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[perfect_shoes]

On the not exactly far and really quite fathomable reaches of London, there was a Doctor, one of the many that were cropping up, sitting in a chair that was laid out on a lawn owned by someone he most likely didn't know and most likely didn't care about. His hands were moving restlessly over the sketchbook in his hand, flowing wide in large, harsh

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[archaic_way]

Anna had come out of her TARDIS to get some sun, just in time to catch a string of sworn oaths from a passing car. The only thing that drew her attention was a man in a lawn chair next to a pile of wadded paper; one of the crumpled balls was skittering off across the grass in the light breeze. She jogged over to pick it up before it could fully escape and went to return it.

"Those are beautiful," she remarked, looking down at the man's sketchbook.

[perfect_shoes]

The Doctor started in surprise, not having expected anyone to come bother the stoic, silent man who was antagonising the passer-by. His pen veered off its intended course, marring the picture of old decrepit buildings that were making their impression onto the page.

He looked up irritably, and snatched the paper from her grasp. "Thank you." he said, shortly, before ripping out the ruined drawing and beginning a new one.

She, of course, had no idea what she was looking at, no idea what the pictures meant and what they were of. To him, there were anything but beautiful, they were memories, and horrifying ones at that.

[archaic_way]

She flinched and grimaced as he tossed both wads of paper away. She hadn't meant to surprise him, or make him mess up, but it had still been a nice drawing... he hadn't had to throw it away. Now she wished she had taken a look at the one she'd rescued.

"I'm sorry," she apologized contritely. "I didn't mean to startle you."

[perfect_shoes]

She was still talking to him. That was both surprising and irritating all in their own, and he didn't bother to even spare a glance up at her this time, keeping his eyes down on the page as new shapes formed.

"There's no need to apologise," he replied, a little miserably, unmoving but for his hand. "It was going to be thrown away eventually anyway."

[aces_are_rare]

Ace was drawn by the sound of honking horns and harsh obscenities. She stood on the other side of the street for a minute, watching, before she picked up a mud covered ball of paper and approached. The paper was added to the pile of other discarded trash, and Ace frowned when he didn't acknowledge her.

"You know one of those blokes you're throwing thins at isn't going to be content just to yell. You won't look half so pretty with a black eye."

[perfect_shoes]

The Doctor in question glanced up and then looked back down, ignoring her for the most part.

"I'll look perfectly fine with a black eye." he said. "And they haven't done anything to me so far, what makes you think they will?"

[aces_are_rare]

Prat. All she was doing was offering a bit of practical advice. She should just walk away and leave him to it, but the need to look out for those that needed it - even when they didn't want help - was too deeply ingrained.

"I've spent a fair amount of time here, I know what the people are like. Sooner or latter you're going to antagonize the wrong person. Besides, I always figure on the worst happening. That way I'm ready for it."

[perfect_shoes]

He decided he didn't like that deeply ingrained need in humans, especially when they continued to bother him with it. He was in no need of saving or of advice, practical or otherwise. He wasn't the Professor, let alone her Professor, although he had a distinct feeling she already knew that.

"The worst usually is happening. And antagonising the wrong person? Is there ever a right person to antagonise? And I've already antagonised enough people that someone will have to stop being antagonised just to make room for them. I don't see how it'll make a difference."

[ambitious_woman]

Reinette was crossing the lawn when a piece of heavy paper skittered across her feet, caught up in a wayward bit of breeze. Curious, she picked it up and was immediately struck by its quality. Heavy and well-made, it was like little she encountered here. It might have been found in her own writing desk at home.

Surveying the landscape and determining their origin, she collected all the wayward souls and added them to the pile that rested by the chair. The artists was obviously at work, and she had no intent of disturbing him.

Nor was she beyond taking a seat in the grass nearby, and waiting. Her lack of skirts aided this effort. She was content to wait, and watch.

[perfect_shoes]

His elbow propped up onto the armrest of the chair he was in, and the hand connected to that elbow disappeared into his hair as he leaned down upon it, his neck apparently rather sick of keeping his head upright.

A rustle of paper and grass alerted him to the other presence but he refused to look around and acknowledge them, lest they think that he was interested in some conversation and decide that they would be absolutely delighted to fulfill that non-existent request, as humans were so inclined to do, let alone other versions of himself.

