applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
 photo anigif_enhanced-buzz-29762-1378302740-10_zpse82a67eb.gif

Ah, October. A time of crisp weather, beautiful foliage, pumpkin spice lattes—and the flu. Make sure you get vaccinated!

Of course, vaccinations can't keep you safe from everything. Especially not a capricious, omnipresent entity that has, quite recently, been treated to the highly entertaining sight of someone struggling with illness for the first time in their life. Oh, dear. Someone's been giving the Rift ideas.

On the morning of October 2nd, those rifties who would never consider getting vaccinated against paltry human illnesses--because why would they need to?--will find themselves awake to a new level of personal hell: the flu. It will instantaneously infect any entities who are generally immune to such things, leaving them snotty, achy, miserable, and completely powerless to stop what is happening to them. What is this?! Are they dying? Oh god, the pathos.

Symptoms will persist until October 4th. Get plenty of rest, stay hydrated, and maybe investigate the wonders of chicken soup. Probably don't go see a doctor. Clinic doctors will be very confused and unhelpful about your weird anatomy, and The Doctor will probably be really gross and contagious.

Definitely don't consult WebMD. No good can come of that.

[OOC: Post here for initial reactions or start your own threads using the tag Event: Flu Season. Characters who can be affected are: the Doctor, the TARDIS, Zagreus, Aziraphale, Crowley, Desire, Ascended Daniel, Gabriel, Lucifer, and Rashad. You could probably also make a case for various other non-human/not-quite-human folks. No one's gonna tell you you can't have the flu, okay. Go nuts.]
i_jones: indiefairy @ LJ (guys there's all this pizza and turtles)
[personal profile] i_jones
Welcome, welcome. Not through that door. I mean, you can try it, but all doors lead to breakfast. Even that one underneath the console. You thought you were being clever. Maybe once you've behaved yourself and the TARDIS judges you to be worthy, you can explore a little more. For now, breakfast. For one night only, the TARDIS has become - or rather, has been inhabited by - King Ianto's Coffee Stop. Would you like to join the club? He has pamphlets. And buttons! But more importantly, he has breakfast. Lots of breakfast. The countertops of the cozy diner are lined with plates of breakfast foods galore - bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, cockles, laverbread... and okay, there are American staples too. There's your pancakes and your french toast and hash browns and cupcakes or whatever strange sweet things Americans eat for breakfast. Oh, and tea. Lots of tea. And if you ask very nicely, King Ianto himself might brew up some of his very own coffee. It's so good, it has a cult following.*

The walls are decorated with a strange collection of primarily alien souvenirs. There's one whole section of postcards from other planets and galaxies. GREETINGS FROM MARS! says one particularly upbeat postcard, featuring swathes of blue sand and a setting blue sun. Many others are unreadable. There are flags, leis of unfamiliar flora, letters of commendation (right next to WANTED signs), photographs both old and new of various people and various Doctors posing next to various monuments and landmarks, and strangely enough, what looks to be a stolen sign commemorating Ianto's death, from the management of Mermaid Quay. Have a look around! You never know what you might find. Probably none of it is dangerous. The food definitely isn't.

Oh and also the ceiling is space and outside the windows is space and spaaaaaace.**

*((Ianto has an undiscovered power: his coffee improves you. Your health, your powers (temporarily), your mood, whatever needs fixing. Please drink responsibly.))

**not actually space
whofrownedthisface: (pretty)
[personal profile] whofrownedthisface
With his trip to the park having turned out more fruitful than originally envisioned, the Doctor hurries back to the TARDIS, though still with next to no idea what he's up against. Something, that's for sure. Not a riftugee (so much cleverer than riftie, but it just won't catch on somehow), and it doesn't seem like there's any manifestations to investigate on site in the park. But clearly something is up. At least the rift isn't sucking in monsters from who knows where or messing with the park's timescape. And if Daine's affliction is the only trouble, well. Just being honest. Not really the crisis he got out of bed for. Metaphorically speaking.

