Although no one writes here anymore, we still love the work we accomplished and wish to keep it stored here.
Although no one writes here anymore, we still love the work we accomplished and wish to keep it stored here.
Fresh greenery arching through the console room, and of course the expected mistletoe. The only lights however, are those of the TARDIS, so recently restored. To Reinette's eyes there are few things more beautiful, and nothing more appropriate.
Something to truly celebrate.
Three Christmases now, all spent in one another's company.
To Reinette, this one seemed more precious, and promising, than the rest.
OOC: Welcome to the THIRD (how insane is that) annual RS Christmas party as hosted by Ten and Reinette. Thanks to my schedule, we'll have to backdate this one a few. But feel free to dress that muse up, and send them on their way!
Yes, he was lying motionless beneath the console, eyes closed, arms limp, an unmoving hand still gripping the sonic screwdriver for dear life, but he was not asleep. Not at all.
Or so he decided he was going to tell people.
The non-sleep he was in was dreamless, quiet, and about as frustrating and unproductive as the seemingly endless amount of previous days had been. Despite the lack of progress, those who knew him could probably attest to the fact that this was the first moment he'd actually been still since landing in London. It was both welcomed and un-welcomed, welcomed in that it gave him a moment's peace, and un-welcomed in that it had come completely and utterly unbidden.
Then, as quickly as it had come, inside the quiet darkness, there came a light which forced him awake. He sat up, hit his head, and squinted.
"Who turned on the-" Then he grinned. A mad, child-like, long unused grin.
She was working.
He quickly grabbed his communicator (the one he'd never actually used) and as he ran - no, practically danced - around the console, flipping switches, turning on lights, enjoying the feeling of life, he spoke.
"Is this happening to everyone?"
...was wondering who I'd have to throttle to get it working properly once more. Barring that, I was on the verge of asking who I'd have to throttle just to make myself smile. At any rate...
--and I could sodding well use a smile.
--Which was about a millenia too long to be stranded like so.
And I'm not even bloody certain this blasted thing even works any more. For all I know, talking to this lump of technology is just like talking to the Doctor or the Master.
[blast of static]
She ended up behind the house, staring over the landscape of TARDISes before her. It seemed uncanny, so many of them, so quiet, and though she had never actually seen one in action, the stories Jack told made her feel as if that was the last thing that should be.
Gwen sighed, ready to give up and contact Ianto - maybe attempt to contact anyone - over the communicator. She was cold, and it was looking like snow, and this was going nowhere. She wasn't even sure what time it was anymore.
Then, with a twist of the wind, everything changed.
Gwen felt a jolt, almost like a charge in the atmosphere. Every single TARDIS that had before sat silently like wilting flowers in the wintery day - every single TARDIS came to life.
She stood in the midst of them, a small feeling of hope beginning to tremble within her.
It was hard to say how long they'd been here, now.
A few years (a few minutes), it felt like.
No, no, it was certainly over a year. Possibly sliding into two.
The Doctor leaned out of the TARDIS door, watching the few flurries that fell at this late hour. He sighed, then tossed his cane back and forth between his hands. It was new, wooden. Sturdy and strong, and a little more classic. Still, just another sign of how much had changed in two years.
How much had changed in a moment, really.
He looked back into the silver TARDIS that was his and Reinette's home. The black walls were still dull, the lights in the console still dark. Not only had two years passed, but now they were trapped again. Who knew for how long. Trapped here while the stars were out in the sky.
He looked up at the vast emptiness. One might think it was clouds covering the light of the rest of the universe, but no. No, there was no other universe. Just this little part of the universe that had been saved. Everything out there was quiet. Everything out in that night was quiet too.
Everything but the beeping. Wait, what beeping?
There was a beep behind him.
And another. The Doctor spun around and looked at the console to the TARDIS. Lights started going on. The familiar hum of the machine came back.
"Reinette!" he cried, limping back inside. "Reinette!"
Bothering him would probably be beneficial to his sanity, if not his current occupation.
The last time he'd seen Jo, she was playing with the iPod he'd given her. The last time he'd seen Liz was...well, he couldn't remember exactly. Sarah was off with his skinny future self with the strange hair, so he didn't expect her to be around.
