bigapplesauce | Stellarum Salve [closed]

Current Location: Bethesda Terrace
Current Music: August 3rd

Entry tags:

Stellarum Salve [closed]

Once again it is quiet and lonely in the void of the Furthest Ring. Some time ago - inasmuch as time can be said to be a thing that exists here - Calliope had suddenly found herself in a very strange dream bubble. It had been quite frightening, but also nice, so nice, to not be alone for a while, and of course it was over far too quickly, leaving her to stew by herself in the dark once more.

Despite the brief respite from her miserable lot that the dream had granted her, she is soon overwhelmed by loneliness and despondency again, curled up at the center of her protective vortex and wondering how she is supposed to make a difference to all of Paradox Space. Being dead means irrelevancy, after all, and she has already been killed by her brother once before - quite rightfully, the more she thinks about it. So how can she hope to find the courage to leave her hidden sanctuary and go in search of the secret weapon of legend, capable of defeating the invincible reality-rending monster her brother has become? Hope is in rather short supply out here, she muses gloomily.

Just then, as though to prove her wrong, something changes. Calliope stares up in speechless shock as a pair of majestic wings appears in mid-air, getting larger and brighter and quite mesmerizing and then she feels like she's tumbling, the wings guiding her. It's a short tumble, at the end of which she finds herself sitting on smooth stone, looking up at the back of a winged human statue. There is water sprinkling down in front of her-- water? And trees?? And humans!!! With an undignified squeak, Calliope more falls than scrambles down the edge of the oddly round body of water and cowers at the foot of it.

What is this place? There are so many humans she doesn't know, and this really doesn't feel like a dream bubble at all, and she feels slightly cold... just about anywhere would be cold to someone who grew up beneath a massive red supergiant, but she's never felt much of anything in the void or in dreams. This is all too much to take in and so is quickly eclipsed by her usual paramount concern - not causing a panic among the humans with her monstrous appearance. Which is going to be rather difficult, as the round structure isn't hiding her well at all, and oh she's quite sure she couldn't bear it if they all started running away screaming. Too scared to care that this doesn't seem to be a dream, she squeezes her eyes shut and desperately wills herself to look more acceptable, imagines with all her might her trollsona's soft grey skin, pretty face and lovely curled orange horns. But for all her imagining, she's still too afraid to open her eyes again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Calliope is too busy doing her own marveling to really pay attention to Iman, or anything else for that matter, right up until she is shocked out of her thoughts by the mention of her monstrous appearance. How dreadful, she had hoped nobody had gotten a glimpse of her like that when she'd arrived. But why is Iman bringing it up now, and why is she giving her such a strange look... With a mortified little squeak, she raises her claws to her head where there should be lovely soft hair instead of this awful bald skull, and in the blink of an eye she switches back to her trollsona. She must have gotten so distracted that she forgot about her appearance entirely, and now the damage is done.

Looking pleadingly up at Iman, she manages to say, "I am so sorry, please don't be scared of me," before being interrupted by the Doctor. Suddenly she is intensely intimidated by all this attention being on her, can't they go back to talking to each other? But the Doctor looks like he is very excited about something very important, and still not making any sense about the dream bubbles. "W-what do you mean?" she peeps, nervously eyeing the shiny object in his hands.

Oh, jeez. What just happened there? Did she lose track of what her face was doing again? She's been known to make some weird expressions when working, but she was pretty sure she'd been smiling just now.

"I'm not..." she starts to say, but the Doctor is on top of the conversation again, gesticulating with a mirror. What, does this have something to do with the appearance thing? She's already changed back, and furthermore she's obviously on edge about it.

She makes the curious and almost subconscious decision to transfer her attention to the little girl instead of the enthused scientist or the marvelously dimensionally aberrant room she's standing in. Must be some well-buried part of her is unexpectedly touched by Callie's embarrassment.

She crouches down beside her, getting on eye level. She remembers really appreciating it when adults did that for her at this... size (age being relative).

