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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'Hmm,' she hums, 'not much for tea in New York, are they? At least, I always sort of assumed everyone just drank coffee all the time; that seems the sort of thing.'

But she'll be able to put up with a lack of tea in the event that there really isn't any; you needn't feel too awkward, Doctor.

"City like this, you've got a bit of everything, really," he answers. "They've got an annual festival for coffee and tea. Here we are,"

He stops outside an unassuming front door crammed between two shops, with a short row of buzzers next to it. The building looks pretty common for this area, a café at ground level, and above that, red brick with a fire escape. He digs deeply into his pockets (deeper than they would appear to go), fishing about for a few moments, before he digs out a sizable set of keys.

'Even in this universe?'

It's a thought voiced aloud more than an actual question; she isn't really expecting an answer. Looking up at the building, the brick and the rusty fire escape, Charley's reminded briefly of her trip to Manchester with the other Doctor, but she quickly shoves that thought out of the way.

The foyer, when the Doctor pushes the door open, is a little shabby and definitely smells of Chinese food, but it's clean, kept in good nick. And then-- of course-- the Doctor proceeds to lead her up five flights of stairs. By the time they've reached the top, she's panting slightly.

'What is it,' she asks through shallow breaths, 'about stairs? Running for my life, I'm absolutely fine, but as soon as I have to climb a load of stairs, you'd think I was in no kind of shape at all.'

"Adrenaline?" he suggests. "Also that you have to fight with gravity a lot more than when running." He finds the appropriate key and unlocks the door, leading the way inside.

It's a studio apartment, recently refurbished, and decently spacious by Manhattan standards. Airy, if a bit chilly at the moment, and bright, with tall windows. It's currently not decorated at all, and rather empty, but there is at least a bed, and a few random things left behind. Some paintings set against the wall here, a few rolled up carpets there... But generally pretty sparse.

He heads straight for the kitchenette, which gratefully does have an electric kettle, so he sets about heating water, before looking through the cupboards. Again there seems to be a random collection of stuff left, tinned or dry goods, mostly. Stuff that would last but not worth taking with her. There is tea -- only bags, unfortunately, but it's a box full of assorted tastes, so at least there's a range.

The initial, dominant impression Charley gets of the flat is its emptiness; the bright light through the windows on bare floors and mostly bare walls-- there's a definite echo about the place. It's suddenly, bizarrely intimidating, the thought that she's just to be dumped here on her own, which is frankly absurd. Had she not set out to go travelling by herself, possibly indefinitely, not three weeks ago? She's irritated by her uncharacteristic timidity. Surely she ought to be glad to have such an unexpectedly luxurious place to stay; finding herself stuck in a strange city in a strange universe, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

She hastily shoves that reaction as far back as she can. 'Oh, good, there is tea!' Focus on the present, that's it; on the moment. And in the moment, she has tea, and the Doctor.

'Mm, no milk, I suppose, but...' she presses herself up on her tiptoes to rifle through a few cupboards, as always, annoyingly high, before coming out triumphant with a folded-over paper bag, 'there is sugar! Excellent. Tea, with sugar, and we can sit on the bed.'

The Doctor checks the uppermost bits of the cabinet for condensed milk - he seems to remember Charley liking that - but can't find any. People usually just get regular milk at this point, don't they?

There's thankfully a few mugs as well, otherwise it would've been a bit awkward, drinking tea from small bowls or something. And with the kettle it doesn't take long to heat up water.

"I should warn you that there are a few other familiar faces in town besides me," he says, pouring water for them both. "Not that... my face is familiar," he adds with a brief frown, then shakes the thought away. He picks a fruity teabag and an exorbitant amount of sugar.

'It's a familiar man behind the face,' Charley assures him with a soft smile, looking up momentarily from sorting through teabags. Eventually, she discovers something that looks more or less like good old-fashioned black tea, and makes herself a cup with that and two sugars. She picks up the mug gingerly, making her way over to the bed where she sits with her legs crossed, and looks up at the Doctor.

'And I take it these aren't good familiar faces? Go on, then, what should I be bracing myself for?'

