What Dreams May Come
Dr. River Song is holed up in a corner of the bar, her notebook spread before her, and surrounded by a formidable stack of books. Biology, genetics, advanced gene therapy, chaos theory in genetic mutation, and a myriad more. There is one very lonely book sitting at the edge of her table, ostensibly being ignored. Very pointedly ignored. En Historae et Veritas de Therianthropae.
Which is nonsense, it's just a book.
Her tea has gone cold at her elbow and she's still poring over her notes, as if the data can drown out the conclusion she's very rapidly coming to. If the lycanthropy is magic, and not science, she is completely lost at sea. Off the map, she can handle, but this?
This is just not acceptable.
[[ooc: Open till it scrolls, with much appreciation for slowtimes. Apologies for the faux Latin. I blame the monks.]]
[ tiny all in black tag: Tanya Adams ]
Which is nonsense, it's just a book.
Her tea has gone cold at her elbow and she's still poring over her notes, as if the data can drown out the conclusion she's very rapidly coming to. If the lycanthropy is magic, and not science, she is completely lost at sea. Off the map, she can handle, but this?
This is just not acceptable.
[[ooc: Open till it scrolls, with much appreciation for slowtimes. Apologies for the faux Latin. I blame the monks.]]
[ tiny all in black tag: Tanya Adams ]