The Eleventh Doctor || Doctor Who (![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
makeherblue) wrote in ![[community profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trans_92012-06-05 03:24 am
makeherblue) wrote in trans_92012-06-05 03:24 am
Almost good to go [Post-rebellion] [Open]
The surprising thing about Stacy was the Doctor hadn’t thought she couldn’t be more beautiful, in all her (sometimes) slimy, brilliant glory.
Then he saw her true face, right before she fought back with the rest of the crew.
Ah. So maybe he can be wrong from time to time, the Doctor finding that life on Stacy with the rebellion was easier in that you weren’t stumbling over Daligig or Kessek giving their impressive glowers, as if it was difficult not to just step on you and be done with (well, that and trying to avoid them when they decided enough was enough and it was far too long since they’d shot anything)…and then there was the clean-up. Considering how hard the Daligig had fought back, the Doctor had to say he expected far more casualties than Stacy’s crew had and this was probably the part where that voice in the back of his head bothering him with all sorts of things like niggling feelings.
It was probably telling him all sorts of annoyingly logical things, like in the end they probably should have been spacedust. He told it to shush.
The Doctor threw himself into trying to fix the TARDIS now that he had a second wind of sorts. With Stacy being twice as beautiful as before, the work was coming along much faster than before, now that she wasn’t resisting him. In fact, he’d go so far that she’d even given him advice – not that he’d be ready to admit to his companions that yes, the Doctor could at times need jiggery-pokery tips from a ship. At this rate, he thought he could actually tell Jamie, Barbara, Ian, Victoria and all his other friends a proper when instead of hedging around it and sending them on errands to get parts he didn’t even need. The Doctor roamed the halls of Stacy, sometimes in the hanger, sometimes rummaging about the City, picking his way through the damage and looking for anything that could stand in for an influx injector (or a toaster. A toaster would actually be better than a standard-issue injector!).
So yes. Right! The Doctor was in need of a toaster/influx injector. He just may temporarily kidnap anyone – or anything – he thought might be useful on that front.
[The Doctor will have met your character and kidnapped them for this. This is basically for characters okay with having somewhat short-term CR with Eleven (probably a few months OOCly?) and continuing CR )]
Then he saw her true face, right before she fought back with the rest of the crew.
Ah. So maybe he can be wrong from time to time, the Doctor finding that life on Stacy with the rebellion was easier in that you weren’t stumbling over Daligig or Kessek giving their impressive glowers, as if it was difficult not to just step on you and be done with (well, that and trying to avoid them when they decided enough was enough and it was far too long since they’d shot anything)…and then there was the clean-up. Considering how hard the Daligig had fought back, the Doctor had to say he expected far more casualties than Stacy’s crew had and this was probably the part where that voice in the back of his head bothering him with all sorts of things like niggling feelings.
It was probably telling him all sorts of annoyingly logical things, like in the end they probably should have been spacedust. He told it to shush.
The Doctor threw himself into trying to fix the TARDIS now that he had a second wind of sorts. With Stacy being twice as beautiful as before, the work was coming along much faster than before, now that she wasn’t resisting him. In fact, he’d go so far that she’d even given him advice – not that he’d be ready to admit to his companions that yes, the Doctor could at times need jiggery-pokery tips from a ship. At this rate, he thought he could actually tell Jamie, Barbara, Ian, Victoria and all his other friends a proper when instead of hedging around it and sending them on errands to get parts he didn’t even need. The Doctor roamed the halls of Stacy, sometimes in the hanger, sometimes rummaging about the City, picking his way through the damage and looking for anything that could stand in for an influx injector (or a toaster. A toaster would actually be better than a standard-issue injector!).
So yes. Right! The Doctor was in need of a toaster/influx injector. He just may temporarily kidnap anyone – or anything – he thought might be useful on that front.
[The Doctor will have met your character and kidnapped them for this. This is basically for characters okay with having somewhat short-term CR with Eleven (probably a few months OOCly?) and continuing CR )]
no subject
The sound of footsteps and a loud metallic jangle roused her attention and she sat up, peering over at a man in a bow tie who appeared to be carrying around a largish cardboard box full of various and sundry damaged things. Rolling off the sofa Megan waved to the man when he looked toward her.
"Am I missing out on a scavenger hunt or something?"
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“Scavenger hunt? Well, I suppose you could always have one of those at the same time,” the Doctor said, looking thoughtful and then slightly stunned that he hadn’t thought of it first. And that was why you needed friends and could-be-friends – that extra little bit of creative perspective! “Right, so you. You look like you’ve got some scavenger hunting blood in you! The Doctor, by the way.”
