bigapplesauce | the beginning of another adventure [open to all]

Current Location: Central Park
Current Music: 29 May, 2013

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the beginning of another adventure [open to all]

She’s still in the process of figuring out how to work the PT wristband oojah the Viyrans had given her. It’s got settings for coordinates and dates, but if one doesn’t necessarily know the intergalactic coordinates of any given planet, that isn’t much use. Thus far, however, she hasn’t been all that bothered by her dubious navigation skills. It’s been perhaps a fortnight since she left the Viyran ship, and there’s nowhere in particular she’s heading. Just travelling for its own sake. Having adventures. She can’t say that she doesn’t miss doing so with company, but it’s not bad, really. It’s all right.

Her first go sent her to a planet with a surface like smooth silica, and all the life underground in beautifully bored tunnels, everything opalescent whites and pinks and greens. The people were little roboty things, and Charley spent a week with them, befriending a group of-- she supposed they’d be teenagers, by Earth standards, if an inorganic alien lifeform could be said to be a teenager-- and exploring deeper into the planet than anyone had yet ventured. After that, a planet that was all seas (she’d quickly left, considerably damper than she'd arrived); after that, someplace called Malleiateos, covered with ochre-fawn-marigold-tawny fields and breathing trees, where a young triad had insisted she stay with them because she looked exhausted. She suspects they’d rather fancied her, but they’d been polite enough to keep it to themselves.

And now? Now… she’s fairly sure she’s in New York. She is; New York City. Charley can’t help it; she laughs out loud. She’s still feeling a little disorientated from her arrival, which had been unwontedly rough, like space and time had grabbed her and had to shove her through a minute gap to get her here, so perhaps a little giddiness is understandable. She feels disorientated and frazzled, but it is suddenly, unexpectedly wonderful to be on Earth.

It’s warm, it’s Spring, she’s in a park next to a lake, and she stands for a moment, squinting up at the skyline. Certainly not the 1930’s, she can tell that much. A few people pause to blink at her, but other than having just appeared out of nowhere, she doesn’t stand out much; a young woman dressed head-to-toe in practical, comfortable black, wearing a backpack. She might be anyone.

Unpeeling her wristband and tucking it away into the backpack, she slings the bag back over her shoulder, chooses a direction, and starts walking.

[OOC: She's materalised in Central Park, near the reservoir, and is going to be wandering in a generally southerly direction, more or less towards the Rebel base, so feel free to run into her]

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The man's smile is quite ridiculous, and Charley finds herself rather charmed by it. He certainly doesn't seem to be threatening, at least; as far as strange men staring at her in public go, she's had worse.

She raises her eyebrows up at him, lips pressing off to the side in a wryly expectant sort of expression. 'Hello. Have we met? It can't imagine we have; I've not been to New York in this-- I mean, I've not been to New York before.'

"Well, not this one, anyway," the Doctor agrees, still smiling a bit stupidly. "1938, wasn't it? Orson Welles."

He wasn't quite sure how to breach the subject of who he is and why he's so surprised to see her, but, well, this seems like a nice enough start.

It takes Charley a moment for that to sink in, and the instant it does, she feels it like a shocked, zero-gravity swoop in her stomach, all the way down into her toes.

'Doctor?'

His name's barely a breath on her lips, and she takes an involuntary half-step back, staring up at him warily. It can't be. He died, she'd seen him die, gunned down by Cybermen and no regeneration. And yet-- Charley had grown practised at looking at an unfamiliar face and seeing the familiar on it, and now that she looks with an eye to see, that lingering, silly smile is desperately familiar.

She swallows. 'Is it-- it's really you? How--?'

And here it's been mere weeks since she left him, thinking never to see him again. If she wasn't so shocked, she'd laugh.

Edited 2014-03-23 08:08 (UTC)

His smile intensifies when she recognises him, but then it falters a bit at the way she steps back, the look on her face.

"Hello," he repeats quietly, almost intimately. "It's really me," he promises. He's not entirely sure how to tackle the 'how' yet. And he's not entirely sure how welcome his appearance is, so while what he really wants to do is reach out and hug her, he waits for her to process.

'But you died.'

She says it quietly, the wariness in her face melting away to something much more sombre. The words have the sound of something that's been said before, an immutable truth. 'I saw you die-- that man, I-- I can't even remember his name, he unplugged you from the Cyber-Planner and you died, and you didn't regenerate, and then I was stranded--'

She clamps her mouth shut, lest her words run away with her and she spill out the whole story, everything that's happened to her since they were parted. Distantly, Charley feels a tremor in her fingers and a hot constriction in her throat. Around it, her voice rasps faintly.

