[thread]
Who: The Fifth Doctor, Lucy Saxon
What: The Doctor and Lucy meet face to face.
When: September 9th
Where: Room 311
Rating: PG?
The Doctor set his journal down on the bed - his bed, though he doubted he would use it - and slowly stood.
It all felt rather surreal, really. He was supposed to be dead. Instead, he was trapped in a mysterious castle filled with people throughout Space and Time, about to visit the Master's wife.
The Master, who was here, and alive.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. He hadn't expected going out to see anyone - but this was what he always did, wasn't it? He always kept moving because too much would catch up to him if he ever stayed still.
He'd thought he would be able to rest.
Never mind that. His eyes opened, and he strode toward the door, into the hall. He didn't think of very much as he walked, running equations and symphonies through his head, trying not to expect or judge or wonder or resent.
He was in front of her door soon enough, and raised one hand to gently knock, the other in his pocket.
He'd never realised that his frock coat, usually so pristine, was still stained with the dirt of his deathbed.
What: The Doctor and Lucy meet face to face.
When: September 9th
Where: Room 311
Rating: PG?
The Doctor set his journal down on the bed - his bed, though he doubted he would use it - and slowly stood.
It all felt rather surreal, really. He was supposed to be dead. Instead, he was trapped in a mysterious castle filled with people throughout Space and Time, about to visit the Master's wife.
The Master, who was here, and alive.
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. He hadn't expected going out to see anyone - but this was what he always did, wasn't it? He always kept moving because too much would catch up to him if he ever stayed still.
He'd thought he would be able to rest.
Never mind that. His eyes opened, and he strode toward the door, into the hall. He didn't think of very much as he walked, running equations and symphonies through his head, trying not to expect or judge or wonder or resent.
He was in front of her door soon enough, and raised one hand to gently knock, the other in his pocket.
He'd never realised that his frock coat, usually so pristine, was still stained with the dirt of his deathbed.