"I'm not scared," she promises. She reaches out and rests her hand on Callie's arm, she hopes comfortingly. She can only guess at what the green version of Callie is, whether it's natural or the mark of some kind of accident, disfigurement, who knows what. That she's ashamed of it is what's important. "It's okay to look different, sweetie."

She'd say more, or try to ask about this whole thing, but she's getting self-conscious about being all sincere and shit, and anyway there's stuff happening. She turns her attention to the Doctor, curious to see what he's on about, though she stays down on Callie's level as a potential support for whatever he's got planned with the mirror. Or something. Whatever. Comforting children, who even does this? No one can prove she did. She'll fight them.

Hokay, is everyone settled then? Iman is not being the best captive audience, and is crouching down and not being excited enough at all, why isn't anyone ever the right emotion when things happen, this is such a trial. May as well get on with it then, not that he has any chance of keeping his excitement to himself much longer anyway. With a theatrically hands-intensive flourish, he spins the mirror around and puts it in front of Callie's not-green, not-spooky-eyed face. "Callie, look. Look at your eyes. Not black. Not white. Not a dream. However you got pulled through the rift, you're not a ghost anymore." THIS TIME, EVERYBODY LIVES. And there's absolutely no way this can go as badly for him as the moon being an egg. Hopefully. "You're really here." Sure, this city is gross and loud and about as warm and personable to look at as a Dalek's backside, but it has got to be better than being a ghost hiding in dreams and fearing death. Ghosts shouldn't have to worry about that, and wee polite alien children doubly so. And now she doesn't have to!

He shoots Iman a smug look, a 'beat that!' look, though she's currently just a stand-in for the universe, though absolutely none of this is his doing, unless some kind of lingering psychic signature dragged Callie through in his wake or something, but that seems remarkably unlikely. It's not his work, but it's exactly the kind of work he stands for, and probably the biggest kick in the face to death in awhile at least. Probably even in a way that won't have regrettable consequences for everyone involved. How often, in his incredibly long life, has that been the case? All the triumph, none of the guilt, zero cosmic imbalance, ghost-free. So yeah, take that, universe. None of your shit today.

Iman is being so kind and considerate again, and it's a shame Calliope can't be properly grateful for it just now, what with the Doctor's very intense and ominous hovering. It really is good of Iman to be less hover-y and she feels a wee bit comforted as she glances from the nice human back to the Doctor looking as thrilled as Roxy surrounded by meowcats.

Of course, all of that takes up a temporary and metaphorical second fiddle when she is suddenly staring at her own reflection. She really is as pretty as she'd always imagined her trollsona to be, but surprisingly that isn't why she lets out a little "Oh!" and raises a hand to her mouth in shock and wonder. He's right, there are two lovely orange eyes with bright green irises looking back at her. Even though she is perfectly aware that she's dead. "But... how?" she finally says, vaguely addressed at the Doctor, though she can't take her eyes off her reflection. No, this must be a dream. "I am only capable of making myself look more presentable as part of my knack for manipulating dreamspace. If I were truly alive, if this were not a dream bubble, I would look... different." She just barely avoids a more severe word, out of respect for both their undeserved kindness with regards to her true appearance.

It takes some effort to keep up with them on this. It's sounding like Callie has a lot of experience with the Dreaming, just how long has she been popping in and out of this universe before the Rift finally took her in? And what's this about being a ghost? Did she think she was... Was she dead?

Iman's never considered the possibility that the Rift could bring someone back to life, in addition to altering them, as it has done so many. If it's true, if she's here now with a living example - that would be fantastic. She can't just come out and ask shit like that, though, she has to wait until everyone's had their moments and then some. She stays on the floor, watching Callie with deep curiosity. The Doctor's weird smug glance at her gets ignored. This is not a contest, and if it was, he'd already have won with his big magic box and he probably knows it.

She doesn't exactly have enough data to insist that Callie must be alive, but she's going to assume the Doctor knows what he's talking about, at the very least because it supports this being reality.

