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crossing_lostrp[OOC: This takes place later that night, after everyone has gone to sleep. Faith started coming so clearly that I had to get it out and posted.]
Meditation had not worked. Tai Chi had not worked. And there wasn't anything to read. Her copy of A Wrinkle in Time, battered and dog-eared, but given and not taken from a fellow inmate was back at her and Mara's makeshift camp, so Faith could not even turn to that as a distraction from the press of insomnia.
The insomnia wasn't anything new to Faith. She couldn't just curl up in bed and go to sleep on a good day; on a bad one, like this one where she was stranded on a desert island, sleep was even more difficult to find without some way of burning off steam first. In prison, there'd been time for exercise before lights out. Sometimes, that hadn't been enough but there were things that could be done in the privacy of her bunk that took off that Slayer edge, that driving pressing need to hunt and run and just move without boundaries and with freedom.
Truth is, she'd gotten used to the lack of freedom in lockup. Her body adapted and so did her mind; that's what she'd come to believe. Before crashing here, when she was handing a plastic bag containing her belongings and dressed in a dress that looked more like a funeral gown than anything anyone in their right mind would wear, the Slayer beast surged forth, instinctively smelling that elusive freedom. Faith, and her two Watchers, Ms. Blake and Mr. Verlin had spent the first three nights in a posh hotel – Closet Gay Guy, as Faith had dubbed Verlin had his own room of course. The second night, Faith left the hotel to roam the streets, looking for a fight. Finding one hadn't taken long, and when the vampire was dust under her heels, Faith breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, (I'm still me. I’m still a Slayer.)
Blake and Verlin had been less than happy with her nocturnal run. She wondered many times over the course of the next few weeks how it was that they could be Watchers when they clearly didn't even understand what a Slayer was. Only the threat hanging over Angel made her stay with them and do her best to abide by their rules. She pretended it was prison again; it helped.
Seven days ago, the Slayer had finally been set free. Free to roam, free to jump, free to hunt, free to be. Even limiting her roaming to daylight hours after the first close encounter with the Creepy Stalkers because she didn't dare leave Mara unprotected at night, hadn't completely calmed the need and the itch to hunt. The Slayer was a nocturnal creature because her prey moved at night.
Now the awareness of night pressed in on her, a heavy weight pressing upon her chest and her mind. The Slayer felt it and crawled around inside of her skin, clawing and itching to get out, to touch the night and become one with it. (To hunt.) On every level, from the conscious to the subconscious, Faith's being knew that it was night and knew that it was the first night she could completely be the Slayer with no holds barred and still, there was no freedom. Willingly, eagerly, she'd come to this ship and it had been a good thing – she learned who these people were and that they were just as stranded as she was – but she should never have agreed to stay when they bedded down for the night.
Faith was trapped inside this spaceship and as fascinating and cool as it was, it didn't lessen the feeling of entrapment.
The room she'd chosen to sleep in was all leather and suede, hard and polished, yet still felt feminine and had that air of woman to it, and right now it only intensified the itch.
Giving up on capturing illusive sleep, Faith swung her feet to the floor and stalked across the room. The corridor outside was deserted, because no normal person would be awake this time of night, and Faith hovered between relief and disappointment. Someone to actually talk to might be a pleasant distraction.
(Shoulda dragged Ash into the shower with me,) Faith thought, then shelved it. Not now, not yet, she wasn't going that road again, wasn't going back to the time in her life when everything had been divided into the fight-it-or-fuck-it/slay-it-or-lay it category; even her relationship with B had those undercurrents of charged sexual energy and frustration to it. Faith could admit it, wouldn't deny that soft womanly curves every now and again did the job just as well as a man; fortunately, B had never picked up on it so it was one less thing for The Slayer – the first one and foremost – to not hate her for.
She stopped and drew back her hand when she realized that her feet had carried her right to the room that Ash occupied. Unthinkingly, she had approached his room, knowing that a way to cure the itch was right there – and her heart pounded, blood roaring in her ears, her hand trembling as she stared down to where it hovered just over the door. Faith cursed herself, jerked her hand back and back pedaled as quickly as she could. Flirting was safe, playful teasing was all good, but crossing that line – going back to the dirty bump and grind with not a care for anyone's feelings or needs – wasn't. It was a part of her that she'd left behind, a part of her that she'd hated, but had cultivated out of "self-protection" according to her shrink.
