mad world
To see a truck transporting goods throughout the city is not necessarily something out of the norm. In fact, it is a daily occurrence. However, today, a transport was sent out. A transport with no real destination and drop off. However, it does pull to park several blocks down from one Conrad Hotel
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This is different.
This is neurochemical, and the best psychic defences in the world won't keep that out. It gets in under his guard, accelerating his heartsbeat, and no matter how he trusts and turns psycically, he can't identify a rational root cause.
That's when the whispers begin.
Maybe you're going insane, they say. Maybe the damage done by the Master to your mind was more chronic than you allowed for. All that structure, all that control, crumbling and vanishing. Who do you become then, Koschelivar? What do you think you'll do?
Whispering and whispering....
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As he approaches the Conrad, he can feel that something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong. The scanners, modified to give him a slightly wider range of perception, register an atmospheric change. Humans, all around him, panicking, but it's very much not the Dalek that's the root cause.
He needs more information. He needs the Vesmier, whoever he is.
Another Time Lord...And that's good enough ( ... )
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His mind closes down on the whatever-it-is, and-
Doctor.
Another Doctor.
The fear has another grain to build upon, another knot, because the Doctor is here and the situation is dangerous and the Doctor is altogether too good at dying. He's on his feet immediately, out the door, scanning as he goes, keeping a hard hold on the signal of the other Doctor's mind. His psychic presence is schismed: on one level, it's screaming, thoughts racing at hexadecal time, a mass of fear and need-to-control and inability-to-control and doubt and trepidation and sheer existential agony.
There's another layer, though. And that one is steel-cold and steady, and wouldn't waver in its grip if the world shattered around him.
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::?!:: He puts together a mental projection of himself, of the robot he happens to be occupying, scanners working furiously. The Vesmier's coming closer.
::entity.Doctor({friendly}{concerned})!!:: The TARDIS's mode of communication seems to be coming more easily than others might, at the moment, but he makes an effort. ::Something's wrong!:: He tries to send information, something in the air, though he doesn't have the capability yet to gather more information than that. People are panicking. Something is very wrong.
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It's been given to him by an alternate version of his old friend's alternate universe version, one he's never seen before, tottering about in a tiny scout-bot body, speaking in the syntax of the TARDIS.
Your senses are suspect, the voice whispers. These are familiar elements, randomly recombined. You would like to think this is real. Are you willing to wager your sanity on that premise?
"Something in the air," the Vesmier says. his voice is perfectly calm - even a little amused. It doesn't reflect in any way the tone of the mental grip. "And what sort of 'something' might that be?"
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::Just... Trust me.:: The words are echoed on the display, and there's a plaintive quality to the Doctor's "voice". ::Deep-scan if you have to. Touch the watch if that's required, though I'll ask you not to open it, but just TRUST me enough to do this... Please.::
There's something frighteningly familiar about this, about that grip, about the distinct sense of presence. On the tip of his mind, and he can't quite reach it, like a distorted reflection of someone he knows. It bothers him. He should know this, here with all his memories at his metaphorical fingertips. He should know that feel, the calm amusement in that voice, know this person who, from what little his own senses are telling him, knows a version of him...
Wait. Wait. Oh. Oh no.
::You're... You're not. You're not HIM.:: Awful, sick realization.
But it's not the Master. Not. It might be Kosch, but it's ( ... )
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He's not. He's not that... creature, and he won't be, he refuses to be, even with the voice whispering Look at yourself. Irrational, no way of telling what rationality is. Even the Master had a system, an order. Who's to say you're not there already?
He turns and clamps down on the fear. He can't stop the physiological effects, but he can chase off the emotion to the extent he understands it. External elements. Imposed, not natural. Nonpsychic in origin.
He gathers himself. There's a certain amount of feedback he can't get rid of, the chemical reality of his brain and the constant reinforcement from the rest of his body still stuck in fight or flight, but he's as calm as he can be.
He relaxes his hold on the probably-Doctor's mind. "What do you need?"
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...And that's a frightening thought, the idea that whatever this is works on Time Lords.
But he asked for the Vesmier's trust, and so the only reasonable thing he can do is give it in return, give the same trust he would have given a very old friend, a very long time ago... And that memory hurts, but it's not important right now.
He throws open the doors in his head (or his internal concept of a head, since oh look, he doesn't have one! No head! Never done that before...), lays the situation out, but very carefully does not project. Just leaves the information on the surface of his mind, and presents directly in the form of scrolling text.
There's a Dalek in the city. The people here are panicking but if the Dalek has its way they'll be dead, and I think panic to be the ( ... )
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But there isn't time to stop and argue. He knows that much. His own Doctor is always talking about the necessity of quick response, and he knows that his own Doctor would rush in. Do something BRILLIANT.
And if all else fails, he can try to turn the thing, psychically. Never mind that Daleks are about as susceptible to psychic assaults as rocks.
He reads that mass, under the words. Disregards it, for now. He might bring it up if he sees this Doctor again, assuming they both get out alive. But one thing the Vesmier knows is how to pick his battles.
"I'll find someone with a transport."
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Strange that it's him that's helping him, carrying him this time. But not the Koschei he knew. Maybe Kosch as he was meant to be. Maybe.
A part of his consciousness flashes back to that time when there were five of him together, and the Master helped him, then. Not without motives of his own, but the Master helped him, and for just a moment he lets himself mourn the necessity of forgetting. Just one moment, and then back to business.
He knows he's not equipped to deal with a Dalek. But he'll do what he must. And he'll come up with something. He always does. Somehow, things will work out.
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