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[ In honour of the god centering on love being a giant frilly prissypants, Loki sends his own little gift just a few hours after hers.
His box of chocolate will look, smell, and taste exactly like Freya's did, appearing right next to where Freya's was or is if you haven't picked it up yet. The only difference between the two is that Loki's won't lift your mood; it'll give you loud and embarrassing flatulence for the next three hours.
It's also accompanied by a note. ]
Where joy might bring about yearning, it also welcomes wonder.
His box of chocolate will look, smell, and taste exactly like Freya's did, appearing right next to where Freya's was or is if you haven't picked it up yet. The only difference between the two is that Loki's won't lift your mood; it'll give you loud and embarrassing flatulence for the next three hours.
It's also accompanied by a note. ]
Where joy might bring about yearning, it also welcomes wonder.
DOCTOR! DOCTOR, father's collapsed and he doesn't... he doesn't remember ANYTHING and... he's missing his bow tie and I don't know what to do! He says he's fine but I know he's lying!
[The Doctor can be heard in the background, insisting he is fine!
Alice clearly does not believe her father because he lies... a lot. Because he is a liar who lies.]
[The Doctor can be heard in the background, insisting he is fine!
Alice clearly does not believe her father because he lies... a lot. Because he is a liar who lies.]
Edited 2014-03-01 22:33 (UTC)
[ From the background, while he starts rummaging around the cupboards: ]
I am fine!
I am fine!
[Eleven's causing plenty of chaos today, isn't he?]
Alice. Alice, take a breath. Calm down a little.
The gods have...somehow pulled him back in his timeline to when he regenerated. I think. He's still in Ten's clothes, as far as I saw on the network. Which means his body isn't exactly stable at the moment.
I'll be over in a moment. Do not panic.
Alice. Alice, take a breath. Calm down a little.
The gods have...somehow pulled him back in his timeline to when he regenerated. I think. He's still in Ten's clothes, as far as I saw on the network. Which means his body isn't exactly stable at the moment.
I'll be over in a moment. Do not panic.
So a few days ago, about the Black Guardian...apparently I was cursed. [and man alive does he sound bitter about it.]
He's not here.
He's not here.
I tried to tell you that. I keep trying to tell people that they're cursed and they keep insisting it's real. Then again, I suppose that's the nature of the beast, so to speak.
[He sighs and mentally shoves away the irritation coloring his voice.]
I know, Turlough. You didn't...do anything else while you were cursed, did you?
[He sighs and mentally shoves away the irritation coloring his voice.]
I know, Turlough. You didn't...do anything else while you were cursed, did you?
[ When every inhabitant of the city are making their way through the devastation and what water is left, Eleven makes his way over to Eight. He'd been looking through the castle and its ground for anyone he may recognise, but Pyro had been nowhere to be seen, and now he's finally done his daily check on the contact list ...
And Eight is the only person he knows who was more than just an acquaintance to Pyro, possibly. Or, at the very least, knows a thing or two about him or feels fine to talk to about it. ]
Pyro's gone.
And Eight is the only person he knows who was more than just an acquaintance to Pyro, possibly. Or, at the very least, knows a thing or two about him or feels fine to talk to about it. ]
Pyro's gone.
[Eight blinks, looking for a moment like he doesn't quite understand what Eleven's saying. That doesn't sound right. Hell, Pyro was here before he arrived.]
Gone? As in...gone home?
Gone? As in...gone home?
[Ianto waits until after things have settled down - well, until Jack has settled down - before he messages them. He's managed to get Jack to talk enough to know what the Doctor did for him, and while Jack might not be the type for this sort of thing, Ianto is.]
Doctor? I'd like to speak with you, if you could spare a moment?
Doctor? I'd like to speak with you, if you could spare a moment?
Ianto! Good to see you back in the land of the living again.
I'm not busy. What did you need to speak about?
I'm not busy. What did you need to speak about?
[Six isn't home. He hasn't come home, and granted, she'd worked a hospital shift that was two in the afternoon to eleven and had gotten in around eleven thirty, but after more than two hours of staring at the ceiling with quiet panic gnawing at her, Ril calls it. Tea doesn't help, a bath doesn't help, and she doesn't necessarily want to wake anyone because it's nearly three in the morning or thereabouts.