It was an instinct that still reared its head when she wasn't careful, something to fall back on that was easy, that didn't require thought or control or attachment.
"It's harder on the outside."
(Yeah, yeah, Angel, I know. I get that. Would be easier if I could talk to you.) Faith gave a soft, rough laugh. (How many fucking slayers need a vampire as their grounding base?)
She found the kitchen and began mechanically going through cupboards. (Fridge is off limits.) Faith found coffee, she found mugs and she found an old Mr. Coffee which actually made her giggle. (Time traveling alien still uses the old reliable.)
Coffee brewing, she sank into a chair and watched it drip down. (Worse thing for insomnia, but it's not like I'm gonna sleep anyway.)
The dripping coffee entranced her. So much so that she was on her feet, back tensed and dropped into a defensive crouch, every predatory instinct in her body on alert when a voice asked from the doorway, "You can't sleep either?"
Meditation had not worked. Tai Chi had not worked. And there wasn't anything to read. Her copy of A Wrinkle in Time, battered and dog-eared, but given and not taken from a fellow inmate was back at her and Mara's makeshift camp, so Faith could not even turn to that as a distraction from the press of insomnia.
The insomnia wasn't anything new to Faith. She couldn't just curl up in bed and go to sleep on a good day; on a bad one, like this one where she was stranded on a desert island, sleep was even more difficult to find without some way of burning off steam first. In prison, there'd been time for exercise before lights out. Sometimes, that hadn't been enough but there were things that could be done in the privacy of her bunk that took off that Slayer edge, that driving pressing need to hunt and run and just move without boundaries and with freedom.
Truth is, she'd gotten used to the lack of freedom in lockup. Her body adapted and so did her mind; that's what she'd come to believe. Before crashing here, when she was handing a plastic bag containing her belongings and dressed in a dress that looked more like a funeral gown than anything anyone in their right mind would wear, the Slayer beast surged forth, instinctively smelling that elusive freedom. Faith, and her two Watchers, Ms. Blake and Mr. Verlin had spent the first three nights in a posh hotel – Closet Gay Guy, as Faith had dubbed Verlin had his own room of course. The second night, Faith left the hotel to roam the streets, looking for a fight. Finding one hadn't taken long, and when the vampire was dust under her heels, Faith breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, (I'm still me. I’m still a Slayer.)
Blake and Verlin had been less than happy with her nocturnal run. She wondered many times over the course of the next few weeks how it was that they could be Watchers when they clearly didn't even understand what a Slayer was. Only the threat hanging over Angel made her stay with them and do her best to abide by their rules. She pretended it was prison again; it helped.
Seven days ago, the Slayer had finally been set free. Free to roam, free to jump, free to hunt, free to be. Even limiting her roaming to daylight hours after the first close encounter with the Creepy Stalkers because she didn't dare leave Mara unprotected at night, hadn't completely calmed the need and the itch to hunt. The Slayer was a nocturnal creature because her prey moved at night.
Now the awareness of night pressed in on her, a heavy weight pressing upon her chest and her mind. The Slayer felt it and crawled around inside of her skin, clawing and itching to get out, to touch the night and become one with it. (To hunt.) On every level, from the conscious to the subconscious, Faith's being knew that it was night and knew that it was the first night she could completely be the Slayer with no holds barred and still, there was no freedom. Willingly, eagerly, she'd come to this ship and it had been a good thing – she learned who these people were and that they were just as stranded as she was – but she should never have agreed to stay when they bedded down for the night.
Faith was trapped inside this spaceship and as fascinating and cool as it was, it didn't lessen the feeling of entrapment.
The room she'd chosen to sleep in was all leather and suede, hard and polished, yet still felt feminine and had that air of woman to it, and right now it only intensified the itch.
Giving up on capturing illusive sleep, Faith swung her feet to the floor and stalked across the room. The corridor outside was deserted, because no normal person would be awake this time of night, and Faith hovered between relief and disappointment. Someone to actually talk to might be a pleasant distraction.