So he wandered through the TARDIS looking for his stray assistants.
Herding humans was worse than herding cats.
We're receiving transmissions from CERN along the Franco-Swiss border. Some sort of activity, possibly related to the Hadron Collider. We only got a few moments of transmission, but it sounds like something might be coming through what miniature black holes the scientists created.
I know no one on this radio has a TARDIS anymore, but I've acquired a UNIT van to take anyone interested to the site to investigate.
Is anyone interested?
They didn't talk much on the drive, save for Gwen giving directions over the top of the SUV's navigation system. Ianto couldn't stop thinking about Jack and how they were going to stop the end of the world without knowing where he was. At least last time they'd known where he was.
"Well, here we go," Ianto said, pulling the car to a stop a little ways up from the house that Gwen had pointed out.
After falling out of a tree, hurting his ankle, working on the TARDIS for more hours than he cared to think about and achieving absolutely nothing save several burns on his hands, arms, and bizarrely, his face, he was ready for a cup of tea.
Well, tea and a chocolate chip muffin. As there appeared to be a bit of shortage of chocolate chip muffins, however, he soon elected to abandon that particular craving.
He did have a rather unusual craving for cream, which was odd, as he was more of a milk person himself, on the rare occasion he felt like putting anything other than sugar in at all. There was no logical reason for the sudden need for cream, and if asked to explain it he would most likely, retrospecively, blame it on the already odd, not particuarly pleasant day.
The open refrigerator revealed to him the sad, sad truth of his current situation. There was, in fact, no cream. They had never actually managed to decide whose job it was to go out and get it, and thus, it remained completely and utterly empty.
Then he blinked again.
And then feeling that this situation and the hallucination he was currently receiving required a real, good, thorough blink, he blinked a third time, and did it very really, very goodly, and very, very thoroughly.
A few rubs to the eyes did nothing. A few whacks to the head only gave him a headache. Or rather, it made his headache worse. And also gave him shooting pains all the way from behind his right eye, down to the tip of his left arm.
That probably wasn't good. It fitted in well, then, with the plenty of 'not good' things he was currently completely surrounded by.
The field he was staring at in wide-eyed shock and bewilderment was littered with literally dozens of different TARDIS that did not fade from his vision despite his many efforts to make them do so. They stood like proud dictators that were oppressing their way into existence, or it certainly seemed that way to him, considering they were all, of course, utterly impossible and couldn't possibly be existing without forcing themselves to be so.
He glanced at the sky. That was impossible too. Unless every zeppelin in a certain radius suddenly decided to spontaneously crash land.
He scratched his head.
"This is bad, right?"
And Reinette had been far too idle, far too long. She was one of the first, after all. The group, forced to watch as the Universe dissipated and disappeared around them. Simply gone. Lost. Leaving them forced to wonder what might have been done differently.
For a fortnight she traveled by the only means allowed to them still. With each and every TARDIS silent, answers took even longer now. Oxford. Cambridge. Local new organizations and any and every expert that deemed to see her in the fields of geology, astronomy. Even archeology. File after file, frustration after frustration.
It was true then.
Loss remains with us. We feel it. The Earth feels it.
Weather patterns shifting, the sky weeping like rain. Orbits accounting for what was gone. And while it was still subtle enough that it was not being covered naturally. Those that truly watched, knew.
This was not something that would get better.
Fifteen days after her departure Reinette returned home. Mentally she was still startled how she considered it such. Though it was a clear indicator of why the events frustrated her as they did. She was invested now. Perhaps to an unhealthy degree. The TARDIS seemed empty as she slipped inside, shrugging out of her jacket so that only that wheat colored pants and narrow-cut vest remained. The ivory silk of the shirt beneath proof that while she did not always understand current fashions, she could wield them to her benefit. The gathered files were left in the library, a glass of wine sipped in hopes of calming her nerves.
It did not work.
Without really recognizing the events that took her there, a moment later Reinette was staring at the broken shards of her glass in the fireplace. Another witness to her frustration. Her husband would not speak of it. Or he might. She would deal with it later.
Needed air, Reinette stepped outside, the watercolor milkiness of dusk enveloping her.
