Sobek the Immortal [Closed]

[hi_there_aliens]

Planet Designation: Kalimba Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non-sentient life: Extensive flora and fauna.
Semi-Sentient Life: Unknown
Sentient Life: Ruins and step pyramids suggest the presence of intelligent life at some point. Currently: Unknown.
Water: 70.2% of the planet's surface. Heavy rainfall/monsoons.
Climate: Earth-like.
Landscape: Primarily jungle and swamp, some plains, severe arctic conditions in northern and southern poles.
Air: Type I (breathable)
Sky: Blue-green.
Warnings: Medium to high levels of megafauna. Watch your step. Conditions in the atmosphere make several forms of orbital scans and equipment unreliable.
Mission: Archaeological investigation of step pyramids and ruins, investigate for signs of source of abnormal energy signature in target area.

The first thing the group would notice was that Kalimba's air was humid and heavy, with a light breeze. The morning had long since burned off most of the mist, and in the distance, clouds lazily drifted onwards towards the horizon. The typhoon season was a long ways off.

The undergrowth was tangled and dense, seemingly impassable in places. Vibrant flowers and vines took up residence where some of the tree cover faltered. With limited sunlight available, it was every plant for themselves. Disturbed by the archaeology group, "birds", each easily half the size of a person and more salamander than avian suddenly took to the air in a flash of brilliantly colored wings. They were gone almost instantly, slicing through the air and leaving only the ear-splitting shriek behind.

The hill sloped down. The cover of trees broke as they came out onto the stone remains of path that must have once been heavily used. Now, just like everywhere else, massive roots and tanglers tore at the ground, slowly swallowing any signs of civilization back within itself. There were trees of all shapes and sizes as far as the eye could see, a rolling wave of jungle and rainforest. Tan and dirty gray step pyramids, all more massive than those found on Earth, and the occasional obelisk rose through the canopy cover like claws, dotting the landscape.

Stac's scans indicated much of the planet was covered in these structures, with the largest in this location. Aside from the archaeological mission, her scans also indicated the presence of an abnormal power that may be of interest.

Comments

Re: Jailhouse Blues: Eva and Eleven

[makeherblue]

The Doctor gropes around for Eva's voice, following the sounds of her movements in the dark as best he can and it's only a matter of time before he fumbles into her. Or, rather, she fumbles into him, because unfortunately even his fumbles aren't very...good right now. Nasty little gun. Hideously ugly and hideously effective.

He licks his dry lips, not entirely sure how long he's been unconscious, reaching out to try to touch Eva as she squeezes his shoulder. Hours? Minutes? Enough time to drag Eva in her state over into this cell, he thinks, the Doctor blinking up and catching her silhouette leaning over him. Bits and pieces of what happened in the throne room are all starting to come back, first a trickle, then a flood, and then it sinks in. The Master trying his best to betray him. The disappointment, centuries old and festering in his chest. And now Eva Salazar. The Doctor wheezes quietly as he studies her shadow, frowning and running his hand down her arm to her wrist, feeling that pulse of hers, his fingers drifting then her palms as if making sure this is the same woman he knows.

She is. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. She's human, though, and that says volumes.

The Doctor closes his eyes, trying to work the dryness from his mouth. Somehow it's comforting to have someone in the dark with him. It's different than the searing white of the Pandorica.

"Right, thought it was you." Disappointed in her yes, but he doesn't blame her. Not exactly a big sign saying EVIL ALIEN PARASITE HERE - DO NOT TOUCH, so he can't fault her. He gives her hand a pat as he tries to sit up again, trying to sound brisk. "So, options. Plans. We need a Plan or Plans, plural."

Daniel wasn't going to free himself and he certainly wasn't going to do it if they're stuck in the cells. The Doctor tries to project all the confidence and overconfidence he can possibly muster, shaking the hair out of his eyes and quite possibly neglecting to tell Eva that this could take time. Weeks. Maybe months.

Re: Jailhouse Blues: Eva and Eleven

[vissernone.livejournal.com]

Even in the dark, Eva can see past the Doctor's confidence. It's the same sort of outfit she used to put on during Edriss' feedings, if there were other hosts around. And while she knows deep down that he's rattled, she does appreciate the effort.

"You must have identified me by the melodious sound of my rasping," she jokes. Her voice is a little hoarse now, mostly through the constant breathing through her mouth now that she can't really close it without excessive pain and force.

She feels him check her pulse and then drift his hand down to hers. She brings her other hand back over, lowering her hip to the ground next to him, and sits beside him. Her hand covers his. It's a small, intimate gesture in a situation where grandiose displays of power and anguish are the primary medium of communication.

"Plans. Well, it looks like we've got all day, doesn't it?" She offers a weak little laugh. The Doctor doesn't have to tell her. She knows. This will take more than days, maybe even more than months. Years, although she knows what that's like, to spend years enslaved. Maybe it will even last forever.

No. Not forever. Nothing lasts forever. Not the Yeerks or the Goa'uld or the universe itself.

"So let's make a plan."