(Shoulda dragged Ash into the shower with me,) Faith thought, then shelved it. Not now, not yet, she wasn't going that road again, wasn't going back to the time in her life when everything had been divided into the fight-it-or-fuck-it/slay-it-or-lay it category; even her relationship with B had those undercurrents of charged sexual energy and frustration to it. Faith could admit it, wouldn't deny that soft womanly curves every now and again did the job just as well as a man; fortunately, B had never picked up on it so it was one less thing for The Slayer – the first one and foremost – to not hate her for.
She stopped and drew back her hand when she realized that her feet had carried her right to the room that Ash occupied. Unthinkingly, she had approached his room, knowing that a way to cure the itch was right there – and her heart pounded, blood roaring in her ears, her hand trembling as she stared down to where it hovered just over the door. Faith cursed herself, jerked her hand back and back pedaled as quickly as she could. Flirting was safe, playful teasing was all good, but crossing that line – going back to the dirty bump and grind with not a care for anyone's feelings or needs – wasn't. It was a part of her that she'd left behind, a part of her that she'd hated, but had cultivated out of "self-protection" according to her shrink.
It was an instinct that still reared its head when she wasn't careful, something to fall back on that was easy, that didn't require thought or control or attachment.
"It's harder on the outside."
(Yeah, yeah, Angel, I know. I get that. Would be easier if I could talk to you.) Faith gave a soft, rough laugh. (How many fucking slayers need a vampire as their grounding base?)
She found the kitchen and began mechanically going through cupboards. (Fridge is off limits.) Faith found coffee, she found mugs and she found an old Mr. Coffee which actually made her giggle. (Time traveling alien still uses the old reliable.)
Coffee brewing, she sank into a chair and watched it drip down. (Worse thing for insomnia, but it's not like I'm gonna sleep anyway.)
The dripping coffee entranced her. So much so that she was on her feet, back tensed and dropped into a defensive crouch, every predatory instinct in her body on alert when a voice asked from the doorway, "You can't sleep either?"
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Date: 2006-04-15 06:35 pm (UTC)It was Faith. The one who not only reminded him so much of Leela, but he'd been suprised to see Leela's old room pulled from storage and occupied by this one. "You can't sleep either?"
He passed into the kitchen and sat down in the old chair he usually took. When they had left seven days ago, there had been three chairs in here. Now there were eight. The TARDIS being hospitable.
"Don't sleep much myself. No need really." He rolled the glass ball he'd been tossing from hand to hand around on the table. "Get's quiet waiting for humans to sleep and rest up."
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-15 08:45 pm (UTC)Yes, Faith knew that it was alive. She didn't know *how* it was that she knew. Something primal and raw in her recognized the entity as living, as knowing, and the predator was not threatened by it, only calmed. (A little too calmed, and I'm not thinkin' that's a good thing.)
"Not really the sleeps at night sorta girl," Faith explained, slowly breathing out and letting the tension flow from her muscles. "I'm really the more nocturnal kind, ya know? I kinda wake up and get in touch with myself when the sun goes down. Had a ... roommate who told me that it was all part of my biorhythms, that I go online when it's nighttime when most people are gettin' all cozied into bed.
"She was sorta right, I guess. I'm all awake and keyed up, you know, I could run a mile or somethin' right now, and everybody else is catching zzz's and chasin' sheep." Faith noticed the coffee dripping slow and walked over to the pot. "Everybody 'cept me and you, I guess. Um, you wanna cup?"
[McKay] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-15 09:00 pm (UTC)McKay was back on his feet and exploring, looking more towards the actual physical makeup of the TARDIS than where he was going. He'd discovered a few things, one of which the place was rife with what he'd figured were redundant systems. Nice to know, really. Now to cross reference that with the Doctor, and should his aid be needed before everything was done and over with, he'd have a good, solid foundation. Ships rarely fly themselves, and he happened to have a very good ability to climb steep learning curves.
The lure of coffee, the Martian blend, brought the night owl in the form of an astrophysicist back into the kitchen. It was late, yes, and as he stopped at the door to look to see who was within, he wasn't at all surprised to at least see the Doctor. With his mood still elevated with all the new things around him to touch, to look at, to theorize about, his manner and mien are animated.
"Coffee. That for anyone?"
[Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-15 09:17 pm (UTC)The Doctor let Rodney digest that bit of information, as well as examine the chip he'd tossed him, and turned his attention back to Faith. "Considering what Tara told us all at lunch, I could see why your system would be geared towards night. She was explaining her friends, and we swapped wierd life form stories. She said you were a Slayer. She explained the basics of it, but it sounds as if your system is more efficient that other humans. That affect sleep as well? Do you need less, or just adapt to the noctournal life style?"
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Rodney, Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 12:25 am (UTC)The techno-speak regarding the computer chip Faith didn't catch all of, but she did catch more of it than she would have a few years ago. Her conversation with Tara, and a bit with Rose, earlier had planted the suspicions that this wasn't a normal island per se. Everyone here had been put here for a purpose, but no one seemed to know what that purpose was. She did catch the bit about six months out of phase and temporal bubbles, and tried to put it in context with what little bit of Star Trek she'd sat through in lockup. She didn't get to try too hard before the Doctor spoke to her again.
"I don't know if it's all Slayers or just some weird mojo that I got," Faith poured two cups of coffee and delivered them to the table, placing one in front of The Doctor and one in front of Rodney. (Faith Lehane, domesticated server, imagine that.) She turned back to retrieve another cup for herself, "I'm just wired at night, you know? Like the sun goes down and I get this itch under my skin, like I need to be out there doin' something. Maybe it's 'cause, you know, vampires, not so big with the sunlight, so I gotta move at night.
"Can't usually sleep unless I burn it off somehow," Faith carried her cup to the table and took a seat that gave the best view of the kitchen entry way. She did it by rote habit and didn't even register that she'd done it. "No vampires to slay here though, so far, so it's like I got a bad case of hyperactivity and nothing to slow me down."
She didn't know why she was explaining these things to these two men - one alien (mind still doin' a wiggy jig on that one) - neither of whom she knew anything about. Maybe it was because she could actually talk about these things, and she hadn't been able to really do that for ... well, ever. Even she and Angel spoke in careful code during his weekly visits.
[Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Rodney, Faith, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 12:56 am (UTC)"Sorry, the gym wasn't a priority. And until recently, not really much in use. Don't really recomend going out for a run. A week ago, I heard the others whisperin about when we arrived. Never know when that smoke thing or dino might pop up either. No matter how strong or skilled, no one holds a chance against smoke."
The Doctor looked at Rodney. "But we can tell you what we know about this place so far. Catch you up a bit. Not sure how much your friend can handle. Okay, the TARDIS has been known to blow a few mental circuts in her day. But from what I gathered you've only been worrying about human aggressors. The rest might be more than she can handle all in one dose."
The Doctor then lay down a brief history of what had happened since he and Rose had crashed here. He didn't say a word about a half xenomorph, the Stargate project, really old humans or any of the rest. She'd discover some of the other oddities as the people they involved shared or not. She already knew Tara was a witch. He almost bubbled about witnessing magic. He might never get tired of that.
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Rodney, Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 02:29 am (UTC)The Slayer listened quietly while The Doctor brought her up to speed on Current Events on the Island of Weirdness. Some Tara had shared with her, some she'd already gleaned herself and some of it was brand new. Faith could tell The Doctor was like a kid in a candy store when he talked about Tara's magic, and she wondered if she were jaded for taking magic for granted. (Maybe not. This TARDIS thing just keeps rockin' my world.)
When he was done, Faith sat quietly for a few heartbeats and breaths. Another thing she'd learned in prison, how to sit quiet, think and be patient. Giles and Wesley would probably never believe that Faith could actually pull it off, but when there was nothing else to be done, there was no reason to not sit quietly and think. If there was action, she'd be in the middle of it, but right now, they were sadly lacking in action. (Therefore the coffee and the chit chat.)
"Wow, that's some serious shit," Faith said plainly. She wasn't trying to be witty or pretend to be unimpressed. She was seriously impressed that the forty or fifty people who survived the plane crash hadn't gone nuts, run into the jungles screaming, or drowned in the ocean trying to get away from that much weirdness. "Sounds like a good bunch of people, if they're all holding it together like that. And chasing off the Creepy Stalkers, big high fives all around.
"Wish I coulda been there for that, though. Coulda probably done some serious damage." Rodney's eyes went wide at her words and Faith grinned. She still hadn't mastered the art of sensoring herself, and sometimes things just crept out. She didn't apologize. "I'm a lot faster and stronger than I look, Professor. It's all part of the Slayer package deal."
