[Action/Video]

[ex_vorbarra50]

[Not necessarily every day Luceti gets an emperor incognito running around. Or really, just walking around with the slightest slump as if to carefully disguise his military upbringing. He's pretty good at it, too. He appears to be soaking things in, his black-and-silver wings folded as tightly as possible against his back, betraying a heck of a lot of tension in this new and nervous environment. Green foliage betrays Earth; ergo, Luceti must be somewhere on Earth. Held by someone who has a use for a twenty-five-year-old foreign mascot head of state. Could be anyone. Simon Illyan must be having conniptions. He can't even imagine his Prime Minister.

He doesn't expect to be recognized by galactics. Barrayar is so backwoods by galactic standards that he'd be a lot more surprised if he was recognized. Still, his name itself is plenty widespread--not everyone has a planet named after their family--so it'd be best to use the Bleakman alias he'd cooked up while trying to go to sleep.

Still. Wings. If this makes him count as a mutant, his anxieties over being Emperor are officially moot. There's a disturbing amount of comfort in that.

Round and round he goes, getting dizzier and dizzier from hunger until he finally heads into Seventh Heaven and offers to work to pay for food.

Imagine his surprise.

Other than that, he'll be around town, starting no conversations, examining things a little too long, and mostly looking preternaturally blank. Or, to some eyes, just plain glum.

At some point, he'll finally say something over the journals, which are easy enough to figure out.]

Excuse me. [The slightest lift to one eyebrow as he realizes how weird and liberating it feels to address a question to an entire network of people without a full security team, monitors, holoprompter, etc.] Is anyone looking for hired help?

Player Name: Tori
Are you new?: No!
Character Name: Gregor Vorbarra
Character Fandom: The Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold

Comments

[voice]

[ex_vorbarra50]

[A vaguely impatient sigh.] Just write it down. [Gregor has no drive to prove himself to this man.]

[ Written ]

[theblogger]

[ And, magically, there it is, in a tidy, if stunted scrawl. ]

Carton of milk (2%)
Pack of eggs
Loaf of wheat bread
A pack each of Swiss, mozzarella, and cheddar cheese
1lb sliced ham
1lb sliced roast beef
Breakfast tea (usually a large box of tea bags but if you can find them triangular that is even better)
1 pack of cigarettes (low tar)

To Community House 2, flat 21

Thanks for the help! :) [ Yes, he has even scrawled a small smiley, although it is right side up ]

[ Written ]

[notquiteheartless]

[Legible but not quite as neat, though with a heavier press of the pen, three more words appear.]

Not low tar.

[ Written ]

[theblogger]

You're on a diet.

[ Written ]

[ex_vorbarra50]

[Gregor watches this exchange with growing intrigue and amusement. Who are they? Friends? Family? Partners? Somewhat vitriolic, regardless. So much so that he's reminded of Miles and Ivan. Okay. First to find the grocery store. As small as the town is, it doesn't take him too long. After that, he has to start figuring out the whole system to the grocery store--oh, all the fresh produce is at one end, which makes sense, so you only have to install refrigeration on that end. Or wait...then there's refrigeration over here for frozen things. This makes no sense. And then all along one wall for dairy, meat, eggs. Breakfast teas are not in the same place as other beverages, and he stares at a prepackaged box of tea bags in his hand, perplexed. Just how much was being spent back home to ensure he always had loose-leaf tea? Heaven forbid anything cheap wind up in the Imperial Stomach.

All the while, he pauses to crack the journal open to keep reading this fascinating conversation. The more he knows, the better he can get along.

Eventually, he goes back to the conversation to discuss the item that would make his Betan foster-mother wince the most.]

Which is it to be? Tar or low tar?

[No gold star for him--he's been here fifty-eight minutes by the time he writes this.]

[ Written ]

[theblogger]

Low tar, please? He's just going to chew them anyway.

[ Written ]

[ex_vorbarra50]

[The camera catches the slightest grin that's still a grin ever.]

All right.