"The Rift has been known to... enhance powers or capabilities that we already had," she says delicately. "It might just be that now you can change your appearance whenever you want." She gives Callie's arm a gentle squeeze. "What makes the other appearance so unpresentable, anyway?"

It's a good thing Iman is here to field this, because all the Doctor can muster in the face of Callie's reluctance and skepticism is an indignant scoffing noise and some contradictory mirror-wiggling. The Doctor doesn't think he knew that about the rift, that it 'enhanced powers,' surely he would remember if anyone had told him, but he certainly can't argue with it as an idea. Why wouldn't the rift do something like that? If it's going to be bringing people to life anyway, it may as well, right? He retracts the mirror, no longer brandishing it, but hanging on to it just in case; Callie doesn't seem convinced yet. Doesn't matter, he's convinced enough for all three of them, and he'll see to it that she is as well, with the sheer power of his enthusiasm. A younger incarnation of himself would probably have resorted to something undignified and exuberant, like a weird little dance of some kind. Good thing he doesn't do that.

And now Iman is opening that whole species-envy can of worms. May as well ask her why she's fake-British. Only don't, because you can't just ask someone why they're fake-British. There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for that anyway, maybe her human friends were real-British, and she's emulating them out of a long-standing cultural affinity. Well, let's see how graceful and beauteous she thinks humans are after a couple of weeks in New York.

As can only be expected, he can't remain quiet, not in the face of his impatience with this line of inquiry. "Nothing, I've already told her, it's quite helpful, the way she looks. Though this one's just as good," he offers this evaluation quite affably. Credit where credit is due. Indeed, those horns really stick out, quite literally. She can change her coat all she likes.

For once, Calliope doesn't care enough to explain in detail why she finds her true appearance despicable, and even lets the Doctor's reply stand. Absolutely all of her caring capacity is now taken up by the dawning realization that she, what? Can change her looks at will outside the dream bubbles? And that she's alive? For a moment, while she has her wide and wonderfully lively eyes turned on Iman, she can't decide what to be more joyous about. But she's been alive before, whereas she's never been a troll, and never thought she would be.

"You mean... I am really a troll now?" she manages to say in hushed, astonished tones. Turning back to the Doctor, she squeaks excitedly, "And no longer a ghost?" One or the other would not be entirely outside the rules of Paradox Space, if vastly unlikely, but both together is truly miraculous. It's so difficult to believe that she reaches out and takes the mirror from the Doctor's hands almost reverently to properly look at herself. She looks at this real, non-fake hair, pokes at the sharp teeth and black lips, and finally sticks out her perfectly un-forked tongue. No amount of face paint ever allowed her to get that right. And, "By jove, no wonder the sunlight was so bright earlier! Trolls are nocturnal!" She may have the tendency to get caught up in random details sometimes, but in this case that's what makes it finally seem really real.

Edited 2014-12-07 22:05 (UTC)

Well, of course there's nothing wrong with the way Callie looks, but that doesn't mean she's convinced of it. Iman represses the urge to roll her eyes at the Doctor's impatience; anyway, it stops being relevant, as Callie's much too excited by this new revelation, whatever it all means. General bewilderment aside, Iman can't help but smile at Callie's happiness.

"You're really here, at any rate," she says. She really wants to know more about this whole troll vs ghost thing, and more about Callie's home universe and just how it was she came to know about humans, buuut can't get everything done at once. There's a possibly more relevant question to be asked first. She watches Callie fawn over her reflection for a moment before bringing it up.

"You keep saying it'll be safer if we call you Callie," she says. "Why safer? Or does that only apply for when you're in dreams?"