She tapped her nails on the table, and looked back at The Doctor. "M and I weren't on the flight. We had our own little private jet, courtesy of a couple of tweed wearing Brits with sticks shoved so far up their asses, amazing that they could walk straight. We were headed back to London when we hit turbulence, one of the wings came off and that baby fell right outta the sky. Me and M the only ones that made it. M got a little bruised, and I got a little roughed up but it wasn't anything that Slayer healing couldn't take care of.
"We stayed with the plane at first. Seemed safer." Faith recounted how they spent three days with the plane, trying to raise a radio signal. Then came Mara's first "fit" and Faith's scouting to see the Creepy Stalkers that the Doctor and Rodney referred to as The Others. She didn't mention Mara's "fit" though, just her inner sense, her Slayer senses and internal alarms. The Others came twice; after the second time, Faith threw in the towel and decided that they would pick up roots and find the coastline - better to be spotted by planes and boats.
"And I saw that Smoke thing," Faith said quietly. She felt it coming, heard it coming before it broke through the trees and looked at her. It sounded crazy even as she recollected it, so she didn't mention that it had stared at her and that she had stared at it, and then suddenly it turned and darted back into the jungle. Somehow she'd known she couldn't kill it, somehow she'd known that it wouldn't come back, so she'd let it go.
She hadn't realized until later that the Slayer predator hunter instinct had gone completely silent in the face of that Smoke creature. "It was weird enough to wig me a bit."
[McKay] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 01:21 pm (UTC)Turning to take the board from the Doctor's hand, the astrophysicist looked closely at it, at the design. Not elegant, by any stretch, but it might work. Of course, the Doctor could possibly suffer from the same 'disease' as he, that is, thinking that all his plans will work. "I still think there's a generator somewhere on this island. Maybe two to provide the shield. We should find that first, put it out of commission, then try the transmitter." He could cite at least one instance where even the Ancients required something on the ground to hold a shield, and until he'd met the Timelord, the Ancients were the top dogs in the universe, and even then, maybe they were more evenly matched than one over the other?
Rodney's attention turned towards the board, and his coffee, and after taking a seat, studied it a little more carefully, allowing the conversation go on around him. There was one particular point, however, where he had to interrupt.
"Wait-wait-wait-wait..." He looked and sounded a little, well, disturbed. "There are really vampires? Th-th-they're real? I mean... here. Out there." With his mug hand, he gestured off to the 'distance', mindless of direction. "Really?"
[Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, McKay, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 06:01 pm (UTC)"The universe is full of things you can't even imagine. And your own little blue planet has more... higher life forms that just you little apes. And I'm not just talking cetaceans, which, by the way, are even smarter than you humans credit them for."
[McKay] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 07:00 pm (UTC)The reference to 'little apes' caused the astrophysicist to bridle as his head rolled slightly and his back straightened. "Yes, yes. Enough with the apes, please. That's several million years out of date. Even a bigger fashion faux pas than miniskirts and go-go boots." Though, truthfully, McKay didn't mind a good set of legs.
Rodney took a swallow of coffee, tentatively at first, then another deeper draught. It was nice, for sure, and in taking a step towards the door once again, he offered a nod to the two, though his attention lingered on the 'Slayer' for a moment longer before he made his announcement. "I'm going to go test this before turning in for a couple of hours. See you in the morning."
[Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, McKay, open)
Date: 2006-04-16 07:30 pm (UTC)"So, deamon vampires? I've known a few alient species up for a good body swap. But Tara described a complete genetic overhaul. Knew a species of vampires... the originals if being the first means it, that passed on their thirst like that, like a disease. Don't know about the soul thing." The Doctor sort of slouched in his chair. "Wisdh I could offer you something to do to burn off that energy. Energy's too limited, though. However, You can take any of those weapons in the room you're in. The last owner would be glad to see them in the hands of someone who appriciates and can use them. You remind me of her a bit."
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Doctor, McKay, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 01:14 am (UTC)"Honest, I didn't really pay attention beyond the whole 'vampires bad, go kill' part of the induction into Slayer Society," Faith told The Doctor. "B knew a whole lot more, I think, but she had Giles for a few years and he cared about her, you know? She was kinda like me, got handed the short straw when she wasn't trained for it, but she did good by it."