The Doctor follows her, sitting down with his back leaning against the end of the bed, taking a sip. It's still burning hot, but he isn't as easily bothered by that as humans.

"Zagreus." He takes care not to say it while Charley's taking a sip, at least.

It's a good thing she isn't in the middle of a sip; even as is, she still jolts enough to spill hot tea over her thigh. She hisses, cursing, and shoves her mug towards him without any preamble so she can pluck at the fabric of her trousers, keeping it away from the thin, sensitive skin beneath. Still holding the fabric up with one hand, she looks up at the Doctor in alarm.

'You mean-- you don't mean it's in you, the Zagreus energy.' It's a horrified realisation more than a question. 'It's... separate, somehow? Or--' a truly chilling thought occurs to her, and an involuntary shiver makes its way up her spine and out into her shoulders. She shakes herself. 'You said-- the Rift pulls people in from all sorts of universes. Is there a universe where-- he won? Where we didn't beat him?'

Well, he had her sitting down, and not taking a sip, but clearly he should've been even more careful than that. He takes the mug wordlessly, waiting for her to get past the surprise.

"Perhaps," he answers. "He's wearing my old face, certainly. It's hard to really tell for sure, the antitime makes it hard to get a proper read, and he isn't exactly forthcoming. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure he knows himself."

'But he's here?' Charley still can't entirely take it in. 'I mean, he's outside the TARDIS, in the, you know, the positive universe, and he hasn't destroyed it?'

She hadn't thought that was possible. At least, the last time, Romana and Rassilon and the TARDIS had all been adamant that Zagreus could never be allowed out into the universe, that even if he had no intention of destroying it, the antitime fundamental to his being would rip causality apart merely by existing within it.

Calming down from the shock somewhat, she takes her tea back from the Doctor and takes a long, calming sip. 'How is that possible?'

"The Rift probably has something to do with it," the Doctor answers thoughtfully. "But the Rift is also still a bit of a mystery to us, to be honest. It sometimes changes people who come through it. For example..."

He looks to the other end of the bed, and all of sudden there's a fluffy little kitten there, which comes bounding over to Charley and cuddles up against her.

The sudden appearance of the kitten startles a little laugh out of Charley, and she easily scoops it up when it starts nuzzling into her hip, tucking it into the bow of her arms and giving its stomach a good scritch. She's rather grateful for it, actually, a small, warm, living thing to provide a little bit of comfort when she's so unsettled, and she shoots the Doctor a look that's half appreciative, half a wry, I see what you did there.

'So that's what the kittens are about.' She'll depart the topic of Zagreus for now; she needs a little bit of time to think about it. 'The Rift... gave you superpowers? And other people too? Sounds like something in one of those ridiculous comic books I found in the TARDIS library.'

She had, in fact, come across the comic book section of the library when she was travelling with the Doctor's sixth self, but she doesn't remember that until after she's said it. Charley spares an awkward moment to hope that it doesn't register with the Doctor as odd, but then, she supposes she's probably going to end up telling him anyway, so it's really just a matter of seeing how long she can postpone it.

The kittens are in a way an extension of himself, and at this point he's explored the connection well enough that he can direct the kittens and also absord some of their sensory input. So it's pleasant to him as well to have her cuddling the kitten.

"I guess you could put it that way," he answers with a nod. The reference to comic books flies right by him - she explored the TARDIS on her own plenty, and he had a particular fondness for comics and cartoons in that body. (He remembers absorbing quite a lot of X-Men and Transformers.)

"It's not always positive, though. The TARDIS has been severly crippled, and isn't capable of traveling here." A bit like in the Divergent universe, but at least there they had power and could travel in space, if not time.

She's set her tea mug down next to her thigh (the dry one), and the kitten is providing an excellent occupation for her hands. Charley turns it over to scratch between its ears, pressing the loose skin down over its skull, and apparently entirely contented with this arrangement, the kitten purrs like a motor.

