for fandom_muses: Talk about your first love.
First incarnation
It is an accident, of course, that lands him there.
First time taking the TARDIS out---granted he was running from Gallifreyan guards---and he presses the randomizer button. There has to be a quick way away, he figures. What better way than going anywhere? He has the same method with chess: His opponents were always baffled because he didn't make the obvious (read: sane) moves when they came around. He bounced around the board and threw them off track.
Same way here. He pulls a lever and the ship shoots through the time vortex. He's tossed around the white console room, landing uncomfortably on his back as the ship settles. Much more of that and he's going to need a cane when he gets older, he thinks.
He grabs the edge of the console and looks on the monitor. No ship in sight behind him, it appears. He's gotten away. The realization hits him. He's gotten away! A childlike wail of glee slips from his lips and he bursts into laughter. Away! Away from Gallifrey, away from his stupid stuffy life of studying. It's fantastic. No, it's brilliant!
But where is he? The navigational systems in the ship aren't fully stable yet, all it can tell him is that the radiation levels are normal and the oxygen levels are good. Which means wherever he is, he can get out and take a look. And why not? It's a new world. A whole new world.
Another laugh. A whole new world right outside that door. How many times has he dreamed of this moment? Laid atop the astronomical center at the Academy and stared at the stars and just imagined? So many times. So many! He shrugs off his Prydonian robes and grabs a coat off of a chair (where did that coat come from?).
Only Rassilon on his first voyage could possibly understand the excitement behind each step towards the door. Each step is practically a hop and he's all but bursting with energy. A first place. A new place. A place he's never seen, a world he's never explored. His hand curls around the door handle and with so little effort the door swings open.
A blast of cold air blows his hair away from his face. The raw, unusual and completely different scent of a new world assails him. Smoke and dust and manure and grass and it's a combination of the likes he's never smelt before. It's like a perfume of the Sisters themselves. A new world.
One foot steps out onto muddy ground. The mud is soft enough to squish and form around his shoe, but firm enough that he won't slip or sink. There's a fine layer of snow atop the wet ground and even that feels different beneath his feet than the small, delicate dusting he's used to from Gallifrey. It feels thicker and wetter, like the iced water clumped together more solidly.
"Oi, mate, watch it!" A wood-and-wire carriage drawn by a great four-hoofed beast speeds past him and very nearly knocks the young Time Lord down. The hooves of the creature clomp clomp down on the wet road, splattering snow and mud with each step. The man---he looks like a Gallifreyan, actually, except his telepathic signals are much weaker-- on the carriage shakes a fist in his direction before driving on.
A group of people stand not far off from him, singing together. The music is not sophisticated like the music he is used to, but the harmony of their voices in a strange tongue is beautiful. The ship in his mind translates the words but he can still hear them in their native language. Simple words, each one only carrying one meaning. He likes that, he likes the way they string together to create music.
"God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our savior was born on Christmas Day
To save us all from Satan's power when we have gone astray---"
He walks down the road, eyes darting excitedly from shop to shop. Fruit and presents and trinkets sold for coin he's never seen before. This world, this beautiful world, is so different, so brilliant.
"Ooooh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oooooh tidings of comfort and joy…"
The young Time Lord rushes to a man selling small dried fruit from a basket. He imagines the food cannot possibly be sterile, but the smell of it is so sweet and strange.
"Figs, Sir?" he asks the Time Lord, offering him a bag.
He remembers from his classes that before he even considers taking something, he should get his bearings first. "When is it?" he asks him. His words come out in simple, strange vowels and he loves that, too. The first words spoken in another language.
"When? Why, it's Christmas Day!"
Christmas? What's Christmas? It must be the way the people of this planet describe their days. He'll learn, he decides. There's so much for him to learn!
"And where am I?" he asks. Second question and perhaps he asks it a little too enthusiastically because the man with the figs looks confused.
"You're in London, Sir."
"London." It could be the street name or the city name or the planet name for all he cares, but this is his first new world. London is amazing. It's fantastic. It's everything he could've hoped for in a new world. He loves it.