Owen ushered Katie upstairs to his room, and gently closed the door behind him. He'd made her take her cup of tea up with her, hoping it would help serve to calm her down and give him a minute or two to think, to formulate some kind of story that would explain what had happened to her.
It was too much, though. Hard enough for him to process, let alone what it must feel like for Katie.
He steered her towards his bed for her to sit down on. Then sat beside her.
"Feeling better?" He asked tentatively, stalling as much as he could. He knew she'd have thousands of questions and he wasn't sure what answers he could give in return.
She doesn't know anything about aliens, or parallel universes, or different timelines, or that I was a part of Torchwood and all that rigmarole. She thinks we're still engaged.
Do NOT talk to her about the above. It will only confuse the fuck out of her. She's going through a lot of shit right now, and has a terminal illness.
Give me time to slowly bring her up to speed.
That's all I'm asking.
(She also wanted someone to explain to her exactly what was going on. There was a field of TARDISes, but no sign of the Doctor yet? Planets and stars had disappeared from the sky? It did not make sense! And where was Romana? Why had the people who had brought her here not brought the President as well? Surely she would be much more useful if the universe truly was ending?)
Stepping out into the garden, Leela sniffed the air. It was not fresh air. The humans who lived in this city spewed out pollutants at a ridiculous rate. Did they not feel nature suffering around them? Perhaps they did not care.
There were several small throwing knives, recently acquired from a dusty box in the attic, tucked into her belt. Their balance was not perfect, but they sat well enough in her hand, and Leela expected she would be able to hit her target – a tree on the other side of the garden – every time.
“I will find out what is happening here,” she vowed in a low voice, before launching her first knife and spearing a leaf.
Saxon straightened his tie and checked his hair briefly in a car's side view mirror. He looked around at the various reporters milling around looking at the space shuttle that landed on Bannerman Lane. He'd stationed police men around it to make sure they didn't get to close, for their safety, of course.
A few hours ago he had been called by the media about the appearance of the craft. An "anonymous" source alerted them to its appearance and they wanted his opinion on the matter. Being a good Prime Minister, he was going to give it to them. Or perhaps it was a bad Prime Minister because he wasn't hiding the truth. He shrugged, not caring and walked up to the small speaking area that they'd provided for him.
He cleared his throat and held open his arms. "What you see here, before you, is not a government experiment. Not from any sort of government at all."
The reporters clamored loudly tossing out questions.
"Let me speak!" the Master declared. They fell silent. He hid a smile. "It is yet another piece of growing evidence that there are aliens among us. Aliens who are massing to do us harm. They have seen our world and its resources and have desired her! The stars are no longer as they are! Our world is under attack," and he paused here, to give them a worried and yet determined look. "Our world is under attack, but I assure you, that we will not go quietly. I will not let us go quietly.
"I will put all our resources into finding these aliens, finding and capturing them so that they will no longer threaten us. We will show them that we are not to be trifled with!"
He took a breath. "Now then, any questions?"
But there were only so many books he could read and so much tinkering he could do before he longed for fresh air and someone to talk to.
He'd given no thought to his companions, and he wasn't even sure if they had stayed in the TARDIS or wandered off to other Doctors. Sarah had, before he'd given up. And to the skinny one with the bad haircut. He still wasn't sure what she could possibly see in him, except that it was him, so he must have some good qualities. At least she hadn't chosen to abscond with the hobo.
The Doctor planted an umbrella in the ground in front of his TARDIS and spread out a blanket before settling down. Someone would come along to talk. This garden was like Paddington Station at the best of times these days.
However, he was not about to go looking in anything private of Sarah's, so he kept to the things on the bookshelves. There weren't that many in the lounge, but that just meant he would finish faster.
As he put a book out, it seemed stuck somehow. So he pulled just a little harder and the next thing he knew books rained down on him.
OOC: Specially for Anna and Katie since they miss Harry so much :) But also for anyone else too
Although, she would much rather be at home with Rhys, but more pressing matters called her to work straight away.
"Ianto?" She shouted, dropping her jacket over the back of the chair. "Ianto, hello, anyone here?"
"Either Rome has changed a hell of a lot since my last visit, or this thing didn't take me where it was supposed to. I'm willing to bet the latter. Question still remains though; where the hell am I?"
