do not taunt happy fun ball [open to all]

[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.

Comments

[theoldgirl]

It is fairly irritating to hear him dismiss the organization that had imprisoned and nearly killed Gabriel (although that wasn't part of the information she just gave him in any detail) and that had held his younger self prisoner rather successfully as well (though omitting any mention of Miss Pollard's involvement due to her profound irrelevance). But it's starting to seem very likely that this incarnation simply disparages everyone, regardless of how interesting or not he finds them. A valve in the console noisily releases a huff of steam, which only intensifies at his question.

"At the moment I am not housing anyone besides you, I only have visitors," she replies stiffly, irked but not in the mood for another argument. "Daine doesn't live here either, she has quarters in the rebel base. But I have so far managed to remain undetected by both factions." Which is to say, she'd prefer if he didn't attract too much attention here, as being coveted and stolen by either party would be exceedingly troublesome and inconvenient, more so than usual.

[whofrownedthisface]

Attract attention? Him? He looks righteously grieved by even the implication. "Good. I don't need teenagers getting in the way of my work. And I would prefer not to be captured, at least for now. Might get bored later on, though." Or it could become strategically necessary. These things happen. But at least if it does, it'll be on his terms and not because the TARDIS' location has been compromised.

Except by ''''''visitors'''''' apparently. He looks at her askance. "What do you want with visitors, anyway." It's not a question, he's just still struggling to reconcile their new configuration of relative interest in people. Not that he's opposed to people, or even having them in the TARDIS, not with the frequency that that happens in his universe. But people just dropping by is unconscionable, who would ever set themselves up for that. You do something exciting, you get the people you helped or were helped by to buy you some carry out, and then you deposit them somewhere far away. That last step is crucial. And isn't he enough? Or his past incarnations, anyway. That's never even crossed his mind, it's never had to. Must have been some personal failing of theirs, probably.

[theoldgirl]

He really hasn't been this brazenly curmudgeonly in a very long time, she thinks; at least as long ago as his sixth life. And apparently he's still not quite done arguing about her ability and right to have relationships of her own. "What do you ever want with your strays?" she counters, arching an eyebrow. She is very much prepared to give him a comprehensive list of all the ways his friendships inconvenience her, but a sudden and intense spike in rift activity puts a stop to that.

And then her sensors show her a terrible picture. Warning lights spring wildly into action on the console, and the Cloister Bell tolls as the other Doctor's presence elsewhere in the park flickers and then disappears into the rift's horrible chaos. If her expression turns into pained dismay to match her fear and horror, she doesn't notice.

[whofrownedthisface]

Once again, she's rather got things by the wrong end, but he doesn't even get a chance to fail at correcting that, because suddenly the console is lit up like a particularly frenetic Christmas tree and the Cloister Bell is filling him with its familiar hearts-knocking dread. Experiencing this with the gulf of alienation between himself and the TARDIS is surreal, to say the least. He doesn't know what's going on, which is itself disturbing, and he doesn't know whether to start pressing buttons and swiveling things to find out or to ask the TARDIS herself. And so he scrambles inefficiently like a startled cat, determining that they are not under attack, that nothing is malfunctioning catastrophically, but what exactly is happening, he doesn't understand. The TARDIS' human form meanwhile is looking transfixed with alarm, outright bereft, and he grabs her by the arms, looking just as horrified. More deliberate telepathic contact flares into life, full of anxiety but wanting to help. "What? What's happened?"

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS is fighting to hang onto the Doctor's bio-signature for as long as she can, but that only means she can feel it dispersing within the rift's vicious maelstrom, and an unearthly grievous wail rings through the console room. It's this Doctor's telepathic contact that finally pierces her feelings of panic and loss and she opens herself up to it unreservedly, desperately clinging to his presence both mentally and, as she finds when she eventually drags her focus back to the console room, physically.

"The rift took you," she says like a sob, voice thick with grief. "I can't tell if you survived." Her fingertips dig into the fabric of his sleeves and she looks at him as though there was anything he could do about it. There must be; he is the Doctor and he mends her hurts even when he can't help anyone else.

