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Julian has been trying to remind himself that he isn't a prisoner anymore. Yes, he's stuck in this universe, perhaps trapped forever, but he's not imprisoned in his building. Despite the strangeness of the last 9 days, he has to say that it is certainly a step up from solitary confinement, and prison camp. Nothing is stopping him from going outside, from exploring the streets, the city, his new world. Nothing except for Julian himself, apparently. Which isn't like him. How many strange worlds had he visited that he couldn't wait to start exploring, taking notes on the plants, the medicines, the viruses... this shouldn't be so different, but it was.
He has his job at least. His... training? Whatever it is, it provides distraction as he learns his way around the lab, the research, the equipment. And with it, Imam and Rush, human contact that he finds that he actually, deeply craves every morning. They are the only two people he really knows here so far, and they help, probably more than they know. He misses his lunches with Garak, his evening drinks and darts with Miles... He has been here just over a week, but hasn't found it in himself to seek out much more than what he has now. Eventually, maybe. Instead, he's been going to his quarters... his apartment, and fiddles. He watches TV, getting feel for his surroundings, the culture, the mass information. He has a notebook, and sometimes he takes notes, as if this were an experiment or a patient's medical history chart. It helps, in a strange way. He looks at the appliances, takes some of them apart and attempts to put them back together, which gives him a sense of the technology as well as keeps his mind and fingers busy. While he's figured out the basics, Julian desperately yearns for a replicator. Cooking was never a hobby or skill he had really cultivated, even on Earth. Luckily his apartment had been stocked with plenty of starter basics, but he knew eventually he would have to start shopping and learning how to feed himself properly.
Today, though, Julian had wandered outside. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was frustration at trying to brew a decent cup of tea or coffee with the stupid ancient kitchen contraptions he had been left to deal with. So finding coffee out was a last resort. Easier said than done, apparently.
Really, he was supposed to be a genetically-enhanced genius, or something. How hard should it really be to buy a cup of coffee while navigating around a civilization 300 years in your past? Not this hard, surely. But here he is, finally, standing in what seems to be an unnecessarily long line waiting to order and pay. His wallet is open as he examines the contents for the thousandth time, trying to recall what each card is for and why. He has his small notebook stuck in the back pocket of his new jeans, thoughtfully (and a bit strangely, how did they get his sizes? His measurements, so quickly?) provided by someone, probably ROMAC, whoever they are. Soon he will have coffee, real coffee, and he can sit and watch and learn. But it's hard to plan much farther than the actual coffee part.
He has his job at least. His... training? Whatever it is, it provides distraction as he learns his way around the lab, the research, the equipment. And with it, Imam and Rush, human contact that he finds that he actually, deeply craves every morning. They are the only two people he really knows here so far, and they help, probably more than they know. He misses his lunches with Garak, his evening drinks and darts with Miles... He has been here just over a week, but hasn't found it in himself to seek out much more than what he has now. Eventually, maybe. Instead, he's been going to his quarters... his apartment, and fiddles. He watches TV, getting feel for his surroundings, the culture, the mass information. He has a notebook, and sometimes he takes notes, as if this were an experiment or a patient's medical history chart. It helps, in a strange way. He looks at the appliances, takes some of them apart and attempts to put them back together, which gives him a sense of the technology as well as keeps his mind and fingers busy. While he's figured out the basics, Julian desperately yearns for a replicator. Cooking was never a hobby or skill he had really cultivated, even on Earth. Luckily his apartment had been stocked with plenty of starter basics, but he knew eventually he would have to start shopping and learning how to feed himself properly.
Today, though, Julian had wandered outside. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was frustration at trying to brew a decent cup of tea or coffee with the stupid ancient kitchen contraptions he had been left to deal with. So finding coffee out was a last resort. Easier said than done, apparently.
Really, he was supposed to be a genetically-enhanced genius, or something. How hard should it really be to buy a cup of coffee while navigating around a civilization 300 years in your past? Not this hard, surely. But here he is, finally, standing in what seems to be an unnecessarily long line waiting to order and pay. His wallet is open as he examines the contents for the thousandth time, trying to recall what each card is for and why. He has his small notebook stuck in the back pocket of his new jeans, thoughtfully (and a bit strangely, how did they get his sizes? His measurements, so quickly?) provided by someone, probably ROMAC, whoever they are. Soon he will have coffee, real coffee, and he can sit and watch and learn. But it's hard to plan much farther than the actual coffee part.