He nods with absolute certainly. Yes, she's not a ghost, finally it looks like she's accepting that as reality. If she's really only just caught on--hang on, is her tongue grey? Well, she doesn't look worried, and she's the troll, that's probably fine. If she's really just caught on to the fact that sunlight is abnormally bright, she probably hasn't been here long at all, either. Where...does that leave her, exactly? He starts looking somewhat worried. Where did Iman get her from? Where is she going to go. The silly little factions handle that, don't they? Daine the smug shapeshifting hooligan...something something rebel base. That's what he retained. Romac, well obviously not, they're still rubbish. If this internal conversation gets any more animated, it's going to start occurring out loud, and that's bound to get confusing for everyone.

Is Iman talking again? That's what he gets for getting distracted. And this new line of questioning is probably not going to be great for Callie's spirits, either, which seems a shame, this has been such a victory. Still, he has to grudgingly admit, it's probably not a bad question. But whatever it is she has to fear from her brother normally, she's quite a long ways away from that now, even if he does sound like he really makes the rounds. Though, as Iman has inadvertently pointed out, that might not be the case in rift-generated dreams. Who knows with them, anything can turn up there it seems. Once again, he only narrowly avoids losing focus entirely, complete with hand gestures. Miraculously, he keeps quiet, keeps his attention on Iman and Callie, though he can't possibly stay shut up for long.

Indeed, this is basically the only line of questioning that could effectively curb Calliope's delight right now, and so it does. It seems she won't be free of him even when a lifelong dream of hers is being fulfilled. How typical, and how inevitable. After a glance up at the Doctor that speaks volumes of her sudden discomfort, she turns a grave, almost apologetic expression on Iman.

"It's to do with my awful brother," she admits, feeling bad that she can't be truthful enough to share her real name with them. "He truly is a monster in both appearance and character alike, and he is hunting for me. His obsession with erasing me is so great that he is tearing apart universes trying to find me. And because he is a colossal prick who enjoys meting out indiscriminate suffering." For a moment, there's a sharp edge of hatred to her voice as she says this, but it is quickly overtaken by her worry and fear again. "He is highly sensitive to my presence, as well as my name. I'm quite sure he could find me in any universe." She glances back down at her reflection, but it's not half as comforting now. And how cruelly he would mock her for it.

Iman winces at the moodshift, great job, pats on the back all around. It seems like important information - fascinating, too, but in a really awful way. Can this brother of hers really cross through dimensions, just like that? Tear universes apart, receive information from between worlds? That would be immense, that would be - well. It would her life's work and her aspirations, accomplished with what sounds like no effort at all, by some jerk.

It's a little confounding.

Fortunately, that fuels her capacity toward protective sympathy. "Hey," she says as comfortingly as she can manage. "The multiverse is a big place. And this corner is, well, I want to say it's defended. I guess we don't know how well yet. I'm working on figuring that particular shit out right now." She glances up at the Doctor. "And something tells me I am not the only one."

Not a perfect consolation. God damn, consoling people is hard. How do people do this on a regular basis? Not wanting to sugarcoat anything, she says, "I mean, granted, from the sound of it, the Doc and I did both kind of... come through on purpose," she says. "Or at least after some mild provocation. But. Consider this." She smiles the smile of the scientific method. "If this Rift is making informed decisions, and I'd put money down that it is - which is a mind-blowing hypothesis all by itself, but stay with me here - why would it bring you here, and go to the energy-conserving effort of bringing you back to life, if it had any plans to let your piece-of-work sibling in here so he could undo it?"

So, working with a lot of variables and suppositions here. Not very scientific. But fuck it, right? Callie's feelings are more important than rock-solid theorizing, which is a series of words that has never before happened to Iman before.

"Even if he did get through," she says, a bit brashly, "we'd protect you. Right?" Back up to the Doctor. Help me out here, owl man. "I mean, you've got this incredible piece of architectural whatever-the-hell, I have approximately several thousands questions you ask you about this by the way, when, you know, we can pencil it in. Surely you've got... means of defense, or whatever."

At some point she should probably mention Satan. These people are both pretty new. But now would be a terrible time for that.

