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

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

Entry tags:

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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"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.'

Oh he's definitely going to ask, but it doesn't seem as pressing as their current predicament -- even if their predicament's not particularly precarious. And also it seems like something that should take his full attention and might take a while to discuss, as he'll have to tell her a little of what he's been doing since then, probably.

"It's an alternate one. Not extremely different, though this is 2013, so it's probably decently different for you. The Rift isn't common knowledge, so anyone who doesn't blend in, as you say, have to lay low," he explains, taking a left turn down a path.

She takes in the date with a little lift of her eyebrows, and resists the urge to snarkily ask, different from what? She probably hasn't spent more than a few weeks in her home time period since she left Earth; she expects New York in 2013 will probably be about as different as most other places seem to be.

'But you know about all these people.' She stops looking around herself to turn her face up to him; the landscape he's leading them through is all trees and brush, a carefully cultivated wilderness. 'Is there some kind of... I don't know, secret society for aliens who come through the Rift? And even if they are human-- hasn't the city noticed the sudden increase of homeless people? I mean, not everyone has a TARDIS; people wouldn't have bank accounts or identification or any of that; how do they get on?'

Well, different from the other New York she got a taste of, for one thing. But yeah, it's probably a bit of a moot point after all that traveling.

The Doctor smiles down at her, obviously pleased with her asking all the right questions, and pretty accurate guesses.

"There's two, actually," he answers. "A group called ROMAC who cooperates with the government, and a group who just call themselves the Rebels, but who aren't quite as rebellious as they like to pretend. They handle that sort of integration. It's not all that selfless, mind you, they seem to treat it almost as recruiting. And both seem to be up to pretty shady things, so be careful not to trust them too much."

Goodness, she's landed herself right in the middle of things and no mistake. That does seem to be a talent of hers.

'What sorts of shady things?' she asks, and if the Doctor imagines he can hear a certain amount of eagerness in her voice, he wouldn't be mistaken. It's not that she's glad, exactly, that there might some kind of clandestine supra-governmental conspiracy going on, but it does sound terribly interesting.

The Doctor's not entirely sure whether to be pleased or worried at her enthusiasm, but he adopts a slightly stern look.

"Now now, miss Pollard," he says. "Our priorities here is to get everyone home to their own universes safely. You don't want to go inciting anything. There's a lot of powerful people in this city, and a lot of collateral damage to be had. Besides, we're stuck here, remember? You don't want to get yourself a reputation as a trouble-maker."

And if Charley imagined that that's exactly what the Doctor's been doing, she wouldn't be mistaken either. But there are still a lot of factors to be considered, and she doesn't want Charley to get hurt, either.

'I didn't say I was going to incite anything,' Charley protests, eyes going wide and voice dripping with false innocence. Drawing herself up as high as she can (and it's not very high, especially not next to this beanpole of a Doctor), she affects primness. 'I just wanted to know what was going on. I find it much harder to avoid stumbling into trouble when one doesn't know all the details of a situation.'

Honestly, Doctor, what do you take her for?

And then she grins at him, hand tightening in his for a moment as she veers to the left to knock into him with her shoulder. 'And if you try to tell me you've been keeping your head down this whole time and not getting into trouble, I shall laugh in your face.'

"Laugh in my face, huh?" the Doctor answers, a crooked smile pulling at his features, making it very difficult to be stern.

"Alright, there may have been a few scrapes," he admits, then points out quickly, "But I know what I'm doing." Which is also debatable, of course, but he does have a slightly better frame of reference than Charley does.

"Right here," he adds, going around a boulder, and suddenly getting the TARDIS in sight. Slightly different than she's used, of course - bigger, cleaner, different coloured sign - but unmistakably the TARDIS.

If she hadn't just been impossibly reunited with the Doctor, Charley might have been rather annoyed at that comment, but at the moment, she's still too glad to be with him to bother. Instead, she just laughs, smiling teasingly up at him.

'Of course you do.'

