bluesuit_handy: (.serious | arms crossed)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
The news about what the rebels have been up to is disquieting, as well as more of a surprise than it ought to have been. Andrew -- or rather, the Doctor -- has certainly encountered enough pairs of opposing factions to know that the enemy of one's enemy is not necessarily one's friend. All the same, he'd let himself get lulled into complacency when it came to the rebels by the friendly face the organization puts on and by their thus far fair treatment of himself, James, and the other rifties he knows who live in the base.

Cutting ties with the organization is easier said than done when one has a permanent residence in a city one cannot leave. It's only common sense, though, that they're certainly not going to keep going to the rebels for medical care. Word of mouth has informed them of a neutral clinic in town and it's to there that Andrew and James resolve to find a doctor to will see them through Andrew's pregnancy. Today's appointment is meant to be just a checkup with a side of meet and greet to familiarize the new doctor with Andrew's unique situation, but there's also some niggling doubt in Andrew's mind. He can't pinpoint the conception date, of course, and he's still not sure what his time split in twain did to his bodily processes, but it seems to him that he's fatter, sooner, than he should be. He at least doesn't feel like vomiting all the time anymore, but it's been replaced by an urge to nap.

"I'm going to be a blimp," he says to James as they step inside the front door. To an outside eye he still looks rail thin, but Andrew knows better. These trousers are a size up from his usual and he doesn't like it one bit, thank you very much. Only half joking, he adds, "And I hope you realize it's your fault."
bluesuit_handy: (.smile | putting coat on)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
The fact that tonight is the night of the full moon seems entirely coincidental to Handrew. It's something he notes idly in passing, the same way he more or less notices all the odds and ends of the Earth calendar as they go slouching by. It's a night for witching, if old superstitions are to be believed. Or, in the modern day, it's an evening for bundling up in all his warmest clothing before coming by the base to pick Daine up for a sleepover. His and James's vague affiliation with the rebels gets him past Phil without a hitch once more, and then he's off through the maze of hallways, miraculously only going down two wrong turns before he finds his way to Daine's door and gives it a smart rap with his knuckles.
fragmentation: (Blank - Surveying)
[personal profile] fragmentation
James is already in the park when he sends the TARDIS a text, so it doesn't take particularly long to walk up and locate the TARDIS. It's strange, seeing her. It's been a long while since last time, and she's both painfully familiar and strikingly foreign to him. He still remembers some of the Doctor's connection to her, even if he doesn't really connect with it. Or at least most of him doesn't.

Last time, or any time with this consciousness, he wasn't telepathic though, so he reaches out tentatively with his mind to greet her a while before reaching his physical form. As he reaches her, he knocks ever so gently on the door. Not to make his presence known, so much as a greeting.
bluesuit_handy: (.surprised | mild surprise)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
Andrew stretches and turns over, his back popping and his movements inadvertently pulling the covers off James's side of the bed and wrapping them around him. Fortunately, when he reaches over he finds the other side of the bed empty, so he hasn't actually stolen them from James. Wait, fortunately? Waking up without James there isn't fortunate, even if James sleeps so little that it's a fairly common occurrence. With a grunt to himself, Andrew sits up and rubs sleep out of his eyes. Now that he's awake, he realizes he can hear the shower running. Hasn't been that long since James got up, then.

Nothing to do, really, but wait. Blearily, he leans over to grab the remote off the side table before flopping across the foot of the bed and clicking the TV on and flipping to the local PBS. This time of morning, he should still be able to catch the second half of Sesame Street.

For a few seconds, he thinks he's having trouble hearing the television. As he squints and listens hard, though, that turns into the thought that maybe he's on the wrong channel -- or maybe they're having a skit in another language. It doesn't sound like any language he's ever heard, though, and when Elmo's segment ends and Big Bird has a chat with some kids in the alley, they're all making the same unrecognizable sounds. Worried now, Andrew takes a drastic measure and changes the channel, seeking out a news station. The hosts of the morning chat/news show chuckle and gesture over something they've been shown.

"Ahuyyak?" asks one. His cohost laughs and replies, "Nuunuunuu! Hrebhrahrah, usi bo."

"...James?" calls Andrew, eyes still fixed on the screen.
bluesuit_handy: (.interested | intrigued)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
Freshly showered, his hair still damp, Andrew lounges on one of the beds in the upscale hotel room he's sharing with James, watching telly and listening to the sounds of James taking a shower in his turn. It's late enough in the morning that all the good little boys and girls are at school, which means an unfortunate lack of the sort of cartoons meant for school-aged children. He's already flicked through several channels showing news (to be fair, he did watch one for a little while, to see if anything particularly exciting is going on -- it's not), and has finally given up on finding what he really wants to watch and settled on a bit of Sesame Street instead.

As if to compound his failure to watch television like an adult, he's chosen to do his lounging with his head hanging off the foot of the bed, feet shoved under the pillows. He holds a bowl of dry cereal on his chest, from which he occasionally picks pieces to munch as Big Bird and co. tell him all about the letter R. The bathrobe in which he dressed after washing is rucked up, leaving his legs largely bare -- in a while he'll have to get up and put something on, but for now the room's warm enough and he's lazy enough that he's content to stay where he is a few minutes longer.

[OOC: Smut ahead! You have been warned, dear darlings.]
essentiallyharmless: (Grand as a whale)
[personal profile] essentiallyharmless
Since discovering more about the specifics of her talent, Lucy has taken up the surprisingly lucrative job of pickpocket. It's a lot simpler when there's practically no risk involved. If she gets caught, she manages to turn back time just enough not not make the mistake again. So far it's worked, though a few times she's had to get into just enough trouble to be scared enough to be able to do her little trick. It's a somewhat exhausting job because of that.