The Doctor isn't quite ready to hang his hat on the idea of the rift making such informed decisions, and he's certainly not especially convinced that it operates on a logical and benevolent wavelength rather than a capricious and malevolent one. But the rift might well defend itself and its dream-bubbles if they come under attack, and Callie's brother sounds like he generates a lot of collateral damage to cosmic phenomena. And Iman is definitely right about a couple of things. One, that he's pretty much guaranteed not to let a huge cosmic asshole just casually ruin the universe in which he currently resides. And two, that Callie in particular is a really bad choice of targets. Her aliveness is just too huge and symbolic (and absolving) a triumph. "Oh yes, the TARDIS is the safest place there is. Completely unassailable. And that's not idle speculation, I get assailed all the time. Tends to backfire on the assailants." Granted, that might be less true in a universe where the TARDIS is grounded and on a power ration. And there have certainly been some serious threats. And he knows nothing about this particular potential threat whatsoever. But he'd still give the TARDIS better odds than anything else, in defensive terms. Which is to say nothing of himself.

"Not to mention, being alive might give you some breathing room." Oh, he's hilarious. "He won't be expecting that." ~~Said the Doctor, having not read Homestuck.~~ If he's hunting for a ghost, then the focus will probably be on dream-bubbles. So that's perhaps a concern, but there's time enough to burn that bridge. "And he certainly wouldn't be expecting me."

This is very nearly too much for Calliope. The notion that she has somehow been granted another life, the revelation that she is now an actual troll, and this level of utterly unexpected compassion and protectiveness from what she knows are essentially still strangers, it's altogether overwhelming. These two have no reason to care about her, and actually quite a lot of reasons to want her gone very far away, yet here they are offering to reassure and even defend her out of the goodness of their hearts. There are rather a lot of emotions to feel at once and no good way to express them (since this is the wrong medium to be using emoticons in), so she ends up merely clutching the mirror to her chest and blinking against a few faintly green colored tears.

"That is unbelievably kind of you both," she manages to say, "and I could not have wished for more lovely and terrific people to encounter in this foreign place." She does, however, wish that she didn't have to refute their attempts at comfort and their optimism. Turning to Iman, she adds, "But this rift must be only one of the numerous cracks my brother's rampage is causing in the fabric of time and space. It isn't sentient, let alone interested in protecting me." Calliope looks as contrite as though that was her personal fault, before glancing up at the Doctor. "And while I have been able to determine that his deadly procession through any given universe is rather more restrained and rule-bound than his travels through the Furthest Ring, it is no less catastrophic. Perhaps I could hide within the infinite dimensions of your gorgeous box just as well as in dream bubbles, but I fear the end result would be just as inevitable..." She feels awful both for considering this and for doing what seems like ungratefully rejecting his offer of help, and so looks down at his shoes instead.

"I do not doubt that you are very brave and have oodles of experience with all sorts of dangers. But you do not know him like I do. He is no longer the spoiled prat I used to share a, a room with; he has reportedly become an exceptionally muscled and literally invincible monster! And I absolutely could not bear it if anything happened to either of you because of me..." So perhaps it would be best if she returned to where she came from. Though, selfishly, she doesn't offer that suggestion out loud.

What a downer. And yet Iman can't really blame her, nor is she so easily frustrated. Callie's been through a lot already, from the sound of it - talk of literal invincible monsters is sort of inappropriately funny, but Iman's going to give her the benefit of the doubt - and coming through the Rift is a hell of a lot extra to process. This is gonna take time, and she knows it. She smiles, faint and unconsciously sympathetic, and rubs Callie's back.

"Well, you're here now," she says. "And whatever might happen in the future is going to happen. Right now you should probably pin your focus on getting acclimated. First things first: we gotta get you somewhere to stay."

Because she sure as hell isn't staying with Iman.

She stands up finally, her legs starting to cramp up, though she keeps a hand on Callie's shoulder. She turns to the Doctor. "What's the TARDIS?" she says bluntly. "Is that... this?" She makes a vague gesture encompassing their surroundings, looking around at the room in a little recurrence of awe. "Is this where you live?"