The TARDIS, when it comes into view, gets a brilliant smile, and Charley bounds over to it, pressing her palms flat to the wood and feeling the faint hum from within. She turns on the Doctor. 'You've cleaned her up! Very neat-looking, I must say.' And then, as a thought occurs to her, she snorts. 'Don't tell me you got the chameleon circuit working again and just used it to turn her into a slightly nicer-looking police box.'

The Doctor snorts as well. "Of course not," he answers, then pauses. "Well, don't think so, at least. She's from my future, actually. We didn't come here together." And technically they're not even from the same universe, but that can wait. Probably until she sees the TARDIS's bipedal form, at least. For now he just walks over to the door and pushes it open.

...Or, he would've, if the door would open. He gives a faint 'huh', and pulls out his key.

Which won't go in. He looks at the keyhole and... there's no hole. The key won't fit because there's nowhere to put it. "Hey!" He looks up at her windows, knocking on the door. "What's that about?"

Charley's eager anticipation falters somewhat when the Doctor pauses, frowning down at the keyhole-- which isn't a keyhole at all at the moment. 'Oh dear,' she murmurs, and then ventures, 'It isn't-- I don't suppose it's me, Doctor? I mean-- the TARDIS never particularly liked me, did she?'

Which Charley had always privately thought was rather unfair; after all, it wasn't as if she'd asked to be made the centre of a universe-rending paradox. And she'd appreciated the TARDIS, and always gone out of her way to be polite to her. ... At least, she had after she realised the full extent of the TARDIS's sentience. Mostly. But even Mila had said it; that was why she'd been able to infect Charley, because the TARDIS hadn't protected her the way she'd done for the Doctor's other companions.

And now it occurs to her, even if the Viyrans had erased the Doctor's memories of her, they'd done nothing of the sort to the TARDIS; the ship must have known about her as soon as the Doctor had brought her back from the R101. Two paradoxes, not just the one; no-wonder she'd taken against Charley as much as she had.

Still, it hardly does wonders for a girl's ego, and Charley frowns up at the ship. 'Oh, come on! I'm not paradoxical anymore, honestly!' The shouting probably isn't necessary, really, but she does it anyway.

The Doctor doesn't answer, focused on the TARDIS for the moment, though the thought had occurred to him that the TARDIS wouldn't be the most thrilled about Charley being here.

For a moment he's worried, that something is wrong and she doesn't mean to lock him out. He places his palms on the door and reaches out for her telepathically, only to be rebuffed with what feels like a distinct huff, and even shut out from her mind. That stings a little, actually.

He pulls back, frowning, then turns to Charley. "Can I borrow the wristband again?" he asks, holding out his hand.

The Doctor's request distracts her from her stubborn frowning up at the TARDIS. 'Mm? Oh, sure.' She turns to him, bending to fish in her pocket for the wristband, and only once she's handed it over does she wonder what he wants with it.

'You're not going to try and teleport us into the TARDIS, are you?'

She knows it's technically possible for things to breach the TARDIS's shields to appear inside, but she can't imagine, if the ship's refusing to open her doors the conventional way, she'd be much more inclined to allow them in like that.

He shakes his head. "She doesn't want to let us in," he answers, putting on the wristband and putting in coordinates. What with her lowered defenses from the rift and lack of power (and recent damage), he's sure he could somehow manage to bypass her defenses if necessary, like for her own safety, but this appears to be just stubborn unfriendliness. In which case, getting inside probably won't even help much. She'd just make the place into a labyrinth instead, most likely.

This time he makes sure she's ready before he teleports them both, ending up in a garish souvenir shop in Chinatown.

Despite the fact that she more or less understands why the TARDIS might not be too kindly disposed to her, Charley still isn't inclined to feel terribly charitable at her refusal to let them in. Very well, she thinks a trifle huffily. The TARDIS can sulk if she wants to; Charley's perfectly capable of getting on without her.

