a bit of 1, a bit of 4, let's make it 125th_doctorNovember 9 2011, 03:35:55 UTC
[The cabin door flings open and in strides the Doctor, eyes not settled on where he's going but squarely on the jumbled collection of parts he's toting in his arms. A quick tip of his head back to the corridor assures that he's eluded that pesky ship steward.
Now he ought to get to work.
But...
But...
This was his cabin (more or less), bought and paid for (more or less), so...why wasn't he alone?
He clears his throat vigorously, in that pestering way which serves as the universal signal for 'Excuse me?']
It's a cuddle cocktail!beta_fiveNovember 9 2011, 03:56:51 UTC
[Mr. Seven's just been getting settled comfortably in. He has his equipment set up on one of the tables (there's a happily purring black cat with a sparkling collar next to his tiny rotating scanner dish). He's in a desk chair next to a small wooden desk that's barely useful in size, and he swivels it when the door opens suddenly (and very unexpectedly).
He looks to the cat... that doesn't feel entirely like a cat.
She slow blinks at him.
And then he raises his brows at the Doctor.] Can we help you?
W-well, for a start, I'd like to find out what you're doing in my stateroom?
[An odd cat, indeed. Doubly odd considering the Doctor's quite sure pets are prohibited from being brought on cruise ships. And is the stranger actually meaning to speak both for himself and his cat?
He shifts his arms slightly, loosening a bit of bundled wire from the crook of his elbow and allowing it to tumble to the floor.]
I also need your spot. So, ah, if it isn't so much trouble, could you budge over a bit?
Your stateroom? [He gets a lipcurl. What's strange is this man had a complete nonreaction to the technology on the table. Or maybe he's just over-estimating people in general.
But he has a line of wire on him.] I reserved this room a month ago [He has the time travel logs to prove it], let me see your key. [He's not quite ready to address the sharing this spot bit. The chair is big. But even with squeezing one would end up half in the other's lap.... The desk he doesn't trust to sit on at all.
In the meantime, the cat arches up, gives a clawful stretch, and hops off the table to go investigate the wire that the Doctor just dropped.]
[He's distracted, more like, and mentally counting down the minutes before that next transmission. Though this plan all teeters on Nyssa's theory and she could be wrong...but he's yet to encounter that particular circumstance.]
Did you? [he frowns a bit, brow wrinkling.] Well, I suppose I'll have to find a new travel agency once we reach New York, eh?
[He spins around in a circle, scanning for a place to set his things down and settles for the bed. He then slips his hand into his trouser pocket and produces a key, its number a match for the cabin door.]
[He pulls out his key and... it's the same key. He double takes between the two keys, frowning hard and that thick brow of his is furrowing as much as it can furrow.]
Why do you need this particular spot? [This man obviously wants this cabin, so it can't be a mistake. And he has equipment of his own. And now that everything is settled on the bed the cat is discretely nosing it all.
But then his equipment buzzes. That transmission is starting to warm up! He seems to forget the room confusion for a moment as he scrambles to get his earpiece and hold to his ear.]
[Naturally, it's the same key, though under closer inspection, his key would appear to be older, so much older. Perusing estate sales on outer-rim planets tended to turn up a surprising amount of Earth memorabilia, if one had the time and inclination.
And most importantly, the space to store it all.]
Here, now. [He's addressing the cat.] Get away from that!
[An alert signal? A sensor array? How could he have overlooked it all? He rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed at his own incompetence, and he springs for the bed. He spends equal amounts of time shooing off the curious feline and piecing together a sensor array of his own.]
Why your spot? Well, your chair looks terribly comfortable and I've had quite a trying day.
[He's skimming lightly over detailed explanations, but he's certain he and the stranger have the exact same goal in mind. The completed sensor device is boxy but serviceable, and he makes his way to the desk, angling the box above the other man's head, his own arms draped across the top of the chair.]
[The cat looks at him, and like any good cat of her ilk she bats uselessly at his collection of things and darts away under the bed. Mr. Seven just shakes his head.]
Isis, don't antagonize the man.