The Doctor looks shocked and appalled at Iman's vague phrasing and gesturing re: the TARDIS. "Ye-es," he says, which covers two of the three questions, neatly answering the third as well. He can see where Iman is going with this line of questioning, and although he'd already had the thought, he still bristles the tiniest bit at Iman just assigning his living space to a child. Who just comes into somebody's home and does that? But though he may find fault with the execution, Iman's got ahold of the only real solution. "The TARDIS has plenty of space, all the amenities." And is a sentient ship with whom he is on somewhat unsteady ground, who should probably be consulted, but isn't being. Anyway it'll be fine. "As well as some psychic capabilities which may offer protection on that front, too."

He turns his total, stern attention on Callie once more, and points for good measure, like he's delivering some kind of verdict. "You. You stay here for now. You can find something better later, if you like. But you can't just sleep on park benches until then, eating breadcrumbs like a pigeon," he preemptively argues. This is America. Bench-sleeping is probably highly illegal. And her other options are even worse. "Don't argue, it's settled." If she draws the attention of her brother, it probably won't matter where she's staying anyway.

Iman's and the Doctor's generosity must simply be as endless as this box, that's the only explanation for what is happening here. And Calliope hardly knows how to respond to it. Granted, Iman isn't offering any more reassurances after her regrettable arguments, but she doesn't blame her for that, and she does bring up an important and practical issue instead. It's a good thing she's thinking of this, because Calliope still has trouble grasping the fact that this isn't a dream bubble.

And it seems that the matter is decided as suddenly as it was brought up, before she could even begin to worry about it. She flinches slightly at the Doctor's stern pointing, but a second later it's obvious he is just doing it for emphasis, not because he is tossing her out. And his offer (or order) is once again hard to take in. Her, live here? She looks up at the shining, almost golden ceiling in renewed awe, marveling aloud, "Could there even be anything better?" The cheery chiming sounds that seem to come from the central column almost as though in response to her words are absolutely splendid too.

She still can't believe her good fortune, and is still so worried that something awful is going to happen, but far be it from her to argue again when she's been told in no uncertain terms not to. So she turns to the Doctor, still somewhat teary eyed but now with a shy smile on her face, too. "I do not know how I could possibly thank you enough. You won't notice I am here at all, I will be as quiet as a door mouse, I promise." Looking up at Iman, she adds, "And thank you, too. Will you visit?" It would be so sad to lose contact with a friend she's only just made.

Well, that was... easy? Iman wasn't trying to be so forthright as to suggest the Doctor adopt this kid, more like she was trying to establish his living situation and yeah, if he had a spare room, but if not, any ideas about alternatives, etc. But whatever, now it's resolved, before she could even blink.

And there's Callie, back to being enormously cute. "You bet, honey," she says, pleased to see her smiling again ~~ugh what is going on with her~~. "Good luck keeping me out of here." With that she looks up at the Doctor, folds her arms and stands with her hip cocked at an angle.

"Now." She unfolds one arm to make a slow, much more portentous encompassing gesture. "What is this?" she wants to know, and she thinks she's been impressively patient about this issue so far and it is now well past an acceptable time to address the big glorious dimensionally aberrant room elephant thank you very much.

And this day will forever be remembered as the day Iman twisted the Doctor's arm about sheltering an alien child. Not remembered accurately, but remembered nonetheless. And amazingly enough, Callie isn't arguing. See, if she were human, she'd be arguing, even though this is clearly the best course of action. Even better, the TARDIS seems agreeable despite his oversight. Probably helps a lot that these strangers have both been very impressed and polite, and in Callie's case, grateful. He has no idea how to handle Callie's gratitude, and unfortunately there's too much emotional responsibility in the air to just go and fiddle with the console until everybody leaves.