Faith stopped suddenly as she recognized that The Doctor had no idea who Buffy and Giles were, nor did he probably care. His curiosity was vampires and she'd gotten far afield. She raked her hands through her mussed hair, "From what I remember, there was one vampire, demon thing and it bit a human and changed them enough to let a demon take over the lease on that body. Soul got evicted, lover of chaos and lives on blood moved in. Just keeps passing on like that, vampire bites, there's a whole exchange of blood thing, and then the human's a vamp with all the human's memories. Sometimes that's a good thing. Usually not so much.
"Vamps don't have souls, Doc. Probably what makes it easier for them to go around feeding off of humans. Except this one vamp, his name's Angel. He pissed off a buttload of gypsies like two hundred years ago, so they gave him a soul. They wanted to punish the demon, you know, make him remember every single victim and how he killed them."
Faith took a drink, "Sounds like a crazy thing to do, but Angelus, that's what he was called before he got his soul, was one sick mother. Some of the stuff he did messed with my head and gave me the willies, and I don't wig easily."
When The Doctor mentioned burning off energy, Faith squirmed inwardly. Talking was helping her to ignore that need, probably the reason why she was talking so much. She was pretty damn sure that she knew a damn good way to calm herself down, but she sure as hell was trying really hard not to think about that. She almost thought that she might be able to get a fully willing participant out of Ash, but something held her back. Something didn't sit right with the idea of using a man for sex and tossing him aside.
(Friends with benefits, now that I could totally get onboard with.)
"It's five by five, I'll deal," Faith told him with a shrug. "I might just have to do a lot of jumping jacks and one handed push ups."
She knew she had to be grinning maniacly when he mentioned the weapons. The thought of actually owning one of those magnificent weapons made her drunk with the same sort of ectasy most women get concerning chocolate when they're experiencing PMS. "Really, Doc? Damn. If I knew you better, I'd hug you and I'm not so much with the hugging.
"So, who was she?" Again the lack of self-censoring bubbled up and Faith frowned as she gave herself a mental kick. "Or don't tell me, you know, if I just got way too personal. But thanks for the weapons."
{Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 01:44 am (UTC)He gestured to the door, the bedrooms beyond. "She traveled with me for a few years. And she was a warrior. As her appriciation of weapons shows. Just be careful of the thorns in the second drawer of her dresser. Look like small raptor claws. Their very poisonous at the tip. The weapons are trophys or gifts, and that rat tail... you can imagine the size of the rat. When she left, she only took her favorite knife and one of those Janus thorns. She left to settle down and marry, have a child." The sadness was back, and the pain overcame the joy of her memory.
She had married a Gallifreyan, Andred, and bore the first naturally concieved child on his homeworld in... almost 900 years. They had sent young Tiala to Leela's homeworld when the war started. To be raised by the Sevateem, her tribe. A primative life was better than none at all. But he didn't know if the girl still lived. After all, her father had been wiped from history. Leela and Andred had burned with his homeworld.
"She enjoyed a good fight, much as I tried to show her diplomacy was often better. I think she would have liked you."
He stared into his barely touched coffee.
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 02:57 am (UTC)(Shit. Congratu-fucking-lations, Lehane. You stepped right in it again.)
"Yeah, well, thanks for the warning 'bout the thorns," Faith said. "Haven't tried testing Slayer healing against poison and don't want to start just yet.
"Um, I'll do right about the weapons," Faith promised. "I can tell that they're real prizes and she took good care of 'em." She glanced at the door, hoping that someone else had gone all nocturnal or insominiac to rescue her from the completely uncomfortable feeling that had now settled around her. When no such rescuer appeared, she shifted gears, hoping to change the subject, "So, I guess you travel all over all the time, huh? Seen dinosaurs and shit? Probably even seen the end of the world? Not apocalypse or Armageddon, 'cause yeah, if you seen that I really don't want to know 'bout it, but I bet you seen a lot of major stuff, huh?"
[Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 11:16 am (UTC)He shook his head with a kind of amused ruefulness. "Course all sorts of things went wrong on the viewing platform. Just made it mor interesting. Took her home and went for chips after. Let her decide if she really wanted this kind of life."
