one | holo | arrival
He was very good at running.
Oh, from the time when he was eight and he bolted from the Untempered Schism, he loved to run. He never stopped racing away from danger, running towards excitement, running, running, running. It settled, deep in the very marrow of his being, a need to run.
But now, he was running for his life.
He set the TARDIS to random and just went. As far and as long as he could, away from the Ood, away from his song ending, away from all of the terrible, terrible things he did. He couldn't stop, he couldn't, he couldn't---He pulled the brake on the TARDIS console and felt a tug hit him somewhere in the middle. Like something was holding him. No, no, like something was grabbing him. Grabbing him and pulling him away, so far away. The TARDIS's voice was an echo in his mind, and he struggled to reach for her as he fell.
Falling.
Falling.
And he snapped his eyes open as he found himself on some sort of a strange pad. His wrist felt heavy, and a bracelet, like some sort of a prison ornament, was seared into his flesh. The Doctor pulled his sonic from his pocket and analyzed it. Deadlock seal, attached until whoever brought him here let him go.
The Ood? Whoever it was that was meant to kill him?
He took a step forward, stuffing his hands into his pockets and affecting an immediate air of indifference. Smug relaxation that he didn't even remotely feel shone through every move and every word.
"Not the best way to treat a guest," the Doctor called aloud. "That's what I am, isn't it? Because you went to an awful lot to pull me out here."
Oh, from the time when he was eight and he bolted from the Untempered Schism, he loved to run. He never stopped racing away from danger, running towards excitement, running, running, running. It settled, deep in the very marrow of his being, a need to run.
But now, he was running for his life.
He set the TARDIS to random and just went. As far and as long as he could, away from the Ood, away from his song ending, away from all of the terrible, terrible things he did. He couldn't stop, he couldn't, he couldn't---He pulled the brake on the TARDIS console and felt a tug hit him somewhere in the middle. Like something was holding him. No, no, like something was grabbing him. Grabbing him and pulling him away, so far away. The TARDIS's voice was an echo in his mind, and he struggled to reach for her as he fell.
Falling.
Falling.
And he snapped his eyes open as he found himself on some sort of a strange pad. His wrist felt heavy, and a bracelet, like some sort of a prison ornament, was seared into his flesh. The Doctor pulled his sonic from his pocket and analyzed it. Deadlock seal, attached until whoever brought him here let him go.
The Ood? Whoever it was that was meant to kill him?
He took a step forward, stuffing his hands into his pockets and affecting an immediate air of indifference. Smug relaxation that he didn't even remotely feel shone through every move and every word.
"Not the best way to treat a guest," the Doctor called aloud. "That's what I am, isn't it? Because you went to an awful lot to pull me out here."