That the TARDIS is grounded comes as something of a shock, and her fingers still for a moment. 'What, she can't go anywhere at all? Not even in the city?' Well, gosh. 'No-wonder she was in a bit of a mood.' Charley imagines she'd be stroppy too, in such a circumstance.

If Charley's paying attention, she may notice the Doctor seems to relax and appear more content as well, even if their subjects are pretty serious. It's not as direct as if he can feel exactly what she's doing, but the feeling of enjoyment seeps through.

"She needs to be close to the Rift center to siphon off power from it. So it's not really the moving that's a problem, it's the risk of losing her power supply," he explains. And then remembers another thing that's probably a good thing to mention. "She is getting to see some of the city, though. This version of her has constructed a physical humanid body to interact with the world."

'Agitated proto-whatsit?' Charley guesses. Her expression is somewhere between wry and wary. She knows, of course, that the TARDIS was infected with antitime at the time, but the last time she showed up with a physical humanoid body, she tried several times to kill Charley. She thinks she's justified in being a little dubious.

'Ought I be keeping an eye out for the Brigadier, then, or is she using another form this time?'

The Doctor shakes his head. "Based on another earlier companion of mine, girl called Nyssa. Short, with curly brown hair," he describes. Of course, Charley has seen her before during that same event, but the Doctor doesn't know that. "And it's a more permanent body than that." He doesn't bother going into the technobabble of it.

"Oh, speaking of sharing faces, there's two other people with mine here, too," he adds suddenly. It would probably be a bit strange for her to walk up to that Peter guy and start a conversation. At least Andrew would recognise her.

She's about to ask further after the TARDIS when the Doctor continues speaking, and she leaves off to direct a confused look at him.

'Two people... with your face. I presume you mean people who aren't actually you? Goodness me, unfamiliar faces on familiar people, and familiar faces on unfamiliar people; this place has got all sorts. And are they all right, then? Not likely to get me into trouble?'

She is, perhaps, slightly teasing on that last question. Both she and the Doctor know how talented she is at getting into trouble on her own, no-matter how the Doctor might fuss.

It's one of her many talents. Which, granted, does make things more exciting, but also makes him fuss and worry.

"Well, at a guess, Peter will probably hit on you, and then avoid you once he realises you know me. He's a bit of a prat, best ignored, probably. And Andrew..." He sighs deeply, wondering how to put it. "He's sort of a humanish copy of me, who shares my memories." Yes, Charley, it just gets weirder and weirder!

For a moment, Charley just blinks at him, and then she bursts out in a hiccoughing laugh. 'God, and I thought my life was complicated! How on Earth did that happen?'

Information about Peter is summarily filed away; if someone who looks like the Doctor attempts to make a pass at her (and oh joy, that's just what she needs), that's who it'll be.

"To be honest? Not sure," he answers. "It's still in my future. I've tried not to look too closely into it." Which is sort of a lie, actually - he's looked just enough into it to satisfy his curiosity, knowing he has to forget about his existence anyway.

"And he's not entirely me, there's been other influences, and since it happened I suppose he's developed in a different direction," he adds with a frown.

'Well,' Charley says firmly, 'I'm sure to run into him sooner or later-- sooner, knowing me-- he can tell me his life story then.'

Because as fascinating as this all is-- and it is fascinating, and bizarre, the sort of thing that ought to be impossible but seems to just happen to the Doctor regardless, none of it is doing anything to address the tension that's still present, heavy in the air around them.

Charley can find out all of this in the coming weeks. She's sure she will; however the Doctor might wish her to stay out of trouble, she fully intends to do some investigating of her own. As for the Doctor himself-- they really probably ought to clear the air here at the start.

Scooting over on the bed so she can press her back against the wall, she lets her head fall to the side. 'What about you, Doctor? How long has it been since Singapore?'

Really? Do they really have to clear the air? Because the Doctor generally isn't that keen on talking about times past, and certainly not when they involve, well... Everything that's happened.

"Oh, you know," he answers, purposefully casual, even though they both know it's not even a slightly casual conversation. "Just.. a few centuries." He gives a sniff. No big deal. Even though that's still quite a bit less than the actual number.

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