tie him up when he fast asleep/ take him on a pleasant cruise- open to the_5thdoc
Just a little trip, that's all he'd intended. Ziggy Stardust is where he is, and he intends on staying there, but there are times, after the crowds leave but the chemicals in his mind still linger, when all he wants is to go home. He loves this Earth, this little world with its butterfly-bright humans, his pretty boys and girls with their
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Whatever he is, though, he looks mildly surprised to hear a man's voice coming from somewhere over his head, and he glances up to find the source of it. A young man, handsome and blonde, dressed in familiar looking but very strange clothes; he looks nothing short of flabbergasted. It is, Ziggy reflects, a good look for him, whoever he is, and accordingly, he's treated to one of Ziggy's most glittering smiles as he pushes himself from the floor, arcing up until he's standing.
In contrast to the stark, sterile white of the room around him, Ziggy is decked in vibrant colour, face made up and shoes heeled, and he stands there, improbably, as if he hasn't a care in the world. As if already he's learned all the secrets of this machine and made them his own. He hasn't, of course, but there's much to be said for a good attitude.
'My thanks, darlin',' he says, a bit of a drawl clinging to the edges of the words. 'I might have been reduced to oblivion in that; somebody's tried to make that black hole their bitch and failed.'
It's entirely likely that this ship has something to do with it. Why else would he have ended up here inside it, after all?
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"This shouldn't be possible. Really, really shouldn't be possible!"
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The sort of hexagonal console in the centre of the room is obviously some sort of control panel, now Ziggy looks at it more closely, and he sashays over to join the Doctor there. He doesn't crowd him, but instead finds an angle, leaning casually against the lip of the thing and watching him coolly.
'I don't like to try and put a cap on what is and isn't possible,' observes Ziggy philosophically, as if he's not entirely addressing the Doctor. 'Seems like it'd make life half as interesting as it can be.'
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"I didn't say it wasn't possible. Merely that it shouldn't be possible."
He scowls at the console, clearly note caring for the results of his actions.
"And it shouldn't be."
Still hunched over the console, his eyes dart up to Ziggy... who certainly does seem to be making himself rather at home, doesn't he? He would seem astonishingly comfortable for someone who had mysteriously appeared in the midst of a strange spacecraft.
"Where do you come from?"
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He tracks the Doctor's fingers as they flicker across the console, thoughtless in their ease, though his brow is furrowed. Those are fingers long used to doing their particular task, as Ziggy's at his guitar, a combination of skill and muscle memory. As for the buttons and levers themselves, Ziggy can't claim to understand them, but he knows enough to know that this is highly advanced technology. It's of a very different mode than what he's used to, but he knows things when he sees them.
The question makes him chuckle. Because that's the grand question, isn't it? 'Most recently?' he asks mildly. 'Earth. Who's asking?'
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The Doctor's eyebrows arch at this line of thinking, but he carries on regardless.
"I'm the Doctor. And you would be...?"
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You can read intelligence in a person's face. And besides, if he understands a vessel like this well enough to pilot it, it's clear that he's going to have a comprehension of cosmological phenomena.
Ziggy grins. Onto his favourite subject. 'Ziggy Stardust. And as you asked, I am Infinite.' That's being used as a noun, yes, not an adjective, and it does answer the Doctor's question of where he comes from, even if it might seem not to.
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The Doctor straightens, fingers tapping a thoughtful staccato against the console. There are far too few things in this universe that leave him curious... and it would seem Ziggy counts among them.
"Infinite. That is something I've not heard before -- and I have heard quite a bit."
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Who he is, yes, where he's from and what he's there for is, but he rarely gives himself that particular label on Earth. Starman is enough for them.
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It's odd, so very odd how much of his life seems to revolve around the comings and goings of Earth. Of course, in a purely personal sense, he found the planet fascinating, but it still seemed an odd coincidence that so many of his comings and goings revolved around that little planet.
And he's still no clue how Ziggy came to be here. Curiouser and curiouser. He's watching Ziggy as though to glean information from some hidden visual codex, but the puzzled expression on his face suggests his efforts have hardly been successful.
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He's no more human than the Doctor is- because he doesn't imagine for a moment that he is. He might look it, sure, but then, so does Ziggy; there are plenty of species with the same basic physiology, to assume one is human simply because they're bipedal and have that particular eyes-nose-mouth facial arrangement is just ignorance.
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Ziggy looks strange, of course, but through the eras humans have gone through fashion trends more quickly than even he could keep up with. It only took the blink of an eye, it seemed, for them to come up with new and provocative modes of dress for the simple purpose being more outlandish than one another. Odd dress was simply expected -- no more and no less.
But it wasn't the way Ziggy dressed -- it was the way he felt that struck him as alien. An sense of unfamiliarity whispered at the edge of his consciousness whenever he closed his eyes.
"...no. I rather think not."
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'Mmm, no, quite' he chuckles silkily. 'Infinite, as I said. If you want to talk origin stories, I'm from back there-' there he indicates with a casual jerk of his head towards what appears to be the doors- 'That black hole you were flying so close to.'
Ziggy arches an eyebrow, then. As it happens, he has a question for the Doctor too. 'I'm going to assume, love, that you picked up on whatever it was happened just then before you so obligingly caught me?' A rift or a tear, a shockwave resulting from some kind of stress on spacetime- but Ziggy has idea what.
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He runs a hand along the edge of the the TARDIS console, like one might stroke a favorite pet. The gesture stops short of the lavish verbal affection pet-owners tend to have, but anyone watching his face would be left with the impression that they may still be going on inside his head.
He goes rather quiet after a moment, smile fading. His mood shifts like quicksilver as the day's events play out in his mind. It had only been appropriate to return and seal the instability. It was dangerous -- a hazard to anyone who flew through this sector of space. But it seemed a weak effort, really, with everyone who had died today. And the Eurydice, and Omega, back on the other side of a black hole. Perhaps for good.
The Doctor says nothing further. Really, there's nothing to say.
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He doesn't seem particularly put out by it, though, really. He's alive, after all, in one proverbial piece, and currently lounging in the spaceship of a mysterious and rather attractive alien who's apparently capable of closing off dimensional anomalies. Ziggy Stardust has had much worse days.
The Doctor's silence might make another man awkward, but Ziggy just watches him with a tipped chin and sharp eyes. 'So what are you, Doctor-man? You're about as human as I am, I can tell that much. And this ship of yours-' his hand makes a soft sound as he strokes across the console- appreciatively, if not with quite as much affection as the Doctor- 'she is une fille magnifique. Très belle.'
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"Ah... that sounds like a highly unreliable way to cross dimensions, dimensional anomalies or no."
But Ziggy does have a proper appreciation for the TARDIS, and he nods in approval of his words.
"I'm a Time Lord," he says, with a small shrug to suggest exactly what he thinks of the importance of this particular information.
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