The Doctor juggled his box, earning a protesting grumble from his box, until he could free an arm and shove it in the girl’s direction. He aimed one of those wide smiles of his at her. It seemed so painfully obvious in retrospect. If she could beat him to ideas like that, then clearly she had it in her to assist him with the final repairs to the TARDIS. He was certain that today he could restore her spaceflight capability…and then all that was left was fixing the time engines.
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"Here let me just..." Sneaking her hands along the sides of the load she lifted the box out of the Doctor's arms with a sheepish smile, clearly not finding it's weight half as unweildly as he had and easily spreading her small hands into much wider and longer ones to get and keep a good grip.
"Would you like a hand with your hunting?" she asked, propping the box on her hip. "I'm really good at carrying heavy awkward things."
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The Doctor was more than happy to trade, shaking his sore hands and flapping them to get the blood circulating properly. He fussed with his jacket and then bowtie, straightening them as his eyes flick down to her hands stretching. Oh yes. Non-human. The Doctor doesn't look at all fazed, instead smiling. "I can see that! Good set of hands on you. What species?"
He peered at her, leaning forward with a sudden motion, his mouth pulled down in a questioning frown. There were plenty of species in the galaxy he knew, but that was only really factoring in the one universe he usually knocked about in, and not the differences between different dimensions and realities.
no subject
"I'm a Martian. I can shapeshift, fly, and a few other things. Very good for scavenging."
She tilted her head at him, curiosity knitting her brow. "Are you human? You look it but I can never be sure around here."
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"Excellent. Just the person I needed. Scavenging is loads more fun with people along anyway," the Doctor said. He only smiled at the question, which was a perfectly good one considering. "Me? Human? Oh no, no, although I like to think I could make an amazing human if wanted to. Time Lord. Right, so. Scavenging. I need to find a toaster and I'm open to suggestions where I could find the perfect one."
no subject
"A toaster huh? I'm sure there's a few restaurants in the city level, maybe they'll have toasters. I'm pretty sure there's a sandwich shop, we can start there."
Hefting the box up onto one shoulder, spreading one hand beneath it to free up the other, she picked up from the ground to float along. Flying was better than walking for not jostling box-loads of stuff.
"What kind of toaster should it be? Two slice? Four? Big? Small?"
no subject
"Any toaster. Actually, as many as we can find. I could make a super toaster if we had options and that would be much better for my repairs," the Doctor said with that fussy air of someone who knew his toasters, thank you. "Right. Sandwich shop. Which way?"
Obviously it was in the City but buildings had a habit of popping in and out there, so it was entirely possible he had missed Morse's fabled sandwich shop.
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On entering the TARDIS he made the requisite impressed noises ("It's bigger on the inside!") and puttered about the control room, not quite paying attention to any evidence pointing to possible reasons for his being brought here. Clearly the Doctor had kidnapped him in order to show off his gorgeous space ship, why else?
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The Doctor squinted at Artoo with a frown and a deeply concerned scrunch of his eyebrows, as if daring him to not be blown off his feet. Well. Blown off his wheels. Technically. It wasn't often he had a droid or robot-like person as an assistant, mind you. It took a bit of getting used to! "Alright. Yes. So I think you'll do very nicely and it was very, very kind of you to offer. Could you stand here? Right here, there you are!"
The Doctor tapped his foot on the glass floor, showing his little friend exactly where to put himself. Herself? He wasn't sure if this droid had any preferences, but it looked like a he to him. If you turned your head and squinted. He looked like a far more friendly version of a Dalek, only swap out death lasers and insert beeps and bloops that were almost calculated to be adorable. Honestly, the Daleks could learn a thing or two from this little fella!
dskfj sorry if this is set up kind of weird. if this doesn't work, let me know? my char'll be inside
Who knows? Maybe the cocktail lounge will have a toaster. Haha, okay, no, actually, but this is clearly a high-end casino, which means the likelihood of there being presidential suites and maybe even a penthouse are very high. Those have kitchens and all.
Will he bite?
It's fine!
That and then general...well, the run-down look of it. There's something almost sad about it, the paint in places faded. He can't resist naturally.
The Doctor wanders into the lobby through the glass doors, trailing a heaping mass of wires in his arms as he clanks on through. As it's one of the places he hasn't been before, it means that it's due for a look or two and the Doctor noses about the first floor for any bits and bobs. It's not long before he discovers the actually casino. He can be found there kneeling at one of the machines and prying off the back plate covering it, up to his elbow in its internals and fishing around with his tongue stuck out - the same face you'd probably get trying to fish a gopher out of a hole, oddly enough!