[Who has his key somehow. He wants to suss out why the Doctor's looks considerably older, but then there's suddenly a sensor array box and arms propped just at shoulder level.
He has no time to grump. He has to shift to put his arm around the Doctor's and from there hold the earpiece to his ear. Okay, they were on the ship. Now if he could just get the other ship on the right trajectory.
His gaze shifts. This man isn't with Counter Strike, he hopes. He cranes back to look up, but gets a good look at the underside of the Doctor's nose.]
[An arm, around his. Not entirely unpleasant, but not entirely wanted either.
Oh, but now his box is beeping in consecutive bursts of three short tones. The transmission! He tilts the box like one of those games where you need to send small, metallic balls into tiny holes. Just the slightest of tips in the wrong direction could mean losing everything gained.
He eases closer to Mr. Seven, concentrating on the sound of the beeps as they modulate, louder and fainter, louder and fainter. Louder. Ah-hah!
Though he's somehow now turned about, and the leaves of the celery stalk he so proudly displays upon his lapel are threatening to tickle at Mr. Seven's nose.]
[He gives him a look as if to say he can't quite help it. But then there's celery right under his nose. Nigh on about to make him sneeze if it gets any closer. So he man's up and moves his arm, resigned to the fact that this... whoever he is is determined to stay in his personal space.
And he tugs him right down into his lap, where he can listen without having to completely entangle himself with him.
Louder. Louder. Fainter. Louder. Coordinates, maybe. He's doing math in his head.
And he has a stranger in his lap.]
Who are you? [He asks quickly between rows, again giving a confused look his overly chiselled face makes all the more effective. The cat sits on the bed next to a stray piece of something, watching with bright orange eyes and that somehow manage to be amused. If he looks at her, she'll mew at him. She knows everything.]
[It's a bit of a shock, settling in that lap, and the Doctor drags his attention away from his sensor device to focus on...
Oh, they are rather close now, aren't they?
He finds room for his lanky legs against Mr. Seven's, his own attention divided between the conversation he's about to have with the other man and the cryptic series of beeps emanating from his sensor.
His smile comes easily.] I'm the Doctor. Pleased to meet you. [He'd offer his hand to shake, but both are currently occupied.]
Fascinating view we've got from here, eh? Rather...unique.
And then I hit tab+enter when I meant to hit enter.beta_fiveNovember 10 2011, 08:31:45 UTC
The Doctor. [Just the Doctor. Nothing added to it. He'd have to ask the Beta Five for records later. The name seems familiar, though not one he can easily pinpoint off the top of his head. And the beeps get louder. Fainter. Fainter. It's a trajectory. But not of this vessel, the one of the other ship that's supposed to crash into this one. Do they want it to miss?
The beeps have another interruption.] Mr. Seven. [That's enough of an introduction. That it's his name should be obvious from context.
In the meantime, that cat has managed to vanish from the bed. She approves of her Supervisor disarming this man in his lovely pants with glorious array of white stripes and a beige jacket. Obviously perfectly coiffed for a black cat to lay upon. So she primly places her paws on the edge of the chair, and manages to reappear in a curled ball in the Doctor's lap.
Excellent. She has them both pinned. She is victorious.They're using a device in the ships radar mechanisms to transmit their signals. What do you think, Isis
( ... )
[As expected, Nyssa's suspicions about the transmission were undeniably correct. Trajectory of the Stockholm. What else could it be?]
Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Seven.
[More than make acquaintances, their shared cramped quarters are actively forcing them to make close friends, and quickly.
Along with the black-furred creature which has the audacity to act like a cat. The Doctor thinks she seems more like a TARDIS...or some other temporally sensitive sentient being. No matter, now, though. He's stuck in his place until the transmission ends.]
That explains the malfunctioning radar the night of the collision...
[And he's said that aloud. In front of strangers. And he's got his arms curled around Mr. Seven, with the sensor device still beeping merrily away behind the other man's head.]
How do you know about the collision? [This terribly awkward thing he will not notice is terribly awkward (and maybe a little bit comfortable) through no small amount of effort, because right now he needs to keep calculating and even with a mind as fast as his, it's mentally consuming.