[whofrownedthisface]

If only that were true. Unfortunately, there's nothing he can do to help, nothing meaningful anyway; he's only just run afoul of the rift himself. Furthermore, there's every chance that this happened because of his arrival. His poorly planned, even more poorly executed, arrival. "Well, we have to assume it's possible." Presumably they'll also travel back through the rift, though hopefully with more preparation and precaution than that. "I survived my trip," he tries to point out gently, keeping up a steady stream of support. The atmosphere still feels fraught in the wake of that awful keening, and he has very little idea what to do with this strange incarnation of his ship, that currently seems to have a better grip on emotional expression than he does. A strange and prickly incarnation, that is nonetheless looking to him for help right now and clinging to him like a lifeline. He hugs her as comfortingly as he understands how; at the very least, it'll take her focus off how completely helpless he is, perhaps. And if that's not right then at least he tried.

[theoldgirl]

His helplessness is far too obvious to miss, but it isn't a disappointment so much as a pain shared and therefore halved. She knows all too well that there isn't anything either of them can do about the rift, and no way of knowing the fate of anyone who gets pulled through the rift, aside from clinging to fragile hope. No, what she needs is to not be alone with her despair. For all that none of these Doctors are properly hers, every time this happens it feels like a part of her is being torn away.

But she really isn't alone, she can tell, turning her focus away from the rift and fully towards him, seeking out every bit of age-old, safe familiarity in his mind. It's all still there, underneath the ultimately meaningless quirks of any incarnation, and she responds to it with warmth and recognition, though tinged with fresh pain and anxiety. And although she can generally derive very little comfort from hugs, this one is gladly accepted. She eases into his arms and rests her head against his chest, her breath calming as gradually as the warning lights on the console.

"I'm sorry," she manages at length, voice only wavering a little. "You are welcome here. You must never doubt that." The other Doctor is gone, now all that is left for her to do is to take care of him. That's all there ever has been. "And you needn't interact with this form if it unsettles you."

i am feel uncomfortable when we are not about me?

[whofrownedthisface]

"It isn't that," he hurries to argue, though...it is unsettling, she's not wrong to have picked that up from him. Why wouldn't it be? This is something entirely new, and as extraordinarily fascinating as he would normally find that, this isn't really the best time and atmosphere, not to mention there's a lot more at work here than just a change in exterior size. It's the whole thing, feeling out of tune where that shouldn't even be possible, like one of his own hearts striking up a new and jaunty beat completely independent of him. No, the form just gives a convenient face to a deeper unsettlement. Much the same as she felt too, and yet once again she is handling something much better than he is. The division of labour has rearranged itself, not to his disadvantage, but some time for adjustment is still required. "It's just a bit of a role reversal, is all. All these friends," interpersonal skills, straightforwardly expressed agency, "though I do understand why." Without the steady distraction of travel, and all the adventure that entails, no better time to dust off the capacity for socialising. But it does make him feel a bit extraneous, and a bit at sea. Though if he needed a reminder that he still serves a vital function here...well, this had been about the most traumatic reminder imaginable.

does he also crave that mineral

[theoldgirl]

It's not so difficult anymore to understand and share his emotions, now that she's in closer contact with him. Most of it is so familiar; the displacement and anxiety, the feeling of utter loss at their alienation. He bristles at everything because he doesn't know what else to do. And perhaps the other incarnations of his were able to enjoy her humanoid form because there was no alienation, they could simply return to their usual rapport, her form quickly accepted as a mere extension of their bond rather than another expression of the gulf between them.

