"Novel smuggling. The Shadow'd like that. - I don't have a lot of time for anything that's this much of a long shot but listen. There's a library in the green zone. The best bar for keeping your finger on the pulse of the city is the Hip Hog Heaven Saloon in the red zone. And if you haven't taken a minute to listen to the baron's propaganda yet, I hate to say it but it's probably worth doing. That's what people are used to tuning out. And tell me your contact information just in case."

"I'm sleeping and working at the hospital. The propaganda struck me as... incompetent... but I assume it wears on a person after long enough anyway and it might be losing something in the translation."

"People don't believe the propaganda. But they've heard Praxis say 'sacrifice for your city and all will prosper' enough times to roll their eyes if it sounds like Iomedae is saying the same thing."

"- that is an effect from being able to constantly have it on loop that I hadn't realized, thank you."

Nod. Faint smile. "Let me know if all the preaching does anything."

"It would be useful to know when I am preparing spells how likely it is that the Krimzon Guard will take it amiss."

"Very."

"Enough to chase me to the hospital and make it difficult for me to keep healing people?"

"Bribery might work."

"I have already saved many of their lives."

"Tell it to them, not to me."

He nods and starts packing up his progress on the sermon-snippet translations.

Torn is pleased with this turn of events and gets back to... something, which he is being very careful not to give Blai a direct view of.

Yes, yes, nobody trusts him, that's normal.

He goes back to the hospital, runs out the Voluminous Vocabulary duration working on his sermon, and heals people. And mends things, if there are more things in need of it.

Nothing dramatic interrupts.

Oh no, that means that tomorrow he has to go out and give a sermon. Why is this his life.

Anything exciting going on in the morning after his prayers?

In a hospital? Always. Nothing politically important, though.

He does the first channel of the day and he casts Voluminous Vocabulary and sketches the outline of something to say and makes a heroic and ultimately successful effort not to vomit about it and goes for a walk. To the saloon to start.

The port is in the industrial zone, which is beyond translucent red barriers that his security pass lets him walk through. The place itself has a giant hip hog statue over its purple neon sign. Inside, most of the floor is taken up with a boxing ring; there are little alcoves along the walls, with booths in them, and the bar is across the room from the entrance, and behind the bar is a huge mirror so people sitting on the barstools can watch the door without turning around. There are taxidermy metal heads mounted on the walls between the alcoves.

It's morning, and not the wee hours thereof. The Hip Hog is nonetheless open. There are two off-duty Krimzon Guards - Blayde who first showed Blai pictures is one of them and the other is the woman who was saying something about cute prisoners the morning after he slept in their barracks - sitting by themselves in booths on opposite walls. There's someone who was working at the hospital all last night and is now slumped over the bar with her head on her arms. There's a man with a whiny voice saying something condescending to someone who isn't arguing back. There's a bartender with a lot of cleavage showing and a one-eyed bouncer who isn't from Golarion and therefore cannot possibly be from Garund even if he looks like it.

And there's a very unwell person so fat he's almost spherical sitting on a floating chair connected to him by strange tubes. There's a portrait of him on the wall. When Blai enters he's slowly spinning, surveying the room.

How are you supposed to learn what's going on by sitting here. What a miserable place.

His general idea for how to try to give a sermon was to start talking to one or maybe a couple of people, kind of unnecessarily loudly, and try to attract eavesdroppers gradually, but he isn't sure where to start. He picks his way across the room to the bar and sits at it.

The bartender cheerily greets him and asks if he'd like something to drink. His coworker waves tiredly.

"Not at the moment, thank you. I'll get out of the way if the place fills up."

She giggles. "That won't be till green noon. Maybe with a little bit of a lunch rush." The green sun is at its zenith about six hours after the yellow sun; it's the yellow sun whose dawn his spells refresh with.

"I'm sure the food's lovely, I just haven't been drawing a wage for my work since arriving on this planet."

Bartender makes a sympathetic noise.

Coworker raises her head and looks at Blai sharply.