Upon returning to the TARDIS he sets to with his usual flurry of console activity, calling up maps full of squiggly concentric lines, popping in all the readings he'd gathered, reading about strange weather phenomena involving frogs. Just an oddity to resolve, hopefully in time for lunch (why not cucumber sandwiches?), guaranteed to lift his spirits and maybe even provide new insight into the rift.
lottawork: (think the thoughts)
[personal profile] lottawork
The days without his laptop were not pleasant or painless ones, nor was it particularly easy to make any notable progress in any work-related or personal or significant areas while deprived of that rather key resource, but since Rush's series of, for lack of a better term, decommissions, he has had very few opportunities to return to the TARDIS to obtain it.

He was extremely grateful, to say in the least, to receive an explicit request to do so, and coupled with an invitation to understand the TARDIS in a more hands-on and constructive manner; neither were opportunities he could think to refuse.

He leaves after his return from work. He leaves his apartment with its darkened spill of equations across walls and the thickening heat and the shattered head it does not represent, does not in any way represent, and locks the door firmly behind him. The confinement of the physical becomes infinitely more escapable when one habitually surrounds oneself in the theoretical, in the unquestionably conceptual, in what can only be captured in the lines and curves of numbers against an unmarked expanse.

The TARDIS defies all these conventions. Infinite potential contained in theoretically finite space, brought to a point on an axis unquantifiable.

It is an unspoken relief to vacate the contained, arid hell of his apartment, and an even greater one to at last make out the blue outline of the TARDIS between the trees, the release from the park's numberless haze. He draws even with the door and knocks, even and controlled, and shifts back one pace, unconsciously redistributing his weight in vague curiosity as to who will answer: the TARDIS, or her pilot.

He knows without question which he prefers.

i_jones: (thank you intern ianto)
[personal profile] i_jones
Once you get to the TARDIS - because you did follow those blue balloons through Central Park, didn't you, you got that clue, and maybe those of you with good (or not-bad) intentions found it a little easier to find, and were drawn to it, even - anyway, once you get to the TARDIS, you find a sign on the door, which is ajar. No, not that sign, a handwritten sign taped to the front that says PARTY (I PROMISE) with an arrow pointing inside. And yes, oh, isn't the console room nice, how merry-go-round, whatever. More importantly, there are signs on every door out of the room that say assorted things like PARTY THIS WAY and ALSO THIS WAY and JUST PICK ONE REALLY. There is one festive balloon tied to the console.

If you go through any or all of the doors, you'll find yourself in a room with a very large pool (that one might say looks like this one except much grander in scale). The pool is lined, not excessively, with taps in various shapes, sizes, and colors. Some pump out bubbles, some foam, some clouds, some... who knows? Surrounding the pool are chairs and tables with appetizers, desserts, drinks, and various types of cake. Also pie. There's a jukebox tucked into a corner playing a mixture of 80s songs, unfamiliar songs from various points in the future, and the occasional song in an alien language with a good beat. There are rooms if you need to change, and some doors might even take you to the wardrobe room if you need a bathing suit. And I guess you could explore further if you really wanted to, but why do that when you can party? Because most doors will probably lead you back to the pool room, let's be real.
etherthief: (playing with fire)
[personal profile] etherthief
Iman hits the rendezvous point at 11am sharp, fed, caffeinated, and now enjoying a smoke in the open air. Mr. Fring seemed moderately suspicious that they both requested Wednesdays off, but whatever, right? Everyone's entitled to a day off. What if they need to make a doctor's appointment? She snickers to herself about that.

She feels good about this. She feels good about Dr. Rush. She can't believe her luck, finding such a solid confederate on her first day of ROMAC training. Going to make the process a lot better. And now she gets the pleasure of introducing him to the most impressive thing he'll probably ever see. She hopes the Doctor is in, so to speak.