She takes the Doctor's arm when he makes ready to teleport them, and comes out the other end much more steadily than she'd managed the hop into the Ramble. For a moment, the transition from the quiet woods to the miasma of colour and music and the sounds of people shouting is overwhelming, but Charley quickly recovers herself, looking around with interest.

'We're still in New York?' She laughs. 'It looks like Singapore!'

No-one in Singapore or Chinatown would likely appreciate that assessment, but despite her years and travels, Charley does still have a lot of the posh English girl from the 1920's stamped into her.

Edited 2014-03-27 15:45 (UTC)

"Chinatown," the Doctor affirms, glancing about to make sure no one took particularly note of their mysterious appearance, and taking off the wristband, handing it straight back to Charley this time.

"I've got some apartments round here. Bit further north though," he explains, leading the way out of the shop and looking around to orient himself. He's not entirely certain about the coordinates around the city, but he's managed to get them to the right neighborhood. And if Charley's going to live here, she might as well see a bit of the area.

"I... may have unveiled an underground crime ring to come into possession of them," he admits, taking her hand once he's oriented himself.

Her eyebrows go up at that. 'You've got apartments?' The Doctor-- Doctors-- she's known would have balked at the suggestion of actually owning an everyday, mundane residence. Far too much like putting down roots, she supposes. But then, he did say that the TARDIS here wasn't technically his, that it had come from his future; maybe he had had to find someplace ordinary to stay when he'd first arrived. It's a strange thought.

She happily takes his hand and allows him to lead the way, and his slightly awkward admission gets a laugh. 'Of course you did,' she teases, because of course he did. 'You couldn't keep your nose clean of trouble if you tried. Go on, tell me about it, then.'

"The apartments or the underground crime ring?" he asks, probably jokingly, but his mood seems to have dropped a bit after being shut out by the TARDIS, so it's hard to tell. "The latter isn't actually that interesting, no aliens or big mystery or anything, just old-fashioned exploitation and cruelty."

He's leading her up one the street, though they seem to be heading away from the most touristy part of Chinatown. "And I didn't say I use the apartments, just that I own them. But you don't really get any rift activity this far south, which is a bonus."

He actually owns apartments and houses all over, in different times and places (though Earth is of course a favourite), but they tend to stay empty a lot of the time. Sometimes he'll come back to sqatters. (Which can sometimes be really nice, having a tea party with them, and sometimes be a real inconvenience.)

As much as those big brown eyes of his had seemed, back in the park, to be made for overwhelmed, teary joy, they've rather shut themselves off now, and Charley frowns vaguely up at him. There's something a bit off in his tone as well, and after a moment, she gives him another little knock with her shoulder.

'Oi, you, no sulking just because the TARDIS has gone and got herself into a snit.' She doesn't know it's about the TARDIS, but given the Doctor, it seems fairly likely. 'Do you do a lot of that in this body? The sulking, I mean. And you know you're going to have to tell me eventually something of what you've been up to. Foiling crime rings, getting mixed up in super-secret shady government organisations...'

"Only when it's completely justified," he answers regarding the sulking, though he manages to pull up a smile this time. Disagreeing with the TARDIS always sets him off, as she is kind of his lifeline, especially here.

"Well, what about you? You've clearly been through a bit since we last met," he says, raising his eyebrows. Met the Viyrans, for one thing.

Yes, well, Charley can be his lifeline now. Though she's perhaps a trifle more careful about saying such things than she used to be.

She's been waiting for that question, and yet somehow, she still doesn't know how to answer it. 'I've been-- travelling,' she hedges. She's never been an awfully good liar, and she knows it. 'Look, perhaps we ought to get to your flats first? And then we can both give each other the run-down. I'm-- well, I'm not actually sure how much I ought to tell you, to be perfectly honest.'

"How come?" he asks with a frown. He's under the impression they've always been reasonably honest with each other - in fact, it's uncommon for him to have shared quite so much of his inner thoughts and feelings (whether voluntarily or not) as he has on occasion with Charley.

He does agree that they should cover the important bits in private, though. Thankfully it's not terribly far.

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