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faderift2020-05-04 08:17 pm
forwardmomentum) wrote in faderift2020-05-04 08:17 pm
Entry tags:
[ open log ]
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
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
no subject
"Sister Sawbones," Miles says, with just a touch of sheepishness. He'd damn near been in hysterics on arrival. Not best-ever first impression, but he came away rather appreciating her. "She has a terrific bedside manner. And a surprisingly firm grip."
no subject
Not to gossip, of course.
"She's well accustomed to working without mages, but I think a fractured bone is always worth a look—unless, of course, the break was grievous enough to warrant support even after healing. I'm Leander, by the way. Lovely to meet you." In the torchlit doorway of an empty library in the middle of the night. (In the Gallows, for extra spook points.)
no subject
"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." A sincere enough sentiment. Leander seems promisingly interesting. Miles likes interesting. On the subject of his arm, though, he clears looks a little embarrassed.
"Ah -- no, it wasn't that bad of a break. The good Sister offered to get a healer, but -- " He clears his throat with a rueful grimace. "I was feeling a little overwhelmed at the time, and we don't really have magic where I'm from, and it was all just a little too much for my nerves. So I heartily declined. I imagine that'd seem a bit, er, backwards to you." It sounds silly now that he says it out loud. Eugh.
no subject
"Not at all," he answers, with the hint of a smile. "Most people here are terrified of magic and revile those who wield it. You'll fit right in." Assuming he'll have to explain, he goes on, "This fortress was once a place where mages dwelt—what we call a Circle. I'll leave it to you to guess why it's on an island."
The nervous energy this little man seems to emanate—Leander expects to be annoyed by it before long, but it's entertaining enough for the time being.
no subject
He clears his throat, feeling a little awkward. "I don't think there's anything repulsive about magic -- quite the contrary. I'm curious to learn more, preferably from someone who actually uses it."
In retrospect, turning down magical healing in a world without morphine is the sort of move that only panicked idiots make. Well, a panicked idiot is as a panicked idiot does. It wouldn't be the first time.
no subject
He's extinguishing his cigarette, carefully, with little pinches of finger and thumb, tucking the remaining half away in a stiff paper pouch as he goes on.
"I happen to be someone who uses it." Uses—what an ugly verb to apply to a mage's relationship to his magic. If he weren't of a mood to put this Miles at ease, he might say so. "How much have you learnt so far?"
no subject
He offers his good hand in a gesture, open, palm out. "Call me crazy, but I'd rather hear about it from the horse's mouth -- so to speak. Something tells me there's more to being a mage than the risk of demon possession."
covers timestamps with my hand
It's not a conversation he cares to have with a rifter at this hour—or any hour, honestly, one does get exhausted of these people at times—and so a more practical answer is attractive to him. There's only so much one can explain of magic; the true eloquence is in the thing itself.
"I could show you, if you like."
time is fake
He holds up his broken arm without thinking, then winces. Stop moving, Miles.