She leans against the stone archway and smokes, passing a calm gaze around, until she spots the string Scotsman approach. She smiles and gives him a cheery wave.

"G'morning," she says. "We ready?"
i_jones: lenyia @ LJ (i feel so bloated lately you know)
[personal profile] i_jones
It's drizzling. New York City is wet and foggy around the edges. It almost feels like Wales, except for the soaring buildings and strange accents and the button next to his bed that lets him call cute nurses to his aid. He owes a call to Zach, eventually, the cute nurse who's gone Nightingale on him, to tell him that he left his mobile in Ianto's room. He left it there because Ianto distracted him after he put it down, but, semantics. He thumbs the rubber buttons, wondering if it matters to anyone else that he's being discharged. Technically he's just transitioning from in-patient to out-patient, but they can't very well get him to come to physical therapy once a week if they can't find him once he's left.

He leaves the mobile on his bedside table and buzzes the nurse station. Zach will find it. He wraps his hand around the bane of his existence and pushes himself slowly, laboriously, out of bed. He doesn't mind having a cane, necessarily. It's got a Bond villain sort of vibe. It's more that it's ugly as sin, a plastic tortoiseshell monstrosity with a padded handle and clawed feet. There's no way he's walking around New York with it; he'll need to get a new one once he's released. Stop by the... cane store.

He shuffles past the nurse station, smiling at the boys on duty. He'll miss the steady supply of attractive nurses morally and legally obligated to help him. He won't miss needing to be helped. He stops by the childrens' ward, oncology, psychiatric, Agatha downstairs, wishing well as he goes. Who doesn't like a visit from a handsome young foreign boy? More to the point, Ianto was curious to see if there were any other rifties in the hospital. If there are, they're keeping mum.

He stops by the cafeteria for a cup of tea and a breather. He's never made the rounds like this - he's taken to walking around (or rather, Zach makes him) to gather his strength bit by bit, but only short trips, never to the point of feeling winded. It'll do more harm than good to overexert himself now, they keep telling him, but Ianto's had rather enough of underexertion to last him a good long while.

He returns to his room with another cup of tea. The sterile, off-white linoleum and pale blue curtains are so familiar now as to almost feel like home, and it disgusts him to his core. Someone's left the clothes he arrived with on the bed, neatly folded, just as charred as they were five months previous. He closes the door and sits to dress himself. The shirt and pants aren't bad off, and they've been laundered to lose the smell of ozone and smoke. The coat, however, has been eaten through on the back, the wool patchy and holey around the shoulders and the arms. Good thing he doesn't need it today. None of it fits, of course, and the sick feeling he compartmentalizes into a very deep part of his brain settles in his stomach. He pulls the belt tighter and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt to hide their looseness. He leaves the tie off; he feels like a clown even as he thinks about putting it on.

The rain has relented, the haze lifting a little, and Ianto stares out the window, barely filling in the shape of his previous life.
whofrownedthisface: (the fuck is that)
[personal profile] whofrownedthisface
The sound of the Doctor's arrival in the Ramble ought to be much more catastrophic than it is. Much more fitting for a crashlanding than the anti-climactic whump of a bird-boned body hitting the ground, followed by the collectively stunned silence of park and Doctor alike. Quickly broken by a convulsive intake of breath and couple of coughs, as the Doctor rolls into a slightly less crumpled heap, recovering from having the breath knocked out of him on impact. His attitude is that of someone who has just lived an entirely foreseen consequence, and would absolutely do it again given the opportunity.