It's a momentous day! A day of sunshine and surprises and yes, that would be the French Doctor smiling like the smug, self-satisfied Time Lord he is. If he could skip, he'd probably be skipping. Instead, he settles for a healthy jaunt out of his TARDIS and in the direction of the red sportscar outside.
Oh, for those of us who tuned in late, Reinette did promise to learn how to drive as long as the Doctor made a friend. And, what was that? Oh, yes! He did make a friend!
"Come on, Reinette! Traffic'll be too heavy if we start much later!" It is entirely possible the Doctor is enjoying himself too much.
Katie woke up with a song stuck in her head. It’d been a while since she’d heard it, so she really didn’t mind it running around taking over her thought process somewhat. She quietly sang the verses, happily switching between the words and humming, if a little off-key at times.
She went about making her bed, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, for the longest time, oh, oh, oh, oh, for the longest time,” straightening the sheets and singing softly as she tucked them in.
“If you said goodbye to me tonight, there would still be music left to write,” She wanted to be sure to thank Sarah for asking after her the other day, “what else could I do, I'm so inspired by you,” she made Katie feel at home, “That hasn't happened for the longest time.”
He knew he shouldn't read them but it was hard not to. Not when there were important things he wanted to know, like whether there was going to be a World War III, for instance.
Given that they couldn't change the past, and his future was currently in the past, that surely meant that him knowing about it wouldn't change anything. But then that suggested there was no free will and Ian didn't think he liked that idea particularly. Just thinking about the future being in the past was worsening the headache that came with reading small print. And it wasn't helping him not to look.
ooc: come and meet Ian while I am feeling enthusiastic about playing him, cos I have no idea how long it might last
Thank you so very much.
I could have helped, you know.
What is the point of this sodding thing if you don't ever use it to communicate?
Don't mind me. I'll just keep on blowing up some rubber-glove balloons to amuse my non-existent patients. I don't appear to have anything better to do with myself.
You can tell by the way she's shooting things with that nerf bow-and-arrow set, y'see?
After all, how else would she find what she was looking for? And what Sally was looking for was images. Images of beauty, of loneliness, of abandonment, of sadness. They make her happy, in the way precious little else seems to do nowadays. Bizarrely enough, more often than not she could find them in the gardens of suburban homes. Sad little birdbaths, poor miserable tiny flowers, the odd housecat or squirrel stalking around. And every so often there’s a little statue, and Sally finds herself reluctant to blink.
She’s come to Bannerman road to do what she does best-- trespassing and taking photographs. Her camera around her neck, she finds streaks of light and shadow and garden gnomes aplenty, but so far not much strikes her as sad. Not much worth committing to film, anyway. Her poor camera is turning out to be slightly neglected on this night.
Until she climbs over one fence in particular, and is presented with a sight she honestly never imagined was possible, not even in dreams.
Blue boxes. Rows and rows of blue boxes, all identical to the one she found in the cellar at Wester Drumlins, the one she rescued, the one that left her behind. The one she’d never forgotten.
If she didn’t know she had a photographer’s eye for detail and 20/20 vision, Sally wouldn’t believe her eyes. Just to be on the safe side, she slowly raises her camera and snaps a picture. And another. And another.
Katie sat on the back-porch steps of the house on Bannerman road. The people she’d met so far had been friendly enough about trying to get her back home, though she couldn’t help but wonder if she would be here longer than she’d first estimated.
When the blond man she’d met upon arrival returned her mobile phone after fiddling with it a bit (she had no idea what he’d done to it), she’d tried to call home again, but had gotten Butetown’s Jubilee Pizza delivery line.
Katie began to wonder if she hadn’t gone a tad more nutters since finding out she had a brain tumor.
Coping mechanisms tended to assert themselves in times of stress, and she’d probably start craving a cigarette again soon. Katie had been trying to quit for the past six months, and she’d been good about not smoking for the past few days. Owen had even managed to tease her some about quitting, even up to the last meeting with Doctor Garrett about her illness. But Owen wasn’t here, so why not just have one.
She finally pulled a cigarette out of the pack she had with her on the porch and lit it.