(Untitled)

[not_the_chav]

Life, Martha Jones knew from experience, was far from fair. Whether it was to do with some sort of karmic balance or simply a sadistic creator, she was uncertain, but the fact remained that at some point, life being unfair had become a daily expectation. To suggest it was beginning to wear would have been a vast understatement

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[how_itgoes]

Sam hasn't been expecting to wander in and find anyone, but the chances of being alone are so slim. He's only wandering because the radio keeps fuzzing at him and announcing something about "...slipping away..." that he doesn't want to sit there and listen to that idiocy any more. And then he finds Martha Jones, like she's off on a weekend away.

"Going somewhere?"

[not_the_chav]

There was a different timbre to Sam's voice, a more mellow inflection. When Martha glanced up, she was glad to confirm it was him instead of the Master. She wasn't in the mood for offering explanations or being convinced to change her mind.

"Yeah," she replied, and zipped her pack up so that she could test the weight against her slender shoulders.

[how_itgoes]

Sam's brow flinches just the once at that because he's clearly anticipating the answer, doesn't mean he has to like it anyway. "Any particular reason or is this just to prove that you can?" he asks, deceptively calm as he crosses his arms cross his chest.

[not_the_chav]

Maybe this was worse, Martha thought. Sam had a particular talent for acrimony; bitter though he might sound, he managed to make you feel guilty, as if your choices had a direct effect on him, regardless of the circumstances. To be fair, he likely believed that they did.

"I need to get away," was all she was giving him. At this juncture, at least.

[sortofaman]

The Doctor had swung the full bag of plums over his shoulder, and though he didn't think there'd be anything wrong with them, they did need a wash. Humming softly, he headed into the kitchen...

...to spot Martha Jones, working industriously, not fast, but determined. For some reason, he felt this didn't bode well. The song stopped in his throat. "'lo, Martha," he said, brow furrowed deep.

[not_the_chav]

It was too easy to simply be able to slip away, Martha realized. There had to be some stumbling block, whether physical or emotional, but maybe none of it really mattered. It was just one more thing. It was all just one more thing.

Looking up to the Doctor, she acknowledged him but didn't speak, and then resumed adding the last few items to her pack.

[sortofaman]

The Doctor managed to curtail himself before he said something like running away from home? because this was clearly serious. "Is there going to be some kind of weather disaster I haven't heard about yet?" he asked, confused.

[not_the_chav]

"Not that I'm aware of," Martha answered, calm to the point of being stoic, despite the fact that she didn't much appreciate his attempt at levity. While he might not have known why, he knew precisely what she was doing, as he'd known her to do it before.

[visibleclaude]

Neither of them knew it, of course, but Claude walked in in pretty much the exact same frame of mind. With Bennet and Claire gone and Peter preoccupied with his wife and spawn, he honestly felt like he could disappear off the face of the island and no one would give a shit.

And a large part of him wanted to. Disappear, that is. Invisibility optional.

He saw the woman packing up provisions and asked dryly, "Taking a vacation?"

[not_the_chav]

Martha wasn't in the habit of talking about her problems with strangers any more than with people who actually knew her, but she could be civil. Glancing up, she offered a brief nod. "Something like, yeah," she answered, and zipped her bag shut.

[visibleclaude]

"Pretty bloody ironic, isn't it? Vacation when you're trapped on a tropical island is going off to shoot dinosaurs or something. Christ but I hate this place." He grabbed a mango out of a bowl on the counter and took a bite.

[not_the_chav]

"It's all relative," Martha answered, and shouldered her pack, glad that it wasn't as heavy as she'd anticipated. "Holidays are about doing something different, aren't they?"

[themistermaster]

The Master found Martha in the kitchen when he made his way there for a mug of tea - a minor vice of his; he'd developed a taste for it when playing the part of Harold Saxon. You couldn't really become Prime Minister of Britain without drinking tea.

He could hardly fail to notice the water bottles and provisions. Interesting. 'Going somewhere?' he asked.

[not_the_chav]

Lips pursed, Martha glanced up from her packing and attempted to appear nonchalant. "Just for a little while," she answered, without any further clarification. It had been her hope to avoid him until she was well and gone, for the simple fact that she could all too easily imagine him talking her out of leaving at all.

[themistermaster]

He couldn't really imagine why she'd want to go wandering off over the Island - but then, she'd spent most of that year on Earth doing just the same, hadn't she? Perhaps she'd come to like it, in a wonderfully twisted way that he was really quite fond of in her. If he hadn't been manipulating her carefully, he'd have asked if she wanted him to start burning places, for old time's sake.

Instead, he wandered over, running a hand lightly along her arm before reaching for some of the food she was packing and examining it. 'Anywhere interesting?'

[not_the_chav]

Martha's gaze shifted to the spot on her arm where his hand had been, and then lingered there for a long moment. How odd, she thought from that detached place inside of herself, that the only familiar contact she got anymore was from him, of all people.

"Not certain," she answered when she finally swung her gaze his way again. "To the other side of the island, most likely. I'll come back." It seemed important to specify that last.