He had taken every precaution, hadn't he? Well, every precaution except not seeking out the rift. And he hadn't even done anything to it yet. Not much, anyway. Just some preliminary prodding. The Doctor gets up, pats himself down gingerly, an inventory of bodily integrity as well as pocket contents. All the important things, screwdriver, yo-yo, and--yes, chalk. The geography of the area is right for rocky outcroppings, and the Doctor means to find one and write on it for awhile. First order of business: • Do not prod the rift.
johnny_truant: (awe)
[personal profile] johnny_truant
Scout can tell something exciting is happening. Johnny's never taken him all the way to the Ramble before. He maneuvers around more wildly than usual, tugging this way and that, sniffing everything and letting out the occasional enthusiastic yap. Johnny trots along with him indulgently, his gut a tumultuous knot of thrill and anxiety. The certainty he'd had right after Seth had taken his power has lessened now, replaced again by doubt - what if this doesn't work? What if he gets there and has no choice but to turn back?

He feeds off Scout's nervous energy as he draws closer to where she is. Before he'd felt a sort of inexorable pull toward her, but now he feels nothing. A good sign, perhaps? Or had he only imagined it before?

He almost freezes when he sees her - just the top of her structure, standing bright beautiful blue - the blue of his house - against leafy green. He slows down to a crawling pace, leading Scout to look up at him wonderingly. Johnny can almost hear his heart pounding, his pulse thrumming strong all across his body, tight and hot under his skin. He steps closer, gently, until the full box comes into view, and he feels a certain apprehension knowing what's inside, but it's still nothing close to what he'd experienced the first and last time he came here. Still, it hadn't hit him until he'd almost touched her.

Slow inhalation dries his lips and throat as he steps closer still, extending a trembling hand. If he can just - if he can-

He touches her. Lays his palm flat across the surface of the door. He lets out his breath in an unsteady burst, feeling almost dizzy with joy and relief. The wood is warm and seems to tingle faintly beneath his fingertips, but there's nothing more. It worked. It worked.

He gives only the gentlest push and the door swings open.
bluesuit_handy: (.misc | park)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
Andrew has been postponing contact with the TARDIS in the hope that she'll contact him, but it's becoming more and more obvious that that hope is in vain. There's the not so small matter of his growing bashfulness re: going outside, too; he's rapidly gotten big enough that he can no longer hide the bulge of his belly. None of his regular clothing fits, he feels heavy and unnatural, and the clinic has confirmed that he's not just imagining that things are going much faster than they should.

This morning, though, he's going stir-crazy just thinking about hanging around the flat yet another day. The rain offers an opportunity to cover up with a long raincoat, too; summer clothing normally doesn't afford a lot in the way of layering to help mask his changing shape. A kiss and an explanation for James later, he heads off to the park via the subway, opting not to send the TARDIS a message to let her know he's on his way lest he give her the opportunity to tell him not to come. At least if she detects him on the way and sends him a message he can pretend not to receive it until he's already there.

It's harder than he remembered to find her in the park, but eventually he arrives at her doors bedraggled from the weather and trying to convince himself that he's here primarily because of his concerns about Zagreus's activities and that recent angel spotting nearby, not because he's hurt that she never contacts him. Andrew knocks politely before trying the door even though he knows she'll have seen him coming for a while. "Let me in, I'm wet!" he calls as if it weren't his own fault.

[OOC: Not sure if this is going to be just Andrew and the TARDIS or nooooot; should have asked around before now probs.]
has_a_horn: (let it rain)
[personal profile] has_a_horn
At exactly noon, a fissure of light opens in the air above Bethesda Terrace and an angel falls out. He lands with a muffled thump in front of the arches of the arcade, face up, soft brown wings extending fifteen feet in either direction stained with patches of red. He's covered in bruises and cuts, and his clothes (damaged themselves) are covered in streaks of blood. One of his wings hangs at an odd angle, but it's hard to tell if that's because it's broken or because the angel isn't conscious enough to change its position.

He doesn't move.