She's been picking her subjects carefully, though. Rich people with enough to spare mostly, but especially people she felt like deserved it. Like she's being Robin Hood, except she keeps the money for herself. She'd meant to go alleviate some of Peter's customers of more money, but then Gabriel had been one of them. Lucy didn't feel like chatting with him, and Peter hasn't done any new show since that.

Today, she's more focused on spending some of her (sort of) hard-earned cash. She got herself a brand new outfit, a massage and a manicure, and had her hair done - not for any particular reason, just to feel good. It's nice and familiar, from back when life was simpler. Budgeting isn't something that concerns her these days.

At the moment, she's sitting on a bench by Wollman Rink at the south end of Central Park, watching people ice-skating and blowing soap bubbles. Because why not?


After arriving more or less right in Times Square the other day, the Doctor has been doing a lot of running around. He's gotten distracted by more than a few little things on the way - always some small mysteries to figure out, whether they have extraterrestial roots or not.

He's also gone sightseeing a little bit. By now, the novelty is wearing thin. He can't do anything to the rift in his current TARDIS-less state, and he's not quite bored enough to do something really stupid. Romac and the rebels are hardly ideal groups, but he didn't see any great injustices being done, and nothing that demanded his immediate attention. He's currently skeptical to both, but neither are planning world domination - just world defending, which he can get behind, even if their methods are questionable. Until he does further poking, anyhow.

Currently, he's ignoring weird looks while running around 56th street with a beeping device that looks very definitely homemade. Occasionally he'll run up to someone and scan them with the beeping device, only to vaguely apologise and keep moving.


James has found out that it's difficult to find a great flat to move into in a single day. Him and Andrew have therefore taken up temporary residence at a somewhat fancy hotel in the East Village. Turns out it's really easy to get money when you can just ask the ATMs for some with your mind, and they give it to you.

He's also spent quite a bit of time discovering what it means to have a biological body. Recognising the different needs, making sure not to overindulge or tire himself out - and tons of little things that most people don't even think about. Getting cravings for sugar, what it feels like to stub your toe, getting car-sick. It's an interesting learning experience.

Today he's taken a break from any and every responsibility, and is indulging his need to be nice. Mostly he's been surprising people with paying for them at local shops, giving big tips to street musicians, that sort of stuff. Little gestures that put smiles on people's faces, and sometimes leads to lovely conversations.

"You want some?" he asks a random stranger who'd paused by the Nuts4Nuts stand he'd been buying some honey-roasted almonds from.

[Lucy is still untagged.]
fragmentation: (Serious - Contemplative)
[personal profile] fragmentation
James is having a pretty regular day. They're planetside, on a lovely little world called Hedenex. He's taking an exploratory stroll, dressed in one of his three-pieces suits, walking through the complex cityscape they're visiting, enjoying the unfamiliar sky.

He's spent most of the day running around with Andrew, seeing sights, meeting people, testing the cuisine, and letting the dogs stretch their legs a bit too. But Andrew and the dogs only have so much energy, so James has left them to get some rest. James doesn't really need to worry about those things, so he's been getting some exploring done on his own. It's a very welcoming area.

He's just about to head back to ship, when he stumbles. This in itself is unusual, given how surefooted he normally is. But it only gets weirder from there. His systems go haywire, his vision and most of his senses cut out completely. There's a moment of panic, but he doesn't have long to dwell on it before he wakes up in an entirely different place. That is, places.


James, or rather the Ambrose part of him, comes to on a streetcorner on the Upper East Side, near Harlem. He's breathing, which is most unconventional. When did he start breathing? Up until a moment (or however long it's been) ago, he was completely robotic.

It's not the first time he's been put in a flesh body, however, so he manages to adjust fairly quickly, getting slowly to his feet. He doesn't much care for the cold, though. Perhaps this is just another Time Scoop, but it's usually less unpleasant.

But no... Because there's something missing. Great chunks of his mind are gone, and he feels strangely empty. Oh, not his memories. Those are still there. Not as organised and reliable now he's got a biological body, but there. His two imported personalities. The Doctor and the Master. They're gone. Yet somehow he can still sense them. As if they're here, but not part of him anymore. He's not sure what this means.

It doesn't occur to him how strange he must look, standing here in the cold, looking confused and lost.


Across town, the Doctor wakes up. He's in a café in the East Village, down on 10th street - though he himself doesn't know much more than that it's a café, and that he's currently slumped against the wall in a booth.

He goes through much the same thought process as Ambrose. They have the same memories of course, more or less the same mental capacities; the only difference is how they react to it. And the Doctor is worried. Deeply worried. If he's split free, that means the Master is probably also wandering around somewhere. He can feel that much. A presence in his mind, but far too distant and vague for him to pinpoint it.

First of all, where is he? His surroundings aren't much help. Back in his old body, he could've smelled it. He's not sure how reliable this new nose is, but he hasn't the memories to recall which place smells like what anymore in any case. It definitely doesn't look much like Hedenex, though.

He prods the shoulder of a random patron. "Pardon me, but could you tell me where I am?"


Meanwhile, approximately right between the two others, in the back of a dark McDonalds on 42nd street, right off Times Square, the Master version of James wakes up.

He, unlike the two others, is not quite so worried, once he's realised what's happened. In fact, he's rather delighted. His personality is often kept quite buried, at least compared to the other two. He's not so keen on finding them, though he feels that they're here somewhere, now he's finally got a body of his own.

He grins to himself, and pushes out the backdoor of the restaurant, out onto 41st street. It's not particularly crowded, but there are a few walking around. "You, human, where am I?" he asks one of them.


bigapplesauce: (Default)
The Big Applesauce


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