trans_9 | Almost good to go [Post-rebellion] [Open]

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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 )]

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Megan had developed a deep fondness for the observation deck over her time on Stacy. It had been largely empty since the Rebellion had quieted down. She liked laying out on a couch and watching the swirling void of the bleed slide by.

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?"

The Doctor swiveled on his heel at the voice behind him, the cardbox box giving a sort of dangerous groan that said it wouldn’t last much longer with that sort of load and for a man with a bigger-on-the-inside-ship, he was clearly a poor judge of space with normal boxes. Clearly he wasn’t a master of Tetris.

“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.

"Megan. Megan Morse." She shook his hand with enthusiasm, reaching out the other to try to steady the box as it tipped dangerously in his grasp.

"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."

Megan Morse! What a lovely name! He had to think that her parents must be rather brilliant to go with alliteration for their little girl. It was now his new favorite name. Megan Morse. Just rolled off the tongue!

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.

Megan shot him a face-splitting sort of grin, his delight a little bit infectious.

"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."

Well! As Martians go, the Doctor must say Morse was one of the more pleasant ones he'd met in his lifetimes: to begin with, she didn't seem too keen on the idea of world domination or being generally cross with anything and everything. Plus the shapeshifting and flying was new! He liked new. New meant he hadn't come close to seeing everything there was to see.

"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."

Megan had heard the name Time Lord in passing, just familiar enough for her to suspect that the Doctor was the sort of person that others knew through media from back at home. She smiled, resolving to ask if Time Lord's had any superhuman abilities later. For now she tilted her head, and pondered his question.

"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?"

Now that was a wonderful party trick. The Doctor had to say he was impressed (and somewhat envious). The Doctor didn't miss a step at the floating box trailing after Morse.

"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.

Artoo would be somewhat offended if he knew that he had been kidnapped in order to stand in for a toaster. He had been mistaken for a household appliance a few too many times since coming into commission on Stacy - although, granted, a toaster was at least way cooler than a trashcan. And he probably could find a way to make toast, if pressed!

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?

"Of course it's bigger. It'd be a rubbish ship if it wasn't," the Doctor said without missing a beat. Was that the sort of beep a robot made when it was pretending to be polite, or was his little metal friend actually impressed?

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!

In the City, there is a tall, funny-shaped tower-building that is incredibly hard to miss, especially during the night cycle when it's all lit up. The glowing, flashing sign on the building reads Lucky 38. The sign in front of it reads "REVOLVING COCKTAIL LOUNGE. HOTTEST TABLES IN TOWN." Or, it would have, if someone hadn't scribbled a "T" in red over the second "V" in "revolving." It's very clearly a casino, even if it's incredibly worn down, as if time hasn't been terribly kind to it. The revolving cocktail lounge isn't even revolving.

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?

Of course he'll bite. There's just something inherently attractive about big blinking lights and places with ominous letter-swapping after all!

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!

This is the site that greets him when he walks in, lights and all. ... also with the Securitrons. They don't look terribly friendly. If the Doctor is trying to pry the back panel off of one of them, it is complaining very loudly ("STEP AWAY FROM THE SECURITRON. PLEASE, DO NOT STAND IN THE FOUNTAIN. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING"). If he decided to skip around the Securitrons (they would watch him move, oddly with the impression of narrowed eyes even though their screen-faces don't change), he would be able to find a wall-mounted terminal upstairs next to the bar. It requires an incredibly high ~~Science skill~~ hacking 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.

What place would be complete without ominously beeping robots? They look rather scowly, judging by those screens, and really! He was only standing in that fountain for a second! Less than a second, probably! The Doctor takes a soggy hop out and decides if he wanted to explore this place the way it's asking to be explored, he can't do it with the robots hovering over his shoulder like they're trying to right now.

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-hair-color.

The terminal's screen scrolls through some data as the Doctor continues looking innocently brilliant. It's not a difficult look.

There is the sound of the elevator doors opening. The Securitrons make background robot-y noises at Elle as she emerges from them. She hears the hum and tick of a booting terminal, and she pauses with a frown. Is there someone else here? Well, at least it's easy to find out. There's only one place for them to be, if they're at the terminal.

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.

It's a very nice dress, he's sure - it's only that the hat is so much better, even at a slightly rakish angle he thinks is very fitting. The Doctor thinks it loads nicer than the shotgun, at any rate.

"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).

Elle laughs. "They're just doing their jobs. They are called Securitrons for a reason. You should be glad all they're doing is glaring. Just between the two of 'em, they're better equipped than a small NCR troop."

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?"

Edited 2012-06-14 09:28 (UTC)

Good move with the hand, except now Elle is on the receiving end of a Doctor handshake. He keeps pumping her hand.

"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.

Wha -- Uhhh -- Erm -- Uh-oh. She should try to get her hand back sometime soon, or else he's going to shake it off. As she talks, she tries withdrawing her hand, hoping her words will distract him enough she can get it back.

"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.

[No way I couldn't join this RP and not chill with the Doctor! :) ]

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?!?!!!!"

"Looking very cool, I'd say! At a guess that is," the voice said behind her.

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.

How dare you insinuate that! Military sorts are totally cool! They have the strategic advantage in Cool! They've got explosions, and...Epaulets!

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."

That sounds so terribly military that the Doctor's mouth thins into an unimpressed line, right up until Harrington has the sense to have a completely brilliant alien friend drop down on her hair (which is probably the least military thing about her - maybe there is some hope after all). The Doctor looks slightly more receptive by now.

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.

"Well, occasionally civilian scientist or contractors wind up being inserted into the main chain of command with delegated logistical authority..."

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!

The Doctor takes Harrington's hand in his, shaking it. "Ah, yes, I was about to say it looked that way with Nimitz." He looked pleased to find that Nimitz wasn't giving his bowtie quite the same look as Harrington had, which only went to show that Harrington was right about Nimitz - clearly he was going to have to educate her in all things cool.

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.

Nimitz wouldn't entirely disagree with you, Doctor. Sometimes two-legs just don't appreciate the finer things in life.

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?"

Frisbees are very cool. The Doctor nods as Harrington tells him a bit about where she came from - obviously one of the humans who'd had more space experience than, say, those from Amy Pond's time. He's still nodding when he catches the equivalent of a psychic poke upside the head, his eyes flicking from Harrington to Nimitz. (Why yes, he would absolutely love to be friends! You can never have enough, you know).

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.

Honor stiffens. She looks at Nimitz. Nimitz looks at her. A sort of purely emotional dialogue flows between them.

"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?"

The Doctor's expression darkens at her story. So that probably explains why poor Nimitz tried and couldn't make that full connection. They shouldn't have to have gone through that, the Doctor thinks, but she seems to be trying to be as matter of fact as it as she can. It's probably a military thing, but he can't miss the way she swallows or how Nimitz leans into her hand, as if he's trying to comfort her.

"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.

There are lots of assumptions you should question, Doctor. Most involve fashion, and others involve coolness and the military.

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?"

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Almost good to go [Post-rebellion] [Open]

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dskfj sorry if this is set up kind of weird. if this doesn't work, let me know? my char'll be inside

It's fine!

\o/

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I'm cool with continuing to thread this if you are. I'm just... incredibly slow... haha

Hanger Bay Window Shopping of Honor!

:3a

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I meant for Nimitz to land on your hair, but whatevs.

Snap, sorry, I misread

Re: Snap, sorry, I misread

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