Luckily Iman spares him with her curiosity. And yes, he'd rather assumed she would turn up again, like a stray cat once it's been fed. Pretty understandable, really, she's hit the dimensional physicist jackpot. "This is the TARDIS." He's established that already, but now it's almost an introduction. "A ship that travels in time and space." Only not so much, currently. "I'd give you a demonstration, but there's some compatibility issues with the new universe. Everything else works, though." Mostly. He shrugs. What more could she want to know?

It's good to hear that Iman is so enthusiastic about visiting, and Calliope musters a bigger smile for her in response. And it's wonderful to hear a little more about this place that is apparently going to be her home for the time being. A home for her, nothing like the empty bleak nothingness of the void that lingered beneath everything even when she tried creating more comforting settings for herself. And how good of the TARDIS to be a space and time ship in addition to what very much seems like a whole extra universe unto itself.

She wants to ask how the Doctor managed to get so much space into the comparatively small box - is he perhaps a Hero of Space, as well? - but she can tell by Iman's expression that more over-her-head talk is imminent. And as fascinated as she is by the TARDIS, and as excited as she would be if the Doctor shared her aspect, she feels like she's already been talking far too much, as usual, and could do with a break from everyone's unbearably kind attentiveness. So she opts to stay quiet now, instead looking at herself in the mirror again. The image is still reassuringly a troll, and she does her best to let that cheer her, rubbing the green tears away and trying to push aside her anxieties regarding her brother.

So fortified, she looks up at the big imposing column again and finally wanders the three stairs up to it to examine it more closely. She's immediately charmed by the vibrant green illumination and the complicated mechanisms under the transparent bits of the panels, and by the way she catches glimpses of her own reflection in them. There's soft humming too, and things that whir and click rhythmically. Leaning against the edge of the panels, she reaches out with one hand to a spikey round little bit that's periodically spinning around its own axis, but dutifully doesn't touch anything without permission.

Yes, what more could she want to know, apart from EVERYTHING. "A ship?" she echoes, frowning thoughtfully. "A ship shaped like a phone booth? How does it go? What kind of technology is this, even, is this - are you from the future, or... Wait, are you even human?"

Sorry, Doctor, she's basically going to need an entire dissertation on this. She strays toward the apparent console but refrains from touching anything, only with immense self-restraint. She smiles fondly at Callie, examining everything with endearing curiosity.

"How does all this fit in here?" she asks, slower and more thoughtful. "Is it a pocket dimension, or is it something actually constructed, like this really, definitely exists here, within a smaller finite space? Fuck, is it that?" She's almost overcome by how beautiful that would be. She looks back at the Doctor, calmer, hoping for a straight answer. The more this sinks in the more she's sure this is the most incredible thing she's ever seen.

Everyone is drifting towards the console now apparently, and the Doctor follows behind in their wake, with a slight huff. "It's Time Lord technology, because I'm a Time Lord," he says querulously, ignoring about a dozen or so other questions in favour of the ones he deems closest to relevant. "Transdimensional engineering." That probably answers everything on the technological front, right? He circles around the console, all defensive eyebrows, threatened by Iman's enthusiasm. He's traveled with people who didn't ask this many in-depth TARDIS-related questions in the course of years, much less a few minutes. "The phone booth is just a disguise. Or possibly the longest running inside joke in the history of anything. TARDIS humour is a rarefied art."

Callie, too, seems quite taken with the TARDIS, and she's not even a dimensional physicist. Though she is, or was potentially, a muse of space--whatever that means. He should probably get that clarified at some point, it might be meaningful, though it hadn't sounded like a species. Then again, Time Lord doesn't really either, and that's never stopped anyone. "Shame we're grounded, or I'd really show you something," he says wistfully. Iman is a great target for being impressive, and Callie could probably use a distraction more than anything.

Calliope is certainly plenty distracted, admiring all the dials and levers while listening to Iman's enthusiastic questions. Personally, she would think that this place being a 'pocket' dimension and also really very much existing within a smaller space aren't mutually exclusive the way Iman's wording makes it seem, but then this isn't her wondrous ship, and the Doctor probably enjoys explaining things, so she keeps her thoughts to herself.