'I never thought--'

She can't quite get the rest of it out.

Edited 2014-03-23 08:35 (UTC)

"Hey, hey, hey," he says calmingly, reaching out to put his hands on her arms. "I'm not dead. See? Remember partying in Italy? Visiting the Great Exhibition? The TARDIS being stolen by an ice cream man?"

He's confused about what really happened - he doesn't clearly remember. He remember looking for Charley at the hotel in Singapore, but she wasn't there, she'd left him a note... He remembers her wanting to leave. Why would she think he's dead? But that doesn't matter right now, what matters is Charley's upset.

He smiles gently at her, reaching up to cup her face. "It's really me," he repeats.

It's the touch that does it, tips her over the edge of shock and wariness and into simple, marrow-deep gladness to see the Doctor, and she flings herself at his chest, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Under his swathe of coat, he's thin as a withe, and for a moment, she can't help but think of the other Doctor, the younger one she most recently left on Gralista Social, the soft solidity of him and the firmness of his big hands when he'd hug her.

Absurdly, she finds that she's crying. Overwhelmed by the too-recent, raw wound of leaving the younger Doctor, and now finding out that he's alive after all, she draws a deep, shuddering breath, pressing her face into his chest for a moment. Under his ribcage, she can hear the syncopated thunder of his two hearts.

A moment later, she pulls back, sniffling wetly and swiping inelegantly at her face. 'I'm sorry,' she apologises shakily, laughing even as she cries. 'I just-- you're alive, oh, Doctor.'

Charley's throat hurts from tears, and her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she's sure she looks a wreck, but she can't quite bring herself to care. Mirroring his gesture, she lifts a hand to touch at his cheek, skating over the cheekbone and stroking briefly down a sideburn. It's a novelty, astonishing, impossible, and she's still crying, her voice catching when she speaks.

'I like the new face.'

Relief floods him as he wraps his arms around her in return, holding her close for as long as she needs, cherishing being able to hug her once more, and simultaneously devastated that this seems to be the real reason they were parted. If he had known this would be his welcome, he would've long since looked for her again. But then so much has happened to him as well...

His eyes have teared up quite a bit, and he can't quite seem to stop smiling, so she's clearly not the only one affected by this. A few people are throwing glances and pointing discreetly their way, but neither of them seems to notice - the Doctor can't even seem to take his eyes off her, nor let go even as she pulls back.

His smile widens at the compliment, too. "I've had a couple since the last time we met," he admits.

His eyes are huge, big and brown and overbright with the beginning of tears, and either she can't look away, or she simply doesn't want to. Her fingers continue their wondering exploration, passing over one of his eyebrows and then falling down to grip at his lapel.

'It's been--' How long? She doesn't know. Two years? Three? More? Since the younger Doctor found her stranded in the year 500,002. She knows she was with the Viyrans for millenia, but she'd only been awake for such a small time in all that, it's impossible to tell how long it's been, and she huffs a rueful little laugh, looking down. 'Well. It's been a long time for me too.'

Impulsively, she hugs him again. It's been a long, long time since she's been able to have this kind of physical affection, she realises suddenly, and she'd missed it.

'What happened?' she asks into his chest. 'I always thought-- if you'd survived, you would have come looking for me.'

The Doctor has absolutely no objection to the hugging. He's been lacking it quite a bit too, not really having any proper close friends here. There's plenty he would call friends, of course, but not ones he shares this kind of affection with. Being able to hug the TARDIS has helped, quite a lot, but then there's been times when she's been reluctant to use her body.

He wonders what she's been doing. She said she was stranded? Where? In Singapore? He wishes he'd remember the situation better - his memory was terrible in that body, and there had been that neural worm... How has she gotten here? She didn't seem remotely phased by ending up in New York.

"You told me not to," he answers softly. "In your letter?"

Her brow furrows at his answer, uncomprehending for a moment. 'My letter?' And then she remembers; a letter written in impulse, out of anger at the Doctor and sorrow for what she'd thought was a friendship at its end, left in some hotel for him. 'Oh my god, my letter, I'd entirely forgotten. I never got to tell you,' she murmurs, the realisation dawning, 'And then you went back to Singapore... Oh, I was an idiot.'

"Doesn't matter now," he tells her, shaking his head. He does remember their fight - her demanding to be returned home. He also remembers not dealing with it in the best possible way - he was hurting, and so was she. And he thought that had been it. But if she didn't mean it, if she changed her mind, that's good enough for him. Especially after all this time.

"It's just good to see you again," he says. "Are you alright? You just arrived, didn't you?"

