Despite spending a lot of time on Earth, the Doctor had only actually visited America once or twice. The incident in New York had been his first trip to the country since he'd regenerated into his eighth self in San Francisco, and it hadn't left him with a great desire to return. Not that he could blame the Americans for what the Daleks had tried to do, of course
( ... )
The Doctor turned, all wide-eyed innocence and a 'who, me?' expression, when he realised he was being addressed. He'd expected the library to be largely deserted at this sort of time, and he'd also expected the people who were there to be too polite to say anything. Humans! Always surprising him!
"What?" He glanced down at the device in his hands, which was a mass of wires and oddly glowing lights that flickered in time to the clicks. "Oh, right. Sorry about that. It doesn't have a silencer. Should really get round to adding one of those, shouldn't I?"
What a strange person. Well, Wesley had met stranger, so who was he to judge? Obviously the man was convinced he was doing something important. Who was he to bother him further?
And he was about to turn around, go back to his book, and leave the strange person alone, when his unfailing sense of occasionally suicidal curiosity got the better of him.
"Might I inquire as to what exactly you're doing?" he asked politely.
"Can you really see Agatha Christie using a sonic device?" asked the Doctor with a bit of a laugh, "Good old Poirot didn't go in for that sort of thing."
A shame, really. That would have been an impressive story.
The Doctor certainly did lead the way, brow furrowing as the light from the screwdriver was joined by the faint greenish pulsing from some sort of console.
"Probably not, but then again she never used radiation as a plot point," Wesley agreed with a small grin.
Though passages in libraries reminded Wesley strongly of that American board game Cordelia had bothered him to play, "Clue." She refused to play with him after he won the fifth straight game in a row.
"And from Arther C. Clark into a James Bond film," Wesley chuckled as they approached the console. "I could never really get into the science fiction genre," he murmured almost to himself as he examined the panels and buttons.
"It's never been my favourite either, actually," he commented, producing a pair of glasses out of his jacket pocket and slipping them on. The panel lights illuminated his face a little bit eerily. This was getting more and more science fiction by the minute. "They get too many things wrong."
He prodded a panel thoughtfully.
"It looks as if someone had cannibalized the remains of a ship. Decent work, if a little crude."
Although, since the new project was half finished, the Doctor couldn't work out what they were building.
Wesley blinked. "I suppose," he frowned slightly. Why giant wasps? Maybe it was a figure of speech.
"What sort of things do they get wrong?" he asked conversationally. By now he'd decided to give up cynicism and run with it, and if it all turned out to be a joke in the end he'd at least be able to say he had fun. "Or perhaps I should ask what they get right?"
"A ship." It took Wesley a moment to connect his images of steamships and frigates with the blinking electronic console and fill in the missing word. "A space ship? Someone's trying to turn the library into a space ship? Or installing bits of space ship into the library? Why?" He blinked at the Doctor's surprisingly old-fashioned glasses. Well, he supposed some things didn't change in the future. "Awful lot of trouble for a lot of mostly-replaceable books."
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"What?" He glanced down at the device in his hands, which was a mass of wires and oddly glowing lights that flickered in time to the clicks. "Oh, right. Sorry about that. It doesn't have a silencer. Should really get round to adding one of those, shouldn't I?"
He grinned.
"Don't worry, I'll be out of your way soon!"
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And he was about to turn around, go back to his book, and leave the strange person alone, when his unfailing sense of occasionally suicidal curiosity got the better of him.
"Might I inquire as to what exactly you're doing?" he asked politely.
Reply
A shame, really. That would have been an impressive story.
The Doctor certainly did lead the way, brow furrowing as the light from the screwdriver was joined by the faint greenish pulsing from some sort of console.
"Someone has been busy," he remarked.
Reply
Though passages in libraries reminded Wesley strongly of that American board game Cordelia had bothered him to play, "Clue." She refused to play with him after he won the fifth straight game in a row.
"And from Arther C. Clark into a James Bond film," Wesley chuckled as they approached the console. "I could never really get into the science fiction genre," he murmured almost to himself as he examined the panels and buttons.
Reply
"It's never been my favourite either, actually," he commented, producing a pair of glasses out of his jacket pocket and slipping them on. The panel lights illuminated his face a little bit eerily. This was getting more and more science fiction by the minute. "They get too many things wrong."
He prodded a panel thoughtfully.
"It looks as if someone had cannibalized the remains of a ship. Decent work, if a little crude."
Although, since the new project was half finished, the Doctor couldn't work out what they were building.
Reply
"What sort of things do they get wrong?" he asked conversationally. By now he'd decided to give up cynicism and run with it, and if it all turned out to be a joke in the end he'd at least be able to say he had fun. "Or perhaps I should ask what they get right?"
"A ship." It took Wesley a moment to connect his images of steamships and frigates with the blinking electronic console and fill in the missing word. "A space ship? Someone's trying to turn the library into a space ship? Or installing bits of space ship into the library? Why?" He blinked at the Doctor's surprisingly old-fashioned glasses. Well, he supposed some things didn't change in the future. "Awful lot of trouble for a lot of mostly-replaceable books."
Reply
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