What she does do, is wrap herself up in Six's robe, which dwarfs her, and pads into Eight's room. She promptly curls up next to him and hopes to the gods it'll help. Even if sleep won't come, it's better than being alone.]
What she does do, is wrap herself up in Six's robe, which dwarfs her, and pads into Eight's room. She promptly curls up next to him and hopes to the gods it'll help. Even if sleep won't come, it's better than being alone.]
[Normally Eight wakes up early, but not this early, and so he is still out like a light when Ril curls up next to him. It takes a while for his brain to really register the fact that there's someone with him, but his subconscious recognizes the movement of the mattress and curls him up with her.
Consciousness slowly creeps up on him, and when his half-aware mind finally registers a body next to him, it leaps to horrible, wonderful conclusions. Charley. His Charley is home! The revelation is enough to jolt him fully awake.]
Charley??
[He's up on his elbow in an instant, leaning over the curled form of...Ril. Horrible pain tears at him, but he shoves it down. Deep, deep down. Pretending like he said nothing at all, he rests a hand on Ril's shoulder.]
Ril? What's wrong?
Consciousness slowly creeps up on him, and when his half-aware mind finally registers a body next to him, it leaps to horrible, wonderful conclusions. Charley. His Charley is home! The revelation is enough to jolt him fully awake.]
Charley??
[He's up on his elbow in an instant, leaning over the curled form of...Ril. Horrible pain tears at him, but he shoves it down. Deep, deep down. Pretending like he said nothing at all, he rests a hand on Ril's shoulder.]
Ril? What's wrong?
I have something to show you. Come by the house.
Certainly. I'll be there soon.
[And then, after a bit of a walk, he's there, hands stuffed into his pockets as he looks around curiously.]
[And then, after a bit of a walk, he's there, hands stuffed into his pockets as he looks around curiously.]
[Jack's voice is empty, devoid of any emotion or feeling. It's one of the few good ways he knows of coping. One of the other ways, although one he partakes in far less, is the quiet clinking of glass in the background, barely there below the sound of his voice.]
I never did thank you- for what you did during the flood. I know Ianto did. He's good about that kind of thing. Always picking up on things I missed, or forgot.
I never did thank you- for what you did during the flood. I know Ianto did. He's good about that kind of thing. Always picking up on things I missed, or forgot.
[There's a pause as Eight takes in the message, the subtle tones in the background completely lost to the current poor state of his hearing.
Once he thinks he's got the message, he responds.]
I was glad to do it, Jack. I couldn't let you get yourself killed. And yes, Ianto did contact me about it. Nice fellow. Great coffee, even if it isn't my usual beverage of choice. He seemed so proud of it, I couldn't say no.
...is there...something else wrong, Jack?
Once he thinks he's got the message, he responds.]
I was glad to do it, Jack. I couldn't let you get yourself killed. And yes, Ianto did contact me about it. Nice fellow. Great coffee, even if it isn't my usual beverage of choice. He seemed so proud of it, I couldn't say no.
...is there...something else wrong, Jack?
Ril hasn't slept much or consistently since Eight's been gone. She drags herself to the castle, sits for awhile, pokes her head into Sigyn's welcome hall, wanders over to Baldr's, too, and can't seem to still. A trip into the hospital sees her right out the door and into a coffee shop, then back out into the streets with a brief stop home, where she deposits her shoes and walks barefoot just to feel the ground beneath her. The wind catches at her green, blue, and butterfly caftan that she's cinched around the middle with a soft butter yellow tie. It's at odds with her bright red and white streaked hair, which is decidedly wild in the cool breeze.
She finds it odd that she's not cold and stops in the middle of the road to turn her face upward, grabbing what sun the party cloudy day could offer before it was hidden once more. She wonders if she's mad in a quiet sort of way, because today nothing hurts, and she feels distant, perhaps numb like one might feel if they've had something entirely too spicy. A burning, tingling numbness.
So many holes unfilled. So much loss. So much haze.
