tampered | (no subject)

When; Today, July 31st, morning.
Rating; G
Characters; Open to anyone!
Summary; Khan is, once again, sitting at a cafe near the library, drinking tea and reading reading reading. Come pester him!
Log;

Ten days, now, he's been in this city. In that ten days, he'd procured a small apartment, a roof over his head, where he can sleep at night and maintain his hygiene. It will do...for now. How galling, though, that the ruler of half the world has to sleep in a tiny apartment.

Patience. Patience. He would get nowhere tipping his hand now. Plans were already being laid. He spends almost no time in that apartment, he has too much to learn. Hence all his time at the library.

This world's records are...spotty at best. Most of his research comes from the network, where Kirk and his cadre seem to be very active. So...he cut transmission from the network. For now. It didn't suit his purpose to try a new identity yet, not so soon. Although calling himself "John Harrison" might have been in error. If he'd been brought here, it was no leap of logic to assume others from that nest of vipers in Starfleet would be here as well. He should have picked an entirely new pseudonym. Too late now.

He sips at his chai, spiced properly without too much milk. At least this cafe could manage a proper cup of chai. Today, he's leaving off his search for historical records, and is simply reading for pleasure. He's read Being and Time before, but it was many years ago. It was time for a reread. Heidegger was a fool, but an interesting fool. It took a lot of courage to never publicly apologize for his Nazi leanings...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She smiles, but there's something about it - something that doesn't reach her eyes. She's cold, like ice, even when her smile isn't. But it's not a reason for concern.

"Three years, in October. And a year, previous to that, but my memory is not so reliable on that front. I run the garage." She takes a moment, another sip. "My name is Saya Wallace. And you?" The more she speaks, the more perceptible her accent becomes, something clipped and vaguely South African. Namibian, exactly.

"...John Harrison," he answers, deciding to stick to his taken alias for now. Perhaps if word got back to Kirk that he was behaving himself, it would only serve to anger him further.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wallace. Three years, you say? That's quite a long time. You must have seen a great deal of upheaval in this place."

He notices the coldness in her eyes, and makes a mental note of it. Perhaps she can divulge some secrets of this City, tell him what make it - ahem - tick. Three years here, that doesn't bode well. Or perhaps it does. Maybe it's time to shift to long-term plans.

"I've seen things change. Although never so intensely as this summer. We'll see how it goes."

She finally looks away from him, flicks her gaze to her coffee, and sets it down.

"I'm sure you have all the broad details, but I would be happy to paint in the rest. Mostly, I've understood that you do best in the City if you take it in stride, and accept the changes as they come, but at the same time, don't get complacent about it." She shrugs. "I've seen people come for a moment, and people stay for years. There's no guarantee, either way."

"Very broad details, yes," he agrees, interlacing his fingers and setting his hands in his lap. "The level of technology here is more or less analogous to my original time, so there's not much surprising there. The City seems to be more or less circular in layout, reminding me of a clock. The people are a mix of native inhabitants - which makes me question how and why they exist - and people brought in from other worlds. Of those members of the population, they range in time and place from ancient history to distant future. Which makes it seem entirely random as to whom is brought here.

"Am I accurate so far?"

"And from varying world. Some with magic, some without. Sometimes it seems random, but at times there's a pattern - a pattern that's often correlating to the world people are pulled from."

She shrugs. No one from her world in a long time. A very long time.

"Otherwise, yes, accurate."

"The magic is what fascinates me," he confesses, looking genuinely interested.

"Where I'm from, there is no such thing. Magic is left strictly to the realm of imagination. Of course, I was time-tossed myself. I went to sleep in one world, and awoke in another, a world where instant transportation was available, and the creation of food out of mid-air. Which I suppose is magical enough in and of itself."

He feels no compunctions about sharing those minor details with her, as there's no way to connect his identity to them.