For a few moments everyone there to witness the event is stunned. Then people start taking pictures and video. A particularly curious teenage boy checks to see if the angel is alive, and uploads his success onto his YouTube channel. It's on the news within fifteen minutes.
has_a_horn: (look up)
[personal profile] has_a_horn
[This is more or less a post so I have a reference for what actually happened that morning. He's not going to be interrupted, but you're welcome to use this thread to have your characters respond to Gabe's absence. And: suicide tw ]

It's barely light out when he decides. He'd be lying to himself if he said he was doing this to try to get back home. No one is waiting for him there. He's doing this because he's tired of the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. He's tired and he just wants it to be over. He wants to die.

He kneels down in front of Scout, eye to eye with the little dog, and digs his fingers into the wiry fur behind his ears, scratching and petting. The dog can tell that something is wrong. It might be Gabriel's unusually solemn attitude, or the determined set of his jaw, but the dog whines in response and steps forward on the bed until he can stretch forward and lick Gabriel's face.

"You'll be okay." Gabriel rests his forehead against the dog's head for a moment before pulling back and giving the dog as commanding a glance as he can manage, which isn't very commanding at all at the moment. "Scout, If Johnny is bad to you, tell Daine. Daine will make it better." He has no way of knowing how much of that Scout understands, but it makes him feel a little better about leaving him behind. His face softens and he pets the dog one more time before standing and vanishing from the room.

He reappears just outside of Johnny's door, Scout's leash in hand. As quietly as he can, he loops the leash over the door handle. Hopefully, it will be enough to get Johnny to investigate and find Scout when he leaves this morning. Hopefully, Johnny will take good care of Scout because Scout deserves good care.

He spends a few minutes feeling locked in cement, staring at the leash hung daintily around the handle, his thoughts racing. Johnny doesn't want his help. He's not powerless - he'll be fine. Everyone will go on as they were. Even the TARDIS. She has her Doctor again. She'll be happy when he disappears. Maybe not...immediately, but...eventually. Some already know it, but eventually everyone will decide that they are better off without him.

He rests a hand against the door frame and takes a deep shaky breath. It's another minute before he stands upright again and leaves the apartment building entirely.

An early morning jogger is just settling down to rest on the steps of the Bethesda Terrace when she's shocked by the sudden appearance of a short man in a light canvas jacket a short distance away. The man stands in front of the fountain, looking up at the angel statue for a brief moment, then walks around until he finds a spot that doesn't seem to have any significance, except to him.

The man trembles visibly in the early morning cold, and as he closes his eyes the jogger feels a sort of pressure building in the air. She wants to leave or interrupt, but something stops her from doing either. She sits still as the man takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and vanishes.

In the void, a man's scream echoes up across the terrace. Terrified, and finally able to move, she gets up and runs home.
eighth: (Happy | Leaning against TARDIS)
[personal profile] eighth
After being liberated from his cell, the Doctor heads straight for the park. Considering he's about 40 blocks south though, it does take a little while.

He knows it's highly unlikely to be his TARDIS exactly. It's possible, but he thinks he would've felt it, at least once he'd been made aware of her presence. But even just another version of her will be a comfort, and if the future him is permanently gone, she'll probably want the company too.

Once he reaches the Ramble, it takes a little while to pinpoint her location, but not as much as one would think, since he can thankfully sense her somewhat. A grin spreads across his face as he rounds some rocks and sees her.

"Hello, old girl," he says, jogging up to the big blue box, getting out the key. The exterior is different, and oh, his other self seems to have switched back to the regular yale keys. It doesn't seem to matter though, as the doors swing open at his touch. It's nice to feel welcomed.

He lets out a small, appreciative gasp at the sight of her new interiors, too. Very different from his own, perhaps just a little too colourful and shiny for his tastes, but at least it's got character. He doesn't know why he kept the simple white theme for so long.

Already he can feel his memories flooding back, and he reaches out to her mind with a joyful greeting. Between all of this, he doesn't even immediately notice there's someone else in there.
has_a_horn: (puppydog | sincere)
[personal profile] has_a_horn
After what happened in the dreaming, Gabriel has lost any reservations he might have had about visiting her in person. She'd been hurt and there's no knowing how much damage had actually been done without going to see her. He'd certainly done some damage to himself in his efforts to separate her from the rift and her universe. Who knows what sort of shape she's in.