She was a Pilot. She could survive this. No one would come murder if she were going mad. No one would do that here.
She finds it odd that she's not cold and stops in the middle of the road to turn her face upward, grabbing what sun the party cloudy day could offer before it was hidden once more. She wonders if she's mad in a quiet sort of way, because today nothing hurts, and she feels distant, perhaps numb like one might feel if they've had something entirely too spicy. A burning, tingling numbness.
So many holes unfilled. So much loss. So much haze.
She was a Pilot. She could survive this. No one would come murder if she were going mad. No one would do that here.
Being suddenly back in Asgard is a bit disorienting. One moment he's watching the Master snatching Molly away. The next, he's standing in the street in Asgard, hit by the chilly early morning breeze. No Master. No Daleks. Just this strange city and it's interminable war.
He wanders a bit to get his bearings, only to find Ril, standing in the middle of the road with her clothes and hair whipping around her. She looks...wrong. Something happened, he's sure of it. She looks hollow somehow. It's enough to speed up his steps until he's right in front of her, carefully resting his hands on her arms.
"...Ril?"
He wanders a bit to get his bearings, only to find Ril, standing in the middle of the road with her clothes and hair whipping around her. She looks...wrong. Something happened, he's sure of it. She looks hollow somehow. It's enough to speed up his steps until he's right in front of her, carefully resting his hands on her arms.
"...Ril?"
[After Gray's torture of Ril.]
Ril took a wet breath and knew that she wasn't where she'd been. It didn't taste like dust anymore, it tasted fresh and green as she tried to move. When she did, white hot pain slammed through her. So much was broken from her ribs to at least one leg, her fingers, a shoulder, her collar bone, a cheek bone, so much of it. There were slices and stab wounds, some shallow, some not, and she tried to roll over only to be instantly reminded why she didn't want to be on her back.
There was a soft choking, bubbling, gasp as she stared up at the partly cloudy sky. Fire lanced through her body again and again, tearing sounds from her as she tried to make herself roll back over. Even the soft grass was too much. Each tremor brought yet another wave and she fought to clear her fuzzy mind enough to think. Her hair was matted, dark with blood from where she'd been hit, her clothes stained with it, stuck to the places where it was drying.
She shifted, finally rolled, and with sheer determination, began to drag herself through the grass toward the back steps. Familiar back steps. Home. Ril made it up the bottom step before she blacked out with the wind in her hair, the cold of it bright against her smashed cheekbone.
Ril took a wet breath and knew that she wasn't where she'd been. It didn't taste like dust anymore, it tasted fresh and green as she tried to move. When she did, white hot pain slammed through her. So much was broken from her ribs to at least one leg, her fingers, a shoulder, her collar bone, a cheek bone, so much of it. There were slices and stab wounds, some shallow, some not, and she tried to roll over only to be instantly reminded why she didn't want to be on her back.
There was a soft choking, bubbling, gasp as she stared up at the partly cloudy sky. Fire lanced through her body again and again, tearing sounds from her as she tried to make herself roll back over. Even the soft grass was too much. Each tremor brought yet another wave and she fought to clear her fuzzy mind enough to think. Her hair was matted, dark with blood from where she'd been hit, her clothes stained with it, stuck to the places where it was drying.
She shifted, finally rolled, and with sheer determination, began to drag herself through the grass toward the back steps. Familiar back steps. Home. Ril made it up the bottom step before she blacked out with the wind in her hair, the cold of it bright against her smashed cheekbone.
He wouldn't panic. He wouldn't panic. But...Ril had been gone way too long, and she was never gone this long without telling him something. And with so many strange new people crowding the city, who knows what had been brought in?
Eight pounded through the city, fear for her growing with every street he passed without finding her. Quite a while later, he found himself tiredly trudging through the back garden, praying to whichever one of the gods that would listen that she'd simply returned home safely while he was gone.
The reality nearly made his knees buckle.
For a moment, he was frozen, not even knowing where to begin with Ril's poor, abused body. Did he heal her now or carry her inside and heal her where she could be warm and comfortable? Would he send her into fatal shock if he even moved her? Finally, Eight managed to push himself into action, going to his knees next to her prone body, moving some of the matted hair out of her face with a groan of despair as he got a better look at her.