And you never forget your first love.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 915
It is an accident, of course, that lands him there.
First time taking the TARDIS out---granted he was running from Gallifreyan guards---and he presses the randomizer button. There has to be a quick way away, he figures. What better way than going anywhere? He has the same method with chess: His opponents were always baffled because he didn't make the obvious (read: sane) moves when they came around. He bounced around the board and threw them off track.
Same way here. He pulls a lever and the ship shoots through the time vortex. He's tossed around the white console room, landing uncomfortably on his back as the ship settles. Much more of that and he's going to need a cane when he gets older, he thinks.
He grabs the edge of the console and looks on the monitor. No ship in sight behind him, it appears. He's gotten away. The realization hits him. He's gotten away! A childlike wail of glee slips from his lips and he bursts into laughter. Away! Away from Gallifrey, away from his stupid stuffy life of studying. It's fantastic. No, it's brilliant!
But where is he? The navigational systems in the ship aren't fully stable yet, all it can tell him is that the radiation levels are normal and the oxygen levels are good. Which means wherever he is, he can get out and take a look. And why not? It's a new world. A whole new world.
Another laugh. A whole new world right outside that door. How many times has he dreamed of this moment? Laid atop the astronomical center at the Academy and stared at the stars and just imagined? So many times. So many! He shrugs off his Prydonian robes and grabs a coat off of a chair (where did that coat come from?).
Only Rassilon on his first voyage could possibly understand the excitement behind each step towards the door. Each step is practically a hop and he's all but bursting with energy. A first place. A new place. A place he's never seen, a world he's never explored. His hand curls around the door handle and with so little effort the door swings open.
A blast of cold air blows his hair away from his face. The raw, unusual and completely different scent of a new world assails him. Smoke and dust and manure and grass and it's a combination of the likes he's never smelt before. It's like a perfume of the Sisters themselves. A new world.
One foot steps out onto muddy ground. The mud is soft enough to squish and form around his shoe, but firm enough that he won't slip or sink. There's a fine layer of snow atop the wet ground and even that feels different beneath his feet than the small, delicate dusting he's used to from Gallifrey. It feels thicker and wetter, like the iced water clumped together more solidly.
"Oi, mate, watch it!" A wood-and-wire carriage drawn by a great four-hoofed beast speeds past him and very nearly knocks the young Time Lord down. The hooves of the creature clomp clomp down on the wet road, splattering snow and mud with each step. The man---he looks like a Gallifreyan, actually, except his telepathic signals are much weaker-- on the carriage shakes a fist in his direction before driving on.
A group of people stand not far off from him, singing together. The music is not sophisticated like the music he is used to, but the harmony of their voices in a strange tongue is beautiful. The ship in his mind translates the words but he can still hear them in their native language. Simple words, each one only carrying one meaning. He likes that, he likes the way they string together to create music.
"God rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay
Remember Christ our savior was born on Christmas Day
To save us all from Satan's power when we have gone astray---"
He walks down the road, eyes darting excitedly from shop to shop. Fruit and presents and trinkets sold for coin he's never seen before. This world, this beautiful world, is so different, so brilliant.
"Ooooh, tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
Oooooh tidings of comfort and joy…"
The young Time Lord rushes to a man selling small dried fruit from a basket. He imagines the food cannot possibly be sterile, but the smell of it is so sweet and strange.
"Figs, Sir?" he asks the Time Lord, offering him a bag.
He remembers from his classes that before he even considers taking something, he should get his bearings first. "When is it?" he asks him. His words come out in simple, strange vowels and he loves that, too. The first words spoken in another language.
"When? Why, it's Christmas Day!"
Christmas? What's Christmas? It must be the way the people of this planet describe their days. He'll learn, he decides. There's so much for him to learn!
"And where am I?" he asks. Second question and perhaps he asks it a little too enthusiastically because the man with the figs looks confused.
"You're in London, Sir."
"London." It could be the street name or the city name or the planet name for all he cares, but this is his first new world. London is amazing. It's fantastic. It's everything he could've hoped for in a new world. He loves it.
And you never forget your first love.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 915