[01] there's a starman waiting in the sky.
The Doctor hadn't been intending to go anywhere after he'd seen off Rose. He'd staggered back into the TARDIS, and tried to some sort of peace about what was about to happen to him. He didn't want to go. There was such intense pain that it robbed him of breath. He knew he'd be someone completely different within a matter of moments, there wasn't much time. Fumbling about with thin, shaking hands to set the coordinates to send him off somewhere, some distance from Earth. It didn't matter where. He just had to get far enough away... just away. Just for a little, he'd come right back to Earth afterwards, he supposed, maybe find some chips. It'd been awhile since he'd had chips...
Instead of regenerating, like he'd expected, the TARDIS - engines wailing loudly enough to be heard by anyone in the nearby vicinity - had taken him here, and materialized in a nice, open garden. He had not changed. He was still himself. The pain in his body had evaporated, leaving him somewhat disoriented and trembling.
Dark eyes wide, the Doctor exhales slowly, looking over to the monitor to check his position. He eyes the journal that's appeared on the center console, pages bared. Definitely strange. He'd been bowed over the controls of his ship, but now he straightens, checking the TARDIS' vitals - for lack of any better term. She seems relatively healthy, and strangely so does he.
"This can't be normal," he murmurs, continuing to check over his ship. "Not at all."
Anyone with a journal will hear him muttering quietly to the TARDIS, and will likely have heard the engines. It's not like the blasted thing is subtle.
Instead of regenerating, like he'd expected, the TARDIS - engines wailing loudly enough to be heard by anyone in the nearby vicinity - had taken him here, and materialized in a nice, open garden. He had not changed. He was still himself. The pain in his body had evaporated, leaving him somewhat disoriented and trembling.
Dark eyes wide, the Doctor exhales slowly, looking over to the monitor to check his position. He eyes the journal that's appeared on the center console, pages bared. Definitely strange. He'd been bowed over the controls of his ship, but now he straightens, checking the TARDIS' vitals - for lack of any better term. She seems relatively healthy, and strangely so does he.
"This can't be normal," he murmurs, continuing to check over his ship. "Not at all."
Anyone with a journal will hear him muttering quietly to the TARDIS, and will likely have heard the engines. It's not like the blasted thing is subtle.