"Oh, Ril," he murmured and so, so gently touched her shoulder, pouring as much healing into her as he could. Desperation made him forget what he'd learned about pacing himself. Whatever exhaustion came from it would have to wait. "Come on, Ril. Come back to me. Please."
Eight pounded through the city, fear for her growing with every street he passed without finding her. Quite a while later, he found himself tiredly trudging through the back garden, praying to whichever one of the gods that would listen that she'd simply returned home safely while he was gone.
The reality nearly made his knees buckle.
For a moment, he was frozen, not even knowing where to begin with Ril's poor, abused body. Did he heal her now or carry her inside and heal her where she could be warm and comfortable? Would he send her into fatal shock if he even moved her? Finally, Eight managed to push himself into action, going to his knees next to her prone body, moving some of the matted hair out of her face with a groan of despair as he got a better look at her.
"Oh, Ril," he murmured and so, so gently touched her shoulder, pouring as much healing into her as he could. Desperation made him forget what he'd learned about pacing himself. Whatever exhaustion came from it would have to wait. "Come on, Ril. Come back to me. Please."
[Shortly after her talk about feelings and things with Jamie, Clara's still caught up in a near panic. Feelings are hard work for her, and she needs to talk to someone about this before she panics and does something stupid. She can't go to her Doctor yet, not after so recently speaking to him about this. She doesn't want him to look at her with that smile he gives her when he thinks she's being cute and painfully human, that patronizing one that makes her feel incredibly stupid. So she goes to Eight instead, and waits until he's alone at home to approach him with a tap on the shoulder.]
I need your help with something, Doctor.
[She just jumps right to business. No point in small talk, not when anxiety is clearly shown on her face.]
I need your help with something, Doctor.
[She just jumps right to business. No point in small talk, not when anxiety is clearly shown on her face.]
[He hadn't even heard her enter. No surprise there. So, when she taps him on the shoulder, his head snaps up in surprise, which melts away and gets replaced by a smile when he sees Clara.
And then, there's the anxiety on her face and his eyebrows go up.]
Of course, Clara. Come, sit down and tell me what's bothering you.
And then, there's the anxiety on her face and his eyebrows go up.]
Of course, Clara. Come, sit down and tell me what's bothering you.
(OOC: Very shortly after this fiasco.)
[She sits on the porch for a long while, balanced on the railing just-so, thinking. Culture is a sacred thing for many, and her own is very different from many across the stars in how they band themselves together. She isn't stupid or ignorant -- she had been forthright with her own Doctor when she found herself in that terrible mess with Hawkeye.
Ril would be forthright again, with his Eighth self, because he was not Antedan and he did not have his Sixth face's experiences with her. It was the same and it was different. She leans her head back against the support column and finally moves.
The porch is no place for hurtful things, she had already been there once before and it had not gone well. There is no room for 'this will upset you' talks, no matter how much she loves him. She moves through the front door quietly, puts the tea on. Will he run? Will he yell? Will he tell her to go leave?
Will she be able to hold her ground? This is not war. This is something she ought to be good at -- this is love and it is a deep thing. She supposes, as she looks for him, that she should prepare herself for any and every possibility. But she knows that this is not any easy thing.]
Doctor? [Her voice carries down the hall, up the stairs, drifting past the room that would never quite not be his Sixth face's. Her eyes are on it, though she is at the bottom of the stairs, and she turns away a moment later. Ril can hear the kettle tick, tick, ticking.]
[She sits on the porch for a long while, balanced on the railing just-so, thinking. Culture is a sacred thing for many, and her own is very different from many across the stars in how they band themselves together. She isn't stupid or ignorant -- she had been forthright with her own Doctor when she found herself in that terrible mess with Hawkeye.
Ril would be forthright again, with his Eighth self, because he was not Antedan and he did not have his Sixth face's experiences with her. It was the same and it was different. She leans her head back against the support column and finally moves.