As for the cat, she is much like a TARDIS. And she purrs like a TARDIS would hum when it's happy. Eyes lazy lidded, she stares off at nothing and just lets herself be comfortable in this nice psychically primed man's lap.]
They're making sure that the collision won't happen. I don't think they know that it's supposed to, they just want their cargo to make it safely. [This observation also idly spoken, because if you have a man in your lap, and he time travels like you do, and he has similar technology, and he didn't try to murder you the moment he saw you like a Counter Strike agent would, then might as well think aloud at him.
[He confesses it earnestly, and his faint shrug as he shifts his arms is enough to give Mr. Seven the tiniest of squeezes around the shoulder blades..
He's not hugging, not really. It only seems that way. And he's distracted because the transmission's rather difficult to decode. Luckily Nyssa remains in the TARDIS and is tracking the transmission source, and the Doctor is confident that they'll have it all sorted out before the passengers are done with their after-supper puddings.
But they're not the only ones investigating this, are they?]
Mr. Seven, my companion and I have been trailing after these miscreants since well before the ship left port. They are extremely dangerous and not to be trifled with by amateur sleuths.
Best leave it to me, eh?
[He smiles briefly, but his breathing rate is hitching up.]
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Now he ought to get to work.
But...
But...
This was his cabin (more or less), bought and paid for (more or less), so...why wasn't he alone?
He clears his throat vigorously, in that pestering way which serves as the universal signal for 'Excuse me?']
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He looks to the cat... that doesn't feel entirely like a cat.
She slow blinks at him.
And then he raises his brows at the Doctor.] Can we help you?
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[An odd cat, indeed. Doubly odd considering the Doctor's quite sure pets are prohibited from being brought on cruise ships. And is the stranger actually meaning to speak both for himself and his cat?
He shifts his arms slightly, loosening a bit of bundled wire from the crook of his elbow and allowing it to tumble to the floor.]
I also need your spot. So, ah, if it isn't so much trouble, could you budge over a bit?
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But he has a line of wire on him.] I reserved this room a month ago [He has the time travel logs to prove it], let me see your key. [He's not quite ready to address the sharing this spot bit. The chair is big. But even with squeezing one would end up half in the other's lap.... The desk he doesn't trust to sit on at all.
In the meantime, the cat arches up, gives a clawful stretch, and hops off the table to go investigate the wire that the Doctor just dropped.]
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Did you? [he frowns a bit, brow wrinkling.] Well, I suppose I'll have to find a new travel agency once we reach New York, eh?
[He spins around in a circle, scanning for a place to set his things down and settles for the bed. He then slips his hand into his trouser pocket and produces a key, its number a match for the cabin door.]
There you are, else I've been lied to.
[And he doesn't sound too upset by that.]
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Why do you need this particular spot? [This man obviously wants this cabin, so it can't be a mistake. And he has equipment of his own. And now that everything is settled on the bed the cat is discretely nosing it all.
But then his equipment buzzes. That transmission is starting to warm up! He seems to forget the room confusion for a moment as he scrambles to get his earpiece and hold to his ear.]
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And most importantly, the space to store it all.]
Here, now. [He's addressing the cat.] Get away from that!
[An alert signal? A sensor array? How could he have overlooked it all? He rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed at his own incompetence, and he springs for the bed. He spends equal amounts of time shooing off the curious feline and piecing together a sensor array of his own.]
Why your spot? Well, your chair looks terribly comfortable and I've had quite a trying day.
[He's skimming lightly over detailed explanations, but he's certain he and the stranger have the exact same goal in mind. The completed sensor device is boxy but serviceable, and he makes his way to the desk, angling the box above the other man's head, his own arms draped across the top of the chair.]
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Isis, don't antagonize the man.
[Who has his key somehow. He wants to suss out why the Doctor's looks considerably older, but then there's suddenly a sensor array box and arms propped just at shoulder level.