That is, until the Doctor casually reveals something awfully familiar sounding. She immediately ceases her examination of the console to stare at him in astonishment and a smidgen of involuntary dread, barely refraining from cutting him off until he stops talking for a spell. "Do you mean to say that you are a Lord of Time?" she rushes out, because it's both very important and very intimidating. Realizing that she sounded more concerned than there is surely any reason to be, she hastens to add, "Only I, well, I would have expected fitting an infinite structure into a much smaller box to be the purview of those who bear the Space aspect. Not that there is anything wrong with being a Hero of Time! Nor with being a Lord, I suppose..." Except for how she can't think of anything nice to say about that class just now. Oh bugger, she shouldn't have said anything at all.

Transdimensional engineering is maybe the most beautiful pair of words she's ever heard, 'cellar door' can go fuck itself, this right here is the linguistic be-all-end-all. She blanks out for a moment, staring around at the wondrous ship enjoying the phone booth explanation as well as anything, more questions bubbling up slowly. She needs to know everything about this. It's so wonderful. Are there manuals she can read? Can she live here? Is-

Wait, Time Lord?

She's about to let out a crack about that being the most ridiculous species name in the history of ever, if that's in fact what it's supposed to mean, but Callie's jumped on it first, and her line of questioning seems more... significant, somehow. Iman goes quiet, looking at the girl in mild bewilderment, and then looks at the Doctor with an expression of mingled are you getting any of this and well?

Nope. He thought he was getting it, and then it took a sharp turn in the direction of not getting it at all. He looks back at Iman just as bewildered, before turning a more cautiously baffled look on Callie. "I'm not sure that's what I meant to say at all, mainly because I have no idea what you're talking about. That's what I am, it's, it's all one thing. My people are Time Lords." Kinda. Some of them. Look, none of that would help right now. "It doesn't mean we can't do other things. Time, dimensions, space, telepathy," cosmic bigotry, catastrophic universe damaging wars, genocide, stupid outfits, "Time Lord stuff." He shrugs. "Nothing to get so up in the air about. Is this about the muse thing?" Thing of thing, she sure does like that construction. Wonder what that's about.

So it's... his species, not his role? Why would a species be named after a master class? Especially since he doesn't seem to be familiar with mythological roles at all, or any of the lore on Paradox Space, really. So either he is from a universe that isn't destined to bear a session, or he isn't one of the heroes in it, but that can't be right. Even in the short time that she's known him, he has very much struck her as someone who would be granted the great privilege and burden of having a large impact on reality. So if he doesn't know his class and aspect yet, it's definitely time someone helped him figure it out. And perhaps it would turn out that he isn't a Lord at all, though even if he were, it would be silly of her to be concerned, wouldn't it?

"'The muse thing', as you somewhat naively put it, is part of a complex arrangement of classes and aspects that describe the manner in which one has the most meaningful impact on reality, as well as that facet of creation which one has the greatest understanding of and natural affinity with." Sharing her knowledge and considering how best to present her favorite set of rules are having a rather comforting, bolstering effect on Calliope, and she takes on a somewhat lecturely tone that she didn't know she had because she's never gotten to explain this stuff out loud. "There are twelve aspects of reality and twelve classes, plus two master classes. But one's class and aspect mustn't be understood to be limiting! You could still possess great talent in your interactions with other aspects as well, or you may have not immediately apparent potential in your aspect that you are meant to hone as you grow."

Naturally, she magnanimously shares her lecture between the Doctor and Iman, spicing it up with fairly incomprehensible gestures meant to represent all of creation in some way. Though, even in her excitement she can't keep missing their baffled faces forever, so she eventually comes to a somewhat awkward halt. "Blimey, I, erm, did not mean to distract from your conversation about the TARDIS," she apologizes sheepishly to Iman and then glances at the Doctor. "I suppose I was a wee bit up in the air for... personal reasons. Nothing to fret about, really."

Stellarum Salve [closed]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)