"Yes. Well. You have managed to build some of the most intriguing things. But Marie, though she is a very sweet child, simply does not have the...."
Reinette abandoned a thought, in rare occurance, as she became further distracted by the sound. It seemed as if the volume was increasing, and at a rate that defied the simple explination of her merely walking into the room. Not speed, just volume, and it seemed to buzz in her ears. Touch her skin.
Lifting her skirts Reinette moved with obvious purpose through the room, setting aside cloaks, checking shelves. She turned, then turned again and was only then aware that the Doctor had followed her into her room.
The origin appeared to come from somewhere over her shoulder. Had he truly not created the source of this? Was it not another game for them to laugh over in the dark of the evening? The expression on the Doctor's face spoke to the negative.
But, there.
In two strides Reinette was at the small curio table that framed her window, opening its one, lone drawer. And inside ---
It was unlike anything she had ever seen. At the very least, with her own eyes. The reality that was not sparked, brightened by connections and the Doctor's memories.
He had built many things over the years, much of them with parts from the Clockwork men. But they were all angles, and gears. Machines. As different and unique as each may be, they still shared a similar look. All brothers, sisters to the other.
The sounds it made continued to vibrate through her body as Reinette held it between them, silenced by the riot of color that played across its surface. Changing, flashing, as if it was attempting to speak. Reinette could have lifted her skirts and ran, ran though the main gallery dowstairs, past the countless works of art that graced the walls. And still the colors that flashed by would not compare to this.
And the color. So unlike the clockwork men. They were cold, and their parts were cold, even if it was residual childhood emotion. The object in her hands was a rick mauve, seemingly angleless. Soft in her hands as if a bolt of silk, smooth and deep had hardened into a shell.
The Doctor looked over her shoulder, glancing in concern at the item. A communicator---it looked like some form of a communicator. The screen was smooth, with a displaying of bluish light that the Doctor immediately recognized as the Time Vortex. It was a piece of TARDIS equipment, smooth and almost organic. Nothing the Doctor had ever owned in his own machine, but...there was something naggingly familiar about it.
The color, that was something that set him off. Very little that wasn't in the sickbay infirmary back in the TARDIS was mauve, that color...it was quite distinctive.
He slipped his glasses from his pocket and onto his face. "Mauve," he explained, deliicately taking the object from Reinette's hand and turning it over, "Universal color for danger."
Swirling Gallifreyan handwriting looked up at him on the back, In Times of Extreme Danger. Never anything quite so simple, but that was the gist of it.
Reinette moved to stand close to the Doctor, her hand, unrestrained reaching out to trace the object's smooth lines. She found she did not mind the color, or its shape. Indeed, something about it appealed. If this was to Reinette herself, or residual memories of the Doctor's shared over the past years, it was difficult to say.
"For all that my rooms can be a dangerous place." Reinette's gaze slid up to the Doctor. "And yes, I know that you have considered them as such, on occasion."
A slight smirk slid across the Doctor's face at her words. Dangerous, well, maybe. If only for his in-bred fear of intimacy and natural Gallifreyan coldness. She melted that ice inside of him, though. How she did it, he'd really never know.
"I'm not sure," he said. His fingers traced the words, and he translated them for her, "Times of Extreme Danger. But...there isn't danger, not here. I'd know it."
The monitor seemed to shift with his words, and he raised an eyebrow in confusion, "I think it's...transmitting. Sending our words and images...elsewhere."
Reinette abandoned a thought, in rare occurance, as she became further distracted by the sound. It seemed as if the volume was increasing, and at a rate that defied the simple explination of her merely walking into the room. Not speed, just volume, and it seemed to buzz in her ears. Touch her skin.
Lifting her skirts Reinette moved with obvious purpose through the room, setting aside cloaks, checking shelves. She turned, then turned again and was only then aware that the Doctor had followed her into her room.
The origin appeared to come from somewhere over her shoulder. Had he truly not created the source of this? Was it not another game for them to laugh over in the dark of the evening? The expression on the Doctor's face spoke to the negative.
But, there.
In two strides Reinette was at the small curio table that framed her window, opening its one, lone drawer. And inside ---
It was unlike anything she had ever seen. At the very least, with her own eyes. The reality that was not sparked, brightened by connections and the Doctor's memories.
He had built many things over the years, much of them with parts from the Clockwork men. But they were all angles, and gears. Machines. As different and unique as each may be, they still shared a similar look. All brothers, sisters to the other.
The sounds it made continued to vibrate through her body as Reinette held it between them, silenced by the riot of color that played across its surface. Changing, flashing, as if it was attempting to speak. Reinette could have lifted her skirts and ran, ran though the main gallery dowstairs, past the countless works of art that graced the walls. And still the colors that flashed by would not compare to this.
And the color. So unlike the clockwork men. They were cold, and their parts were cold, even if it was residual childhood emotion. The object in her hands was a rick mauve, seemingly angleless. Soft in her hands as if a bolt of silk, smooth and deep had hardened into a shell.
"...Doctor?"
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The color, that was something that set him off. Very little that wasn't in the sickbay infirmary back in the TARDIS was mauve, that color...it was quite distinctive.
He slipped his glasses from his pocket and onto his face. "Mauve," he explained, deliicately taking the object from Reinette's hand and turning it over, "Universal color for danger."
Swirling Gallifreyan handwriting looked up at him on the back, In Times of Extreme Danger. Never anything quite so simple, but that was the gist of it.
Reply
Reinette moved to stand close to the Doctor, her hand, unrestrained reaching out to trace the object's smooth lines. She found she did not mind the color, or its shape. Indeed, something about it appealed. If this was to Reinette herself, or residual memories of the Doctor's shared over the past years, it was difficult to say.
"For all that my rooms can be a dangerous place." Reinette's gaze slid up to the Doctor. "And yes, I know that you have considered them as such, on occasion."
"Why is it here?"
Reply
"I'm not sure," he said. His fingers traced the words, and he translated them for her, "Times of Extreme Danger. But...there isn't danger, not here. I'd know it."
The monitor seemed to shift with his words, and he raised an eyebrow in confusion, "I think it's...transmitting. Sending our words and images...elsewhere."
Reply
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