ain't no party like a tardis party [open to everyone forever]

[i_jones]

Once you get to the TARDIS - because you did follow those blue balloons through Central Park, didn't you, you got that clue, and maybe those of you with good (or not-bad) intentions found it a little easier to find, and were drawn to it, even - anyway, once you get to the TARDIS, you find a sign on the door, which is ajar. No, not that sign, a handwritten sign taped to the front that says PARTY (I PROMISE) with an arrow pointing inside. And yes, oh, isn't the console room nice, how merry-go-round, whatever. More importantly, there are signs on every door out of the room that say assorted things like PARTY THIS WAY and ALSO THIS WAY and JUST PICK ONE REALLY. There is one festive balloon tied to the console.

If you go through any or all of the doors, you'll find yourself in a room with a very large pool (that one might say looks like this one except much grander in scale). The pool is lined, not excessively, with taps in various shapes, sizes, and colors. Some pump out bubbles, some foam, some clouds, some... who knows? Surrounding the pool are chairs and tables with appetizers, desserts, drinks, and various types of cake. Also pie. There's a jukebox tucked into a corner playing a mixture of 80s songs, unfamiliar songs from various points in the future, and the occasional song in an alien language with a good beat. There are rooms if you need to change, and some doors might even take you to the wardrobe room if you need a bathing suit. And I guess you could explore further if you really wanted to, but why do that when you can party? Because most doors will probably lead you back to the pool room, let's be real.

Comments

[powerdealer]

Seth isn't entirely unfamiliar with lacking a sense of time. It was most definitely something he dealt with while locked in the base, where he had almost nothing to go by, and eventually it seemed to lose its meaning altogether - a lot of his memories in there blur together. He can mostly remember the order in which they happened, but not how much time spaced out the different events, beyond basic guesswork and assumptions that are probably way off. He hasn't sat down to try to map it out, and doesn't much want to.

And even after that, weeks passed without him really keeping track. Eventually he started making a point of keeping track of it, to always try to be aware of what day it is and what happened when, because it seemed to tie him more solidly to his life and his surroundings. Having to schedule his morphine doses helped. Now that he suddenly doesn't have that, he's found it a bit challenging to keep track again - he'll have to figure out some other way...

In short, he doesn't particularly blame Rush for not knowing. It's definitely inconvenient, but right now Seth seems to go back to more worrying about Rush's well-being. This whole thing seems to be rather distressing for him, and Seth doesn't really want to worsen it any more than he already has.

"Daniel's from 2005," he answers, frowning worriedly still. "He hasn't met you yet." Seth pauses for a moment, pocketing his phone again. He can send Daniel more messages in a bit.

"Would you like me to tell him to stay away from you?" he asks. If Rush decides he wants to see Daniel, it shouldn't be too difficult to get hold of him. The TARDIS would know how to get hold of Seth, presumably, and possibly even Daniel directly. But it doesn't seem like he wants to, and now that Daniel knows of his existence, it's possible he would seek him out and, well, try to bond. "He probably shouldn't know too much about what might still be his future," he adds. Whether that's true or just a convenient excuse is probably irrelevant.

[lottawork]

2005?

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It is a very good thing, Rush recalls wearily, that he did not delve into specifics.

"He's from a different point in time," he mutters, almost feverish in his relief, and the hand falls away, the pressure on his shoulders and chest now quite lessened. The thought of having to exist in the same city as Jackson is somewhat a more bearable prospect if the man has no idea who Rush is. Though amnesia would not be unusual for him either, apparently, if some fifty percent of the rumors that floated through the halls at Icarus Base are to be believed.

Seth has stopped talking. Seth has stopped talking, and is looking at Rush expectantly, and thus whatever it is he has just said has evaded Rush's limited attention, and he must briefly mentally scramble to construct an acceptable response.

"Jackson can do whatever the fuck he likes," he answers, exerting the utmost effort to inject all his concentrated disdain into each word. "I certainly don't care."

[powerdealer]

Seth has no idea of the context between the two of them, and has a feeling he probably never will. But considering the obvious relief Rush shows upon hearing Daniel doesn't know him yet, that might be for the best.

He'll probably advise Daniel to stay away, even if Rush doesn't care. If not for Rush's sake, then for Daniel's own. He can't really know whether knowledge of his future is even relevant - he doesn't really get all the complicated science behind all that, and no one really knows what happens if someone manages to get back through the Rift - and if anyone even has managed it.

He gives a curt nod, then hovers awkwardly. There's no way they can salvage this conversation into anything remotely casual, and he rather feels like he's caused Rush enough worry. And he's not sure he wants to know anything about Daniel's future. Daniel's life after returning to his home, even. Perhaps. Seth doesn't like to think about it. (Seth generally has trouble envisioning anything past the next week, ever since he came to this world, but he does know if he has a future here, he'd selfishly like Daniel to be in it.)

"Right. I'm sorry I..." he starts slowly, but he's unsure what to say, what exactly to apologise for. "I probably shouldn't... I'm gonna go." Real smooth. He's great at this. Fucking hell.

[lottawork]

Seth seems suitably unnerved given the sequence of events, and his clumsy farewell is met with a scornful grunt in the back of Rush's throat as he gathers his laptop and his rapidly cooling coffee in a fluid sweep. Any associate of Jackson's is liable to be just as intimidatingly curious and thoughtful - Rush somewhat fearfully conjures the rest of SG-1 to mind - and therefore a swift escape is doubtless his best option. He slips past the other man with a minimum of contact in a brush of laptop, coffee, annoyance, and suspicion, making an unerring line back to his corner of asocial productivity.