He dresses and teleports there immediately after he wakes, the image of her tearful face still at the forefront of his mind.

His head swims when he arrives. He stumbles. His knees plant down into the underbrush and he looks up. The TARDIS is sitting where he expects her to be, but he can't feel her as strongly. There are no lights shining out. If he couldn't still feel her still here, alive, the darkness would be a frightening sight. As it is, it's not exactly comforting either.

He pushes up, not bothering to brush the dirt from his knees before he steps up to set his hand against the TARDIS doors. They push open easily, and he enters.

alwaysalright: (pic#5789442)
[personal profile] alwaysalright
The Doctor's still experiencing a mix of many different emotions related to seeing Charley again (most of them happy) as he heads back towards the TARDIS.

Breathing in the cool evening air, hands in his pockets as he strolls along, he doesn't feel too bad. The closer he gets, however, the grumpier he becomes about being locked out earlier, and worried that she still won't let him in.

The latter seems not to be an issue though - the door pushes opens easily this time. But now it's his turn to shut her out of his head as he walks inside, throwing his coat over the railing. He wants her to know he's not pleased about her behavior.
wildmage_daine: (neutral - curls)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine made the offer to take the TARDIS flying so long ago that she's a little embarrassed she hasn't followed up before now. But better late than never, right? Maybe a month or so doesn't register as much of a delay when you're thousands of years old.

Besides, this is a good day for flying - better than most. It's warm and clear, so the views ought to be grand and the thermals should be plentiful. She hasn't had any passengers besides Secret since Andrew exploded, but she figures the TARDIS would be hard pressed not to enjoy a good flight around the island on a day like today.

She picks her way through the Ramble in slip-on shoes and comfortable, simple clothes. Elastic waistbands have proven to be a godsend; they're easy to pull on and easy to squirm out of when she shifts. A minute later, she's gently rapping on the TARDIS door.

"Hullo, TARDIS," she says quietly. "I thought we might try flying today, if you're still interested."
johnny_truant: (confrontational)
[personal profile] johnny_truant
Johnny wanders for hours on the 15th. It's the first time he's been out on his own since meeting Jodie -- and his first time since the Dream. He takes stock of himself, of the day, of the park. Everything seems surreal, somehow removed. This isn't working. He just feels lost.

Remember when the Ramble was little more than an oversized outdoor brothel? Johnny smirks at the thought, though he's not sure why, and hugs his hoodie tighter around himself as the wind rushes past. Maybe he should head back to the hotel. Maybe he should just give up on ever coming to terms with what's happened. He's hopeless. He's hopeless.

His footing slips and he stumbles over nothing. Goes very still. Something's wrong. Something's there.

He starts walking again, uncertainly, dragging his feet over an untraversed path. Doesn't know where he's going, just that he has to. He has to get closer.

To what?

He stops short, because then he sees it. Bright blue and incongruous, standing out of the way amidst the trees. He peers at it -- at her, though he does not yet know the pronoun -- for several silent, perplexing moments. The heading, POLICE BOX, stands out worrisomely, but it's such a relic, such an artifact from a lost time that he can't imagine it's still operational.

He moves forward, trancelike. Something's tugging him, some magnetic current. He has to get close. Has to know what it is and why he's so drawn to it.

He's within arm's reach, fingers splayed out to touch it, when the pain hits him, full-bodied, like a blow to the chest. He staggers back, gripping his head, unable to keep from expelling a strangled yell at the shock of it. The migraine is so intense, so sudden and so powerful, that he knows it cannot be a coincidence. He struggles even as his knees buckle and he collapses, to look at the edifice. She did this, somehow. It's her.