And at least he's finally calmed down enough to stop spawning kittens. He's accidentally created four since he first spotted Charley, but two have faded since he's moved too far away from them, and the other two, more recent ones, he's making hang back to not distract Charley.

The Doctor seems more glad to see her than interested in quibbling over the circumstances of their parting, for which she is very grateful. And she supposes, if all this time (and how long is the space of a few regenerations?) he'd thought she'd never wanted to see him again, it is perhaps little wonder.

Something about the phrasing of his question gives her a little pause; you just arrived, didn't you?, rather than did you just arrive?, as if he'd been expecting her. Except it's patently obvious that he hadn't been, and she gives him a brief, curious look before agreeing.

'Just now, perhaps fifteen minutes ago.' Charley pulls back slightly from him to unsling her backpack, pulling out the transporter. It's all white, in keeping with the Viyrans' general aesthetic, a wristband made of some synthetic material she can't identify, neither cloth nor rubber, with a control panel at the top. She proffers it to the Doctor in explanation. 'I've got this wristband thingummy, but I've not entirely worked it out yet, so I've mostly just been taking random hops.'

The Doctor frowns curiously as she pulls out the wristband, accepting it and inspecting it. "This is Viyran, isn't it?" he asks, pulling out his glasses from his pocket and putting them on. The Doctor's had a run in with them not so terribly long ago, actually - well, relatively speaking. With Rose...

He pulls out his sonic as well - quite a different one from the one Charley's used to of course, though the sound it makes should be familiar enough. The wristband doesn't seem to have been frazzled by its journey through the rift.

"Hold on, let me just..." He pockets the sonic, and puts on the wristband, then attempts to depart. For a moment, he seems to flicker and briefly disappear, like a badly tuned television. Two nearby kittens disappear in puffs of smoke. When he solidifies again a mere moment later, he drops to his knees with a sound of pain, bent over, though he doesn't appear visibly hurt.

'Ah.' Charley looks a bit shifty when he recognises the wristband's origins; it's just now occurring to her that she's not exactly sure how much she ought strictly to tell him about what she's done in the years since leaving him. 'Uh, yes, it is.'

She watches with interest as he pulls out what she can only presume is his sonic screwdriver-- significantly altered-- turning it on the PT device. And perhaps she should have, but she isn't really expecting him to try to take off. 'Doctor!' she says a trifle crossly. When he appears again, crumpling to the ground, crossness gives way to worry, and she drops to her own knees to help him, hands fluttering around his shoulders.

'Doctor! Stupid, are you alright? What've you done? And--' she directs a bewildered glance behind him. 'Did you just teleport a couple of cats?'

Edited 2014-03-24 00:58 (UTC)

"I'm fine," he answers, a little out of breath after having it knocked out of him from trying that, but the pain was just momentary. He recovers quickly, getting to his feet again with her help, and helping her up in return. He's notices he'd rather missed a companion telling him he's stupid and fretting over him in the same breath.

"What?" he adds belatedly, realising she asked about the cats, glancing behind him. "Oh, no, that's just..." He holds out a hand, and a tiny blonde kitten with bright blue eyes appears in it. He hands the kitten to Charley.

She's distracted from any further inquiries or chiding by the sudden materialisation of the kitten in the Doctor's hand. She blinks from him down to the kitten in his hand and back again, her face creasing around an incredulous expression when he hands it to her. It is most definitely a kitten, soft and warm and alive, and it wriggles in her hands, twisting to gnaw at a finger with sharp little teeth.

'... You can summon kittens.'

It doesn't quite manage to be a question. Then she starts laughing. 'Is this a new talent, or is it a Time Lord thing that I managed not to notice the whole time I was travelling with you? Is there a room somewhere in the TARDIS that's just crammed full of cats?'

The Doctor can't help but grin. "No, I -- well, I wouldn't put it past her, actually, but not to knowledge," he answers. He does probably have some cats or cat-like creatures somewhere in there, but not a room with only cats. "It's a recent thing, I'll explain later." For once that phrase isn't just a blow-off to avoid explaining something.

"But right now I think we ought to get out of here," he says, glancing around. They have attracted a fair amount of attention from the few people littered around, and with his luck, ROMAC agents will be on their way to pick her up or something. He grabs the sonic once more, fiddling with the wristband to make it able to carry two.

Charley arches a sardonic eyebrow at his promise that he'll explain later. She's heard that particular phrase enough times to know what it often doesn't mean. 'I'll be holding you to that.'

It occurs to her that perhaps she shouldn't be finding it quite this easy to lapse back into her familiar dynamic with the Doctor, even this Doctor whom she doesn't really know at all. As if she should still be crying and clinging to him, or wanting to unpack all of their issues and discuss them here and now; as if any of that would be remotely like her. Internally, she gives herself a little clout. Buck up, Charlotte Pollard!