\o/
Science skillhacking ability in order to get through it, but surely, the Doctor is more clever than Robert House? He also has the elevator as an option, though the panel is in direct view of the Securitrons, who would then metaphorically breathe down his neck.Re: \o/
Luckily he seems to have better luck with the stairs, the Doctor taking them two at a time and trying to look at innocent and very not suspicious as he closes in on the bar. The terminal is laughably primitive, even by Earth standards - he could do this one asleep or mid-regeneration-wondering-about-his-
The terminal's screen scrolls through some data as the Doctor continues looking innocently brilliant. It's not a difficult look.
no subject
The man standing before the terminal on the second floor isn't someone she recognizes. She can't say she's all that surprised, considering how many people are on the ship, but she was half-expecting Veronica or Roger.
"Excuse me?" she says, folding her hands in front of her in a relaxed position. Normally, she would rest her hands behind her back, but she doesn't want to make him think she's wanting to keep the shotgun in her back in easy reach. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The shotgun is the most peculiar thing about her, really, considering she's wearing a nice dress, a brown fedora, and her travel bag.
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"I suppose you could do something about those robots. They're doing a very good job glaring, despite the lack of eyes. And, well, typical facial features, but who says you need something like that to stop you from trying?" The Doctor shoves out a hand as he focuses back on the terminal. "The Doctor. Pleasure."
She is, of course, welcome to join him in snooping, even prying (although excessive prying might get that dress of hers caught in places - not something you want to have if you think you might need to run at any point in time).
no subject
The Securitrons would listen to her anyway, though. Comes with being the stand-in owner of the Lucky 38.
Elle looks at his hand, raises an eyebrow, and then takes it. "I'm Elle. Anything else I can help you with, Doctor?"
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"A casino like this has a kitchen, right? Private quarters? The thing is I need a toaster," the Doctor goes on, as if this is as normal being caught mid-snoop. "It's very incredibly important I find a toaster and I'd say a big place like this probably has a toaster or two."
He really only needs the one, but he decides he could err on the side of caution and go for multiple toasters. Elle looks like the sort of human who knows her way around this place - besides, he rather go exploring with a companion. Loads less silence that way.
I'm cool with continuing to thread this if you are. I'm just... incredibly slow... haha
"A toaster? Yeah, I think there's one somewhere around here, either in my suite or up at the lounge."
And that answers his unspoken questions -- She does know her way around this place, because she lives here. She's already explored every nook and cranny of this place (except for what's behind Mr. House's secret door, out of respect), so it's much more likely she's going to offer him a tour than to go nosing about with him. Here, anyway.
Hanger Bay Window Shopping of Honor!
A certain space Naval Officer from a backwoods Star Kingdom has been exploring the meatship in and out, familiarizing herself with every deck and area vital to keeping things running. The necessary details and inquiries.
But now her feet are dragging her to the one place that, despite all the pathos and anxiety that comes from waking up on a weird ship and having the fate of the multiverse thrust upon you, fills her with a burning 'kid in a candy store' interest.
What kinds of ship and technology might exist, the plunder of a million different militaries and technological paradigms? What sort of designs and innovations might be on display? What sorts of weapons, defenses, and propulsion systems might be available?
In brief, what sort of cool spaceships might be available for a military dame to check out in the Hangar?
Honor arrives in the Hanger bay, and openly gawks at the sheer number of transportation machines on display, before remembering her decorum.
But later, as she starts walking through the ground deck level, noting the varying types of ship designs, something starts to feel off. An ominous feeling in her gut.
Then she realizes what's so wrong.
"What..." She says softly.
Hemming in around her claustrophobically like a set of wolves surrounding it's prey...servo-axles, garish paint schemes, giant melee weapons....
"What..."
An excessive display of anthropomorphic design...and head-crests! Head-crests everywhere, with no practical military purpose!
Honor can't hold herself back anymore: raising up her head to the uncaring heavens, she bellows.
"What the Hell Are Giant Robots Doing Here?!?!!!!"
:3a
The Doctor stands behind her with his box of loot slash stuff in one arm, the other rubbing his ear ruefully because this woman has an incredibly impressive set of lungs on her. It isn't a very good question, in his opinion. Why wouldn't you have cool looking giant robots? Especially if they spend most of the time looking cool and not shooting at things. It's the best of both worlds!
Although he supposes a woman with that kind of bearing might not appreciate the finger points of Cool. She has that bearing that screams military, from the way she walks to the way she holds her shoulders crisply. Makes sense. Military-sorts aren't very well-versed in Cool from his experience.
Re: :3a
Honor turns around to see a man...wearing tweed. And a bowtie.
She stares at the bowtie for a moment like one would stare at a very large pimple.
Then she blinks and salutes.
'Apologies for any disturbance I cause. Commodore Harrington, Royal Manticorian Navy..."
She looks around for a moment, then spots someone very important.
"What are you doing up there, Stinker!"
Suddenly, a six-limbed bundle of arboreal fur drops down from the shoulders of one of the smaller mecha...electing to cushion his landing on the extremely fluffy and springy looking hair of the newcomer.
"And that's Nimitz: fresh out of the pods, you might say."