What is it? What is it?
has_a_horn: (taking you to school)
[personal profile] has_a_horn

There's something new about the city this afternoon. It's not particularly hard to miss. At about noon, a giant scaled figure emerges from the Hudson River, emits a loud screeching roar, and heads for central park.

It's Godzilla, straight out of the 1954 Toho film.

Or, rather, that's what it looks like. Gabriel has a scheme, and this scheme involves in-fluxing a little bit of fun into this city with a grand-scale illusion. His idea of fun might need some work, by human standards, but this is exactly the thing for him at the moment. There are news reports on the radio and television, both in English and in Japanese, but they aren't given by any newscasters anyone in New York might be familiar with, because Gabriel is projecting them.

As Godzilla shakes the water off it's back and walks onto the island, Gabriel pulls out his phone and texts Peter. He really needs him involved with this.

[ooc: Godzilla will make his way across the city, having a good smash. Feel free to run into it anywhere. As this is Gabe's illusion, any interactions with Godzilla will be controlled by Gabriel, even if he's not nearby. People Gabriel doesn't like might want to avoid getting underfoot, or else they'll feel the bone crunching effects of being stepped on, even if nothing has actually happened.]
theoldgirl: (dark fire)
[personal profile] theoldgirl
When the TARDIS receives a text from Zagreus, she barely has enough time to bristle at the harassment and worry if he's hurt anyone to find out the number for her communications system, before he mentions Gabriel and she's gripped by a sudden panic. Gabriel has thankfully been leaving her and the Doctor alone since their fight, but what if Zagreus has talked him into changing that, what if they combine their efforts to hurt her... The ways in which this could be terrible for her are many, and she needs a moment to overcome the instinctual yet painfully futile desire to see the future probabilities and consequences of their meeting. No, she's going to have to find out more the hard way, by dealing with Zagreus.

Then, surprisingly, he makes it easy for her. His taunts spark such familiar hatred in her, a hatred so deep-seated and constant that even the turmoil of her emotions concerning Gabriel pales in comparison. There are no conflicting emotions here, no betrayed affection and trust, no fear of a confrontation; all that is replaced by the simple need to lash out at Zagreus, warn him away from her and her friends, remind him of her wrath. He is one thing in this universe she knows exactly how to react to. 

On some level, she realizes she's allowing herself to be ensnared by it, that she should be above trying to find refuge from her distress in hatred of all things. But this, for once, is familiar and uncomplicated, and Zagreus has never deserved her forbearance anyway. So, refusing to doubt herself, she challenges him and waits. When there is no answer, it's clear she has him - if he had anything to refute her with, he would have done so, but they both know she's right.

He takes his time, but eventually she feels his presence sting at the edge of her expectant senses. With the vague idea of luring him close to her shell to trap him once again, or at the very least find out exactly what he and Gabriel discussed, she summons the energy to make her exterior invisible for a short time and walks down to the appointed place on the path to wait.
ceciiil: (devour your own empty heart)
[personal profile] ceciiil
True to his texted word, inasmuch as any of his texting had contained actual words, Cecil determines to visit the TARDIS. Instincts are telling him that despite her words, a distraction in the form of a social call might prove useful. Plus, he really does owe her. What better way to show gratitude?

It's a matter of a few minutes to find out the address of the nearest butcher's shop that carries what he's looking for, and a matter of quite a few more to visit it. Of course he's told that the best they can manage on short notice is a pint, frozen, but Cecil supposes that's urban life for you. There's probably a delivery service cornering the market. Maybe he should try Amazon next time?

The little bucket of blood is still icy when he arrives at the TARDIS, even with the detour for roast beef sandwiches. He sets his burden down and considers how best to go about this; surprisingly, he's never attempted to ward anything outright trans-dimensional before. Do you just start with the outside? Are the outside and the inside considered the same, from a ritualistic standpoint? He shrugs and sets to smearing blood on the lintel, scooping around the frozen chunks.


bigapplesauce: (Default)
The Big Applesauce


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