Re: Jailhouse Blues: Eva and Eleven

[makeherblue]

The human sounds out of sorts. Maybe more than out of sorts - very out of sorts, as in before downright terrible and a bit past horrid. Probably due to trying to gnaw on the bars and then what Sobek did to her – or at least what he saw the Crocodile God do to her, before he was shot in the face, which leaves an unknown amount of time accounted for. Normally he’s good with Time. These days, not so much, not with his senses dulled post-Stacy. The Doctor has no idea how long Eva was alone with that parasite. The Doctor’s mouth quirks up in a humorless smile he sincerely hopes Eva can’t see in the dark with her feeble human eyes.

There’s something to be said about poor eyesight.

“Well, you’re very…distinctive,” he says with a grunt as he feels her hand on his. He squeezes, listening to those Eva rasps, the tone of her voice. That’s his human. “Okay. Now, plans. Plan-looking things! Could you lean forward, please?”

He tries to listen for her shifting, tilting his head up to follow the movement as his own eyesight starts to recover. He might have a plan. Not quite a Plan with a capital P, but a plan which isn’t as impressive but could be still something to write home about given enough time and love. The only thing is talking about it aloud isn’t going to be much use, what with who knows how many guards outside listening and he’s not even sure how long Eva will remain free. If there are more of these parasites hanging about the temple. He can’t do this with just words alone. The Doctor’s hand ghosts up and touches Eva on her cheek, surprisingly light and gentle despite how she’s seen him trip about the place. His eyes focus on her.

“Eva, I need a yes or a no.” The Doctor’s voice is almost conversational. For a moment she can feel a brief touch against her mind, like a whisper, a question in her ear. If they’re going to upgrade a plan to a Plan, he’ll need her full cooperation because he doesn’t think he can pull this off on his own.

Re: Jailhouse Blues: Eva and Eleven

[vissernone.livejournal.com]

"It's my charming accent," she says, leaning in. She's particularly perplexed by why, unless he plans to whisper in her ear, which she doesn't really want. It's one saving grace for her that Sobek hasn't attacked her ears or neck. She doesn't know if she has any berserker left in her (the idea makes her laugh a little - she'll have to put quite the effort into topping her biting his wrist).

She pauses as the Doctor asks her. No, no, she wants to say. She doesn't want more people in her head. She has to remind herself every single day that it's only her in there, that the flashes of memory are from other people's lives and not hers. She doesn't want to add his into the mush.

She wants to say no.

She places her hand over his on her face, once again solidifying that bond. Her breath is shallow and shaky. He couldn't possibly know how much this scares her, how much this last week has been seeking to break her down in every way, body and soul. And now he's asking her to make this sacrifice.

"I trust you," she says. It's the closest he'll get to 'yes'.

Re: Jailhouse Blues: Eva and Eleven

[makeherblue]

Not quite a yes. Maybe he would’ve felt better with a yes, because “I trust you” reminds him of all the times someone has said that to him and (not) lived to regret it. He only hopes this won’t be the case. That ultimately this is when everyone lives, not just the once. The Doctor nods as he takes in her breathing, that almost anxious…well, not a color to her mind but something else. Anxiety all the same.

He steps further into her mind. He doesn’t communicate exactly through words. Telepathy isn’t always like that and for his purposes, it’s best it isn’t; Eva instead gets impressions, pieces of ideas and plans, a few emotions, a few images and sights and smells and sounds. Together it suggests to her a general idea what he wants her to do. Not quite a spy. A spy involves having someone Sobek trusts and he’s only intrigued by Eva Salazar. Trust is another thing entirely. But he needs to know about the tech here, what they can use, what they can build. He doesn’t want to show her just how destructive jiggery-pokery and twiddling actually are, that the reality of it is so much different than shark-proofing a sonic screwdriver. That given the right wires you can burn planets and stop Time itself.

Help me help the others.

I’ll leave hints. Hunches. You’ll sort it out when we’re ready.

Thankfully he’s better at keeping himself bleeding into Eva compared to his clone. The selfish part of him rather likes the idea of Eva thinking he’s just that funny old Doctor, the alien she’d fought libraries with. Showing her the real him isn’t something he’s prepared to do, even with their lives at stake. Not yet, anyway. His psychic touch only lasts a few long seconds before he drops his hand from her cheek, breaking the link as they lose contact in the dark.

“Good! Trust, good thing, trust,” the Doctor says, as if there wasn’t a break in the conversation. He lets her recover from whatever disorientation she might feel.

Re: Jailhouse Blues: Eva and Eleven

[vissernone.livejournal.com]

Alright. She doesn't blame him not trusting her with the entirety of it. She wouldn't either. It's a tactically sound decision, given Sobek's interest in infesting her. And honestly, given that she's the cause of this whole mess, she wouldn't have trusted her anyway. It doesn't even sting.

She can't help but give out a low little groan when he's done. Her hand comes up to her head, as if she's just been stricken there, but she can't afford to look or sound as if something's just happened. She straightens her back - an incredibly painful maneuver - and brushes strings of unkempt hair from her face.

"You should be flattered. Trust isn't something I hand out like lollipops, you know," she says, and grins a lopsided, warped grin in the dark. The dim light catches her teeth, chipped and splintered as they are. "It's not like a pie I leave on the windowsill to cool."

She needs information. She'll have it. She will find a way to get it, and little does the Doctor know but he's chosen the perfect person for this. Eva spent years locked in her head, where her only method of defense was to observe everything in anticipation of the day when she could fight back.

She's so much less than she was and yet...

She reaches her hand down to squeeze his wrist again, a silent thank you for having a purpose, at least.