She's neatly distracted from any more such thoughts when the Doctor starts to fiddle with the wristband again, and she lays a hasty hand on his wrist. 'You're not going to get us blown up or anything, are you? Only I'd, you know, prefer not to die courtesy of a malfunctioning teleporter just after I've met you again.'

"There's nothing wrong with the teleporter," he promises. "I know what I'm doing. And yes, I did actually know what I was doing and what would probably happen when I tried a moment ago. Didn't get blown up, did I? I was stopped from leaving the city, but traveling within Manhattan should be fine." And he's been here long enough to know the coordinates for most areas of this little island, even if it's a different universe.

"Promise," he adds, then picks up the kitten from her, tosses it upwards and makes it disappear midair - then while she's distracted, grabs her and activates the teleport. They reappear not far away from where they were, in the middle of the Ramble, hidden by the trees and hills surrounding them. "See?"

'Stopped from leaving the city?' she echoes, mildly alarmed. 'By whom? And what are you--'

She blinks, words cut off by surprise when the Doctor nabs the kitten out of her hand and throws it high in the air. And then, before she can so much as express worry for the poor thing, grabs her around the middle and yanks her in close, and activates the teleport. There's a whoomp of air imploding into the space where they used to be, and a moment later, they're somewhere else. She stumbles slightly, falling against his chest, before she collects herself, shaking her head to clear it.

'You know, you could have just told me what you were going to do,' she comments dryly, giving him a fond little cuff, 'instead of making a big magic trick out of it.' Despite her complaining, she finds the fact that he'd felt the need to be silly and showoffish about it unaccountably charming.

'So where are we then? And what is stopping us leaving the city?'

She doesn't like the sound of that at all.

"That wouldn't be as fun," he answers cheerfully, pocketing his glasses again and taking off his wristband, putting that too in his pocket for now. He sobers when she asks what's stopping them from leaving, though.

"We've only moved about a quarter of a mile, bit further south in the park. The TARDIS is nearby, come on," he answers, taking her hand automatically. "There's a Rift in space and time here. Kind of like a plughole, it pulls people in, but stops them from going out. At a guess, I'd say this wasn't even where your teleporter was taking you, the Rift just nabbed you on the way."

She takes his hand gladly, but a frown carves itself between her eyebrows as he describes the Rift. She has, after all, had rather traumatic experiences involving rifts in time and space, even if Manhatten is not exactly on equal footing with the Antiverse.

'Oh dear. And I assume you've had no success overcoming it, otherwise you'd hardly still be here.' She pauses, expression growing faintly embarrassed. 'And, um, speaking of my teleporter, can I have it back? Not,' she continues hastily, 'that I think you're planning on absconding with it or anything, I'd just, you know, like to have it on me. In case something happens and we get separated again.'

As much as she'd love to feel the innocent young girl who comfortably trusts that the Doctor will always be there and always take care of her, well. She trusts him, of course she does, but she also has to know that she'll be able to manage on her own if it comes to it.

"Right, sorry, of course," he answers, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it back to her. Yeah, the Doctor's still really thoughtless, get used to it, Charley. And of course he refuses to even acknowledge the idea that they could get separated again. (And to be fair, he did sort of try to abscond with it, even if he knew it wouldn't work, and he'd come back for her if it did.)

"I can program in some coordinates for different parts of the city, too, so you won't have to hop around randomly," he says, though that can wait. "Anyway, we've been stuck here for months now, me and the TARDIS. As well as hundreds of other people from all over time and space, some who've been here for years, some who've recently arrived, like you," he explains, so she can get a grasp of the situation.

She accepts the PT wristband with a polite, 'Thanks,' refusing to feel embarrassed by her request. She's just being sensible, that's all. Not entirely willing to let go of his hand just yet, she tucks the wristband into one of the cargo pockets on her utilitarian black trousers instead of stowing it back in her pack. His offer to programme co-ordinates into it makes her smile.

'Oh, that'd be lovely. I suppose I really ought to've made the Viyrans explain it to me properly before I left, but, well, they're not exactly the best conversationalists.'

And again, whoops, possibly she's saying too much. Well, the Doctor can ask if he's really curious (though knowing him, she's no doubt he's positively brimming over with it); she can decide what she ought to say when it comes to it.

'And this is-- I mean to say, is it New York in our universe? Or is it some... alternate New York. I certainly didn't see anyone who looked terribly alien when I was walking just now; if people are getting pulled in from all over time and space, surely there must be some who don't exactly blend in.'

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