What he's feeling she understands, but what he's saying is harder to follow. "You really are disturbed by my ability to have friends," she realizes, stepping back a little from their embrace to look up at him in surprise, though keeping her hands on his chest as an additional point of contact. Now she can tell his disgruntlement doesn't stem from possessiveness, as she'd thought and resented, but from the same feeling of uncertainty and being uprooted, of suddenly not knowing his place. How absolutely dreadful. His place is always the same, always here. "My functions have not changed at all, nor have yours," she reassures him. "I am simply extending my horizons, something I think you will appreciate once you have settled in. You are still my pilot and I am still your ship," she finishes, trying a very small but affectionate smile. Though, how is her having friends a role reversal? As this occurs to her, her brow furrows in concern. "Are you alone, back in your universe?"

attention isn't a mineral fucknuts

[whofrownedthisface]

She's right, and he knows it, has already had the thought himself on some level; this would be such an interesting experiment if there weren't so much else to acclimate to. And if he weren't so tetchy and territorial in reaction to it all. And, as she's rightly surmised, he wasn't in the best state even before the calamitous translation to this universe. "Yes. Recently so," he grudgingly admits. But she shouldn't go latching onto that, his ego would feel a bit bypassed in this situation no matter what his traveling arrangements had been. "Good thing, too. Considering this." He gestures vaguely, indicating the new universe and the rift and all. Probably best there aren't any traveling humans suddenly abandoned back in his universe. Though they'd probably have been fine.

He silently makes known his gratitude and relief at being welcomed, feeling more at ease with that form of expression. Things could have been so much worse, being stranded here with no TARDIS at all. "Though I wasn't any more alone there than in this universe. Technically." Which is a complicated and tightly wound statement, encompassing both his thankfulness for her presence as a universal constant, and his trepidation at being displaced and wing-clipped. This isn't the best outcome, but it's hardly the worst either, that has to count for something.

and being married to a time ship isn't an emotion

[theoldgirl]

Well, that certainly helps to explain his recklessness in dealing with the rift. A companion may have possibly been able to convince him to put a little more care into his plan. Though she supposes he has something of a point; at least nobody is stranded in his version of her, forcing her to take care of them while she will be struggling more than enough to cope with the rift and the Doctor's disappearance. More importantly, now she knows to look out for the brooding and loneliness he typically develops sooner or later, without a friend. Not that she's entirely sure what she could do about it, since he isn't all that comfortable with her humanoid form yet.

But this worry at least isn't allowed to fester, as his gratitude is very heartening and reassuring to feel. It seems like a step in the right direction towards mending this shaken bond of theirs, and she returns it with affection. And she has no trouble at all unwinding his statement, her smile growing a little warmer. "That is very true," she replies and, after a moment's consideration, stands up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.

Then she disengages, stepping back and folding her hands. This all feels so raw and delicate and fragile, fraught with desperation and dissonance, that she's unnaturally afraid of taking a wrong step. It's bound to make her irritable again later, but right now, so shortly after the loss of the other Doctor, she can't risk pushing him away. So instead she tries to change the topic, though she's not very apt at it. "What now, dear?" Deciding that is certainly one of his functions.

there sure is a lot of emotion around for that to be the case

[whofrownedthisface]

It's encouraging to have some of the tragic penchant for miscommunication ironed out, but the underlying strain still remains, turns over uneasily. Now she's not only doing her own socialising, but comfortably making affectionate gestures? Not in this instance a very hard protocol to understand, but it's still very demonstrative, on top of being new. Nonetheless, it's immeasurably touching and he has to struggle to stifle a smile that is only the teensiest bit shellshocked.

At least she isn't good at steering conversations now too. Unfortunately, he isn't going to be a lot better at the moment, though that's hardly his fault. The answer to her question is a non-answer at best, at this point there are simply too many unknowns, but that won't stop him thinking out loud in her direction to stabilise his own thoughts. "I don't know," he sighs, but immediately hairpin turns to ticking off potential steps on his fingers. "Rift investigation: Looking for any gathered data-- there's got to be some records at least, if these organisations are aware of entities coming through the rift-- and then there's the rifties themselves." He clasps his hands together, steps backward around the console in standard lecturing mode. "Will have to do some observing of my own, of course." Because human recollection is notoriously unreliable, especially where the perception of highly erratic temporospatial anomalies are concerned. "No idea what that means for you, don't usually have to worry about it."