Re: :3a
Nimitz helps a great deal.
"Hi," the Doctor says, both to Nimitz as if it's perfectly logical to have a conversation with a six-legged alien cat, and then to Harrington. "Glad to see you've taken it upon yourself to start collecting companions. They're very useful, you know!"
The Doctor beams, shifting the weight of the box from one arm to the other. He has to resist the urge to preen at the staring. The intense look of concentration at the bowtie. He always knew he'd picked a good one when he was trying on clothes.
"Right. We don't need the saluting, do we? Or the sirs? Do I look like a sir to you?" The Doctor frowns at Harrington, almost as if he's rather distressed at it. It's not something he likes being called, especially when they're not in an immediate life-or-death situation.
I meant for Nimitz to land on your hair, but whatevs.
Honor chokes off her sudden explanation, and blushes faintly.
"But point well taken." She extends a hand. "Let's start over: I'm Honor Harrington. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
She gestures to the treecat climbing down onto her shoulder. "And this is Nimitz. Companion...perhaps, but I view him more as a childhood friend: if anything, he adopted me!"
Nimitz is quite frankly fascinated with the bowtie wearing biped, practically radiating curiosity and friendliness...
Literally radiating it: the tiny little thing's a highly intelligent empath from what you can feel, and the young military woman appears to be intrinsically bonded with him.
In fact, you think it might even be telepathic...always one way to find out, of course!
Snap, sorry, I misread
He peered a bit too long at Nimitz, past the point of polite conversation to downright studying him. Even without touching him, he can feel something pulsing off him and it takes a moment to identify it as curiosity - psychic curiosity.
"So you've known each other since you were young?" The Doctor asked to the both of them. He was still staring intently at the alien cat, looking about two seconds from seeing how he would like a little psychic chit-chat.
Re: Snap, sorry, I misread
Say, do you think frisbees are cool?
"Back home on Sphinx." Honored clarified. "I was about 8 years old then, growing up on the family homestead on the deciduous forest continent. I was on a jaunt with my uncle in the Forestry service when he bonded with me: why, I'm still not sure."
She grins faintly.
Nimitz starts starring at you intently as well. He deliberately sends an emotional burst your way, a mixture of curiousity/eagerness for knowledge/offer of friendship.
For a moment, he tries sending something additional, an actual telepathic gestalt capable of communicating complex concepts, of transmitting entire memories and thoughts, a clear hallmark of sentience...
But something chokes it off, garbling the message beyond recognition, like a man with damaged vocal cords trying to talk. With that failed attempt comes a deep emotional projection of sorrow, still fresh and deep, but sorrow that has been accepted somewhat.
Honor blinks. Then her eyes widen, and she stares at you intently, raising a hand to grasp one of Nimitz's paws.
"This may be forward...but are you a human psychic?"
no subject
It's when the connection twists in on itself that the Doctor realizes he's frowning now at Nimitz, his eyebrows knit together.
Now that wasn't very nice. About to have a perfectly good conversation and something had cut into it before they could really get started, the Doctor's expression softening as that sort of still-fresh hurt comes through the link from Nimitz. His eyes flicker over to Harrington.
"Psychic, yes. Did something happen?" The Doctor asks, jumping to what he deems Most Interesting without missing a beat. He meets Harrington's eyes and then peers at Nimitz again.
no subject
"We were taken prisoner in wartime by the enemy." She explains quietly. "The commanders who defeated and forced our surrender were men of honor and principles, willing to treat us and my crew with respect...but their had to answer to a rabid madwomen of a public information minister who wished to execute us on a live fax."
She strokes Nimitz's fur gently. "She attempted to kill Nimitz first. Worse, to spite us, as if he was just a favorite pet. We fought...and a trooper damaged his spinal column. It wasn't until our escape and return to Manticore a year later that we discovered...well, you seem to have an inkling of his problem. The Doctors back home don't understand treecat neurology near enough to help him."
Honor makes a concerted effort to reign in her emotions. The Doctor, have cultivated an understanding of human character, might know better.
"Do you know much about telepathic abilities?"
no subject
"I do. But I'll have to say, you're the first treecat I've met," the Doctor tells Nimitz. His eyes flick to Harrington. "Have you popped by Medbay?"
He's of course willing to help, but it's still something worth asking. He had assumed a military woman like Harrington would have wanted to get a "real" professional opinion, as rubbish as the Doctor finds those half the time. Then again, the Doctor is starting to come to the realization that he's wrong about several things about Harrington and it's probably high time he stops trying to assume she's standard military.
no subject
A spike of interest and hope from Nimitz occurs as you speak.
Interesting. So he can understand spoken speech.
Honor's eyebrows rise quickly.
"Would you say the Medicine of this place is much more advanced than where I came from? Enough to repair any variety of nerve damage regardless of species?"