He has no time to grump. He has to shift to put his arm around the Doctor's and from there hold the earpiece to his ear. Okay, they were on the ship. Now if he could just get the other ship on the right trajectory.
His gaze shifts. This man isn't with Counter Strike, he hopes. He cranes back to look up, but gets a good look at the underside of the Doctor's nose.]
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[An arm, around his. Not entirely unpleasant, but not entirely wanted either.
Oh, but now his box is beeping in consecutive bursts of three short tones. The transmission! He tilts the box like one of those games where you need to send small, metallic balls into tiny holes. Just the slightest of tips in the wrong direction could mean losing everything gained.
He eases closer to Mr. Seven, concentrating on the sound of the beeps as they modulate, louder and fainter, louder and fainter. Louder. Ah-hah!
Though he's somehow now turned about, and the leaves of the celery stalk he so proudly displays upon his lapel are threatening to tickle at Mr. Seven's nose.]
Still not quite there, I think...
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And he tugs him right down into his lap, where he can listen without having to completely entangle himself with him.
Louder. Louder. Fainter. Louder. Coordinates, maybe. He's doing math in his head.
And he has a stranger in his lap.]
Who are you? [He asks quickly between rows, again giving a confused look his overly chiselled face makes all the more effective. The cat sits on the bed next to a stray piece of something, watching with bright orange eyes and that somehow manage to be amused. If he looks at her, she'll mew at him. She knows everything.]
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Oh, they are rather close now, aren't they?
He finds room for his lanky legs against Mr. Seven's, his own attention divided between the conversation he's about to have with the other man and the cryptic series of beeps emanating from his sensor.
His smile comes easily.] I'm the Doctor. Pleased to meet you. [He'd offer his hand to shake, but both are currently occupied.]
Fascinating view we've got from here, eh? Rather...unique.
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The beeps have another interruption.] Mr. Seven. [That's enough of an introduction. That it's his name should be obvious from context.
In the meantime, that cat has managed to vanish from the bed. She approves of her Supervisor disarming this man in his lovely pants with glorious array of white stripes and a beige jacket. Obviously perfectly coiffed for a black cat to lay upon. So she primly places her paws on the edge of the chair, and manages to reappear in a curled ball in the Doctor's lap.
Excellent. She has them both pinned. She is victorious.They're using a device in the ships radar mechanisms to transmit their signals. What do you think, Isis ( ... )
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Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Seven.
[More than make acquaintances, their shared cramped quarters are actively forcing them to make close friends, and quickly.
Along with the black-furred creature which has the audacity to act like a cat. The Doctor thinks she seems more like a TARDIS...or some other temporally sensitive sentient being. No matter, now, though. He's stuck in his place until the transmission ends.]
That explains the malfunctioning radar the night of the collision...
[And he's said that aloud. In front of strangers. And he's got his arms curled around Mr. Seven, with the sensor device still beeping merrily away behind the other man's head.]
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As for the cat, she is much like a TARDIS. And she purrs like a TARDIS would hum when it's happy. Eyes lazy lidded, she stares off at nothing and just lets herself be comfortable in this nice psychically primed man's lap.]
They're making sure that the collision won't happen. I don't think they know that it's supposed to, they just want their cargo to make it safely. [This observation also idly spoken, because if you have a man in your lap, and he time travels like you do, and he has similar technology, and he didn't try to murder you the moment he saw you like a Counter Strike agent would, then might as well think aloud at him.
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[He confesses it earnestly, and his faint shrug as he shifts his arms is enough to give Mr. Seven the tiniest of squeezes around the shoulder blades..
He's not hugging, not really. It only seems that way. And he's distracted because the transmission's rather difficult to decode. Luckily Nyssa remains in the TARDIS and is tracking the transmission source, and the Doctor is confident that they'll have it all sorted out before the passengers are done with their after-supper puddings.
But they're not the only ones investigating this, are they?]
Mr. Seven, my companion and I have been trailing after these miscreants since well before the ship left port. They are extremely dangerous and not to be trifled with by amateur sleuths.
Best leave it to me, eh?
[He smiles briefly, but his breathing rate is hitching up.]
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