He was, however, becoming increasingly uneasy when he didn't feel or hear the presence move. He didn't like to be watched or observed, and it was becoming highly probable that whoever was there was doing exactly that.

[ambitious_woman]

The silence did not bother Reinette. In many ways she craved it. Her life before had been filled with constant activity and movement, to the point of exhaustion. When the Doctor traveled, his home did so has well. They were the other's constant companions. But in France she had seen that entire households moved -- food, servants, clothing and more -- as often as once a week. All under her supervision.

No, silence did not bother her.

She studied the discarded efforts, wondering at the story they told.

[perfect_shoes]

Silence didn't bother him, but it did bother him in the sense that someone was there, presumably watching him. He'd had... He was getting enough of scrutiny and spying during his days in the Council, and though he refused to let the tension and unease seep into his body language, it was something that did pry fretfully at his nerves.

Another piece done, ripped out, and tossed to the side. He had no particular reason as to why he was ripping them out and crumpling them, they neither had mistakes or were unfinished, he simply knew that he wasn't in anyway inclined to keep them. He'd run out of paper soon. Perhaps then whoever they were would leave, with nothing to observe.

He vaguely hoped that they would leave sooner than that.

[clever_wanderer]

There was a sound of crinkled, disturbed leaves, and a rather unnerving cracking sound before two rather large branches suddenly fell straight to the ground. One of the branches held nothing more than a few dead twigs and a bug, while the other, held a very confused, somewhat pained looking Time Lord.

"Ow," he said, simply, pulling a leaf out of his hair and wincing, "that probably wasn't a good idea."

A quick survey of the area revealed another Time Lord, pained, though more disturbed than confused, scribbling away on a sketchpad in a clearly stolen lawn chair.

He tried to stand up, and failed, deciding in the end to simply grin. "Hello!"

[perfect_shoes]

He heard the branches snap and heard them fall to the ground, slightly muffled by the dirt and grass below it. He heard the man talk, identified it as his other self, and thoroughly ignored it, continuing to etch lines into the paper, although perhaps with just the slightest bit of more force than before, as if saying that he was focusing on his piece and that nothing would move his concentration from it.

[clever_wanderer]

Under normal circumstances the Doctor would, most likely, have understood the fact that his alternate Eighth self didn't particularly want to be bothered from his rather frantic artistic endeavors, and would simply shrug his shoulders, stand up, and walk away.

However, given that the circumstances were far less than normal, and he seemed to have sprained something in the fall, he decided being annoyingly persistent would, at least, give him something to do till he could properly stand up again.

He picked up one of the fallen pieces of paper and glanced at it, "Interesting," he said, simply, "I hope you weren't trying to draw the surrounding landscape. Bit of a bleak interpretation, I'd have to say."

[perfect_shoes]

If his other self couldn't stand up and walk away, the Doctor, at the moment, hoped at least that something, whether it was a car or a ridiculously large bird or a pterodactyl, even, would suddenly swoop down and take him away, either of them, to spare one a conversation he was in no way interested in having.

The fact that his other self didn't stand up was a clear sign that he was injured, so the Doctor's hope was more of a necessity rather than a wish if he was looking forward to any kind of quiet. He resisted the urge to stalk over, snatch the paper from his other self's hands and kick him firmly where the sprain was, but he wasn't that petty. Not quite yet, anyway.

It wasn't that he didn't move, he refused to, which was something entirely different, and he refused to rather heartily, continuing to sit where he was with his legs crossed in the universal body language of 'relaxed', even though he was anything but.

[literaryloser]

Fitz wanders up to the not-quite his Doctor, and peers at the pictures. He'd never seen his Doctor draw so frantically or vividly; he wasn't sure his had drawn at all.

"'S nice, Doc."

[perfect_shoes]

He started, because that was what one does when jolted from the previous, perfectly comfortable, state of mind. He moved like a rabbit ready to pummel its disturber with a cricket bat, but settled down before he got to any stage of lifting his arms to do anything to any similar effect.

"Thank you," he bustled finally, glancing up at the man for a moment or two.

[literaryloser]

"Sorry, I scare you?" Fitz sits next to him. No, he's not going to leave.

[perfect_shoes]

It's a fact the Doctor didn't appreciate.

"No. A little surprised perhaps, but not scared."