this is all very fascinating, and he watches Julius and the magic book with rapt interest, his gray eyes gleaming with curiosity. Quite clever indeed. But he's just really stuck on this one thing.

"Let me get this straight," he says, unable to keep a terribly amused grin off his face. "You worked out how to let people send anonymous messages to everyone with one of these things...and you left that feature on?"

It startles him into a quiet laugh. "Well, I wasn't personally consulted. Though I suspect our seneschal might make some sort of gift basket for anyone who worked out how to turn it off. Originally, everyone was anonymous unless you had especially distinctive handwriting, so it was less a feature an incomplete improvement."

Miles levels off on a wheezing snicker, imagining what a mess that could have been. "Well, thank god for innovation, then. Y'know, I think you lot are a lot closer to computing power than you may realize. Just on a totally different track from my world. Say, has that been proposed? Are there any Rifters with a techy background trying to make some wild technological leaps?"

He is clearly extremely keen on the idea, because it seems like a brilliant one. Admittedly, a lot of ideas seem brilliant at 3am, and he is liable to be very keen about all of them.

"You'll want to speak to Stark," Julius says, wry. "He's possibly not the only one, but he's who comes to mind. At least of those who are still here. A few others who've passed through have tried to do their part, too. There was a Rifter named Cosima who left us a microscope, I believe that's still available in the Research department if you ever need it for anything."

The more you know.

"I think we've gained a lot from Rifters trying to make leaps, myself. Though we're necessarily limited by raw materials and the fact that you all seem to be from slightly different places, or different times, or both. A lot of trying to re-invent different tools from different starting points."

"Stark," Miles repeats, committing that to memory, and nods to himself. Yes, he'll have to track down this Stark later. Definitely sounds like someone to know. He lets out a little ha, leaning back in his chair for a moment with a thoughtful look. "Yes, I suppose that does make for a confusing research crowd. Great think tank, though. But ideas are a dime a dozen, or so they say. In the end, I suppose all we could really do is help you invent it yourselves. As you said, your world doesn't necessarily have the resources that any of ours do..."

He drifts off on that, his eyes going slightly out of focus along with his mind as that thought winds down. Then he blinks and sits up straight as though having just received an intravenous shot of espresso, gray eyes bright. Belatedly, it has occurred to him that Julius might be the first mage he's met since his little history lesson with Byerly. "Hey, so what's it like to do magic? I mean...how does it feel?"

Julius' expression brightens, the effect subtle but hard to miss. "That's not a question I often get, especially from non-mages. The subjective experience isn't something there's been much research into, I suspect because it's considered gauche at best to enjoy magic in any way." He can think of a number of reasons why without trying, but he'd rather answer Miles' question.

"I don't have the grounds to speak for anyone else. Personally, it's... hm. Are you familiar with lucid dreaming?" Either by concept or experience; he doesn't specify which.

"Yes, I did get that impression," Miles murmurs, remembering Byerly's surprisingly impassioned take on the matter. Yes, he'd certainly consider that gauche. "Well, I'd be happy to listen, if you're ever inclined to talk about it. Seems like the sort of thing one ought to talk about from time to time."

He rocks back in his seat thoughtfully. "I'm familiar with the concept, though I can't say I've ever experienced it. It'd be a useful skill, though. My dreams tend to have nightmares." He gives Julius a slightly sick smile, though in good humor. That's not necessarily something he'd tell someone new, but Julius is proving to be a rather comfortable person to be around, and Miles does tend to babble when he's tired. "Is that what it feels like, then? Like...passing through a dream?"

Julius tilts his hand; sort of.

"Mages in Thedas don't dream as I understand other people do. Humans and elves — and possibly Qunari, there's a debate about that — enter the Fade when they sleep, but they don't have clear memories of it when they wake. Impressions, fragments. Mages are conscious of being in the Fade when we're there, absent any sort of interference in our perceptions. We also have ways of journeying there that are more controlled and deliberate than falling asleep." He smiles, almost sheepishly, and adds, "I know it's a very roundabout way of answering your question, but I am getting to it, I promise."

He sits back in his chair. "Most of the time, casting spells doesn't involve actually traveling into the Fade. But it always involves tapping into it. For me, doing magic is like... you're very focused, but you're also relaxed. You feel a current of sorts, and you need to work with that current, rather than yanking against it, if you don't want it to snap back in your face. It's what makes runes and glyphs so interesting to me, really; you're tapping into that power in such a way that someone else can tap into it again later, which is very useful, but also very challenging."

Don't worry, Julius, you haven't lost Miles for a minute. He has Miles's rapt attention -- maybe a little unnervingly so -- and he looks absolutely fascinated, and just a touch wistful. Yes, being a mage here means an awful lot of baggage, to put it lightly, and Miles doesn't quite feel like swapping suitcases, but still. Damn.

"I can only imagine." He blinks, a little owlishly, but his left foot is tapping animatedly. "Borrowing power from dreams. It sounds a bit like the accounts of wormhole travel I've heard from jump pilots, the ones who actually stay awake for the journey while the rest of us barely experience a blip in time -- colors you can only see in the five-space tunnels, extradimensional sensations almost impossible to put into words. The sort of thing for which you must have a special sixth sense in order to experience, so to speak."

Julius wants to stop and ask about jump pilots, but he makes a mental note to circle back; instead, he nods. "I was quite young when my magic manifested, so I don't really remember not being a mage, or at least one in training. But some of our rifters come from worlds where more or less anyone might learn magic with the proper training. I confess, it's hard for me to imagine where one would start with no ... intuitive sense, I suppose. Most mages discover their natures here by doing some sort of magic involuntarily as children. It's sometimes not doing unwanted magic that's the first step of training, depending on one's particular flavor of power."

"Ah." Miles tilts his head to the side slightly in acknowledgment, his lips thinning. Yes, Byerly had impressed upon him enough the (ooooh scary) dangers of magic, regardless of intent. "Was that the case for you, then?"

"Mmm," agreement. He should have expected the question, but he hadn't quite. He takes a moment to formulate his answer. "I had an older brother and, as older brothers are sometimes wont to do, he was often a bit rough with me. One day, I'd told him to stop, more than once, and he wouldn't. And I sort of..." He extends hand, a small gesture that's more an echo than a representation of what he'd actually done. "There was a flash of light. He'd been pushed back, and he couldn't get to me when he tried." A wry smile. "At least for a moment or two. I was so startled, the barrier dropped almost immediately. It gave him a scare, though."

It hadn't actually hurt him, though that had been lost in the retelling within the family.

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