The porch is no place for hurtful things, she had already been there once before and it had not gone well. There is no room for 'this will upset you' talks, no matter how much she loves him. She moves through the front door quietly, puts the tea on. Will he run? Will he yell? Will he tell her to go leave?
Will she be able to hold her ground? This is not war. This is something she ought to be good at -- this is love and it is a deep thing. She supposes, as she looks for him, that she should prepare herself for any and every possibility. But she knows that this is not any easy thing.]
Doctor? [Her voice carries down the hall, up the stairs, drifting past the room that would never quite not be his Sixth face's. Her eyes are on it, though she is at the bottom of the stairs, and she turns away a moment later. Ril can hear the kettle tick, tick, ticking.]
[As far as Eight knows, it's a normal day. He's done his work -- not that anyone really runs the school anymore after the fire and the chaos of the war -- and has been spending the rest of the day puttering about the workroom in the house, tweaking or repairing various items from around the house that can be improved upon.
Despite his poor hearing, he still catches the muffled sound that he's learned to identify as Ril's voice from afar and smiles to himself, setting the tool in his hand down on the table and snatching up a rag.
He pushes open the door and approaches Ril with the look of a man who's blissfully ignorant of what's about to happen, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he wipes his hands with the rag.]
Hello, Ril. Did you need something?
Despite his poor hearing, he still catches the muffled sound that he's learned to identify as Ril's voice from afar and smiles to himself, setting the tool in his hand down on the table and snatching up a rag.
He pushes open the door and approaches Ril with the look of a man who's blissfully ignorant of what's about to happen, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he wipes his hands with the rag.]
Hello, Ril. Did you need something?
[ Gunn greets the Doctor with a lift of his little hot chocolate cup, a tired half-grin on his face. It's been a long few days for him, but Freyr had made a request, and if Gunn was gonna drink the cocoa, he might as well try to help out. Not that he really understood how touchy-feelies really did anything tangible, but... ]
So, uh, stranger. Got a minute?
[ He's amicable enough, at least. ]
So, uh, stranger. Got a minute?
[ He's amicable enough, at least. ]
[The smaller and quieter of the Doctors (well done, Charles, the others might have given you a headache) manages to hear that he's being addressed, even if he doesn't immediately hear the exact words. He smiles pleasantly and lowers the mug of cocoa from his lips.]
What can I do for you, ah...I'm afraid I don't think I've caught your name before. Or I have, and have forgotten it. My memory has never been the best in this body.
What can I do for you, ah...I'm afraid I don't think I've caught your name before. Or I have, and have forgotten it. My memory has never been the best in this body.
[Dying's the easy part, almost. Mostly in that he's done it before, but it's still easier than he'd expected. For all that the thought is terribly morbid, but he figures he's allowed, given that he has just died.
He doesn't come home at first. Too many thoughts to deal with, but eventually even he realizes that there's something that he should see to. Not relating to himself - the less said about his death, the better - but he knows that he's not the only one who worries after Ril.
By the time he makes back to the house, he's looking very distinctly morose. Like he doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but has to be anyway. Which isn't far from the truth, but he does his best to at least not focus too much on the thought, as he sets about finding his older self. None of this is going to be easy, he suspects, but at least he'll have it done.]
He doesn't come home at first. Too many thoughts to deal with, but eventually even he realizes that there's something that he should see to. Not relating to himself - the less said about his death, the better - but he knows that he's not the only one who worries after Ril.
By the time he makes back to the house, he's looking very distinctly morose. Like he doesn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but has to be anyway. Which isn't far from the truth, but he does his best to at least not focus too much on the thought, as he sets about finding his older self. None of this is going to be easy, he suspects, but at least he'll have it done.]
[Eight is sitting at the table, fingers gripping a mug of tea tightly. The hallucinations haven't been physically dangerous for him, but being repeatedly plunged into a walking nightmare of being so utterly alone has left his nerves a bit raw.
He looks up when Four enters the house and stands, leaving the tea at the kitchen table. The look on his younger self's face makes his insides go cold.]
What's happened?
He looks up when Four enters the house and stands, leaving the tea at the kitchen table. The look on his younger self's face makes his insides go cold.]
What's happened?
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