"If it's any consolation, by the time Earth dies, from the sun expanding, the people have all left. Spread all over the universe. Your kind are just beginning to explore.
"As for dinosaurs... not really much to see. No people, smells like lizard, and rather large chance of being eaten or stepped on."
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 02:42 pm (UTC)She picked up her cup, realized it was empty and her eyebrows lifted. "Wow, this must be good coffee." Faith briefly considered another cup full and then changed her mind. She could manage to keep going with little or no sleep, but she only wanted to pull a stunt like that when it's only her ass she's watching. There was a whole group of people here, and she wouldn't put them all at risk.
"So, whatd'you think the reception at your camp will be if me and M head there alone?" Faith asked. "I mean, I'm good either way. I could keep on with you guys, see this radio tower thingie, or head to safety in even greater numbers. It's all up to M."
Faith tapped her nails on the tabletop. "It might just be better for me to take her to the camp proper, though, huh? A lot safer than the jungle, and if those Others attack, then there'd be one more fighter in the camp."
(One more fighter just itching for a good fight.)
Re: [Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 06:46 pm (UTC)The Doctor considered. “There’s a woman there, Ripley. I think you’ll either really like each other or want to kill one another. She’s a hunter type. She also stalks the forest at night, loves runnin free in the woods. She’s smart, strong and fast. Likes a spot of violence now and then.”
[Faith] Nightcrawlers (tag Doctor, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 10:31 pm (UTC)"Don't worry, Doc, your secret's safe with me," Faith told him. "If there's anything I do well, other than fighting and - er, fighting," Faith paused surprised by the sudden upsurgence of embarrassment and a desire to not let her usual commentary regarding sex spill out, "It's keeping secrets.
"I was told that we don't tell anyone about slaying and vamps and demons. Not like anyone would believe you anyway if you up and start talking 'bout that kinda stuff. I guess that's why I was sorta surprised that Tara had told y'all all about vamps and slayers. It's good though. It meant that I didn't come in here with everyone flying blind. Even if Jon and Rodney don't really believe it."
Faith rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. "Ripley, huh? Sounds cool. We'll probably understand each other. Or, yeah, you're right, wanna kill each other."
"I'm gonna take a walk 'round, if that's ok?" Faith asked, "I still need to wind down a bit. And uh, not that I mean to take advantage of your hospitality and all that, especially after you know, you offered me the weapons, but you wouldn't happen to have any changes of clothes 'round here? Or is that more of something I should ask Rose in the morning?"
[Doctor] Nightcrawlers (tag Faith, open)
Date: 2006-04-17 11:22 pm (UTC)The Doctor stood himself. He might not sleep, but he could find some rest in his own room. At least lose himself in a book.
[Mara] Jackson Pollock-style Paintfest (tag open)
Date: 2006-04-18 08:49 pm (UTC)She laid out every color she had available, be it pencils or pastels or watercolor or gouache; filled her water-tin from the bathroom tap; readied her brushes. She took her entire pad of Bristol board out and glued three sheets together per panel, then laid the panels out in a square--nine in all. As they dried, she stared down at the white expanse, breathing deeply. She didn't know how much time it would take before she came up for air again.
A blue wash first--pale stormcloud blue, patterned like light underwater but more complex; she saw hints of the Tardis's strutwork in it, even before she started laying in details. Trance was already taking her. Her mind was falling into the painting, into the process; even as her mind tumbled complex bits of psychic information inside it and tried to translate them into a 2-D medium, a strange serenity was rising up inside her.
The girl, first. The granddaughter's face and form, near-photographic, surfaced slowly from the blue in the center of the painting; it played peek-a-boo inside soft streaks of gold and silver mist that seemed to be made up of letters and numbers Mara couldn't read. The hypercomplex patterns she had seen within the Tardis during her first attack were back again, but more manageable. /Clotho's threads,/ she thought, and again did not know what was meant by that.
Other people--the Doctor, Rose, hints of a few others. She laid them in in pale nimbii of green and royal and amber, like spirits attending his granddaughter. The lines of light/energy/words/equations wove around the lot of them, dancing in patterns so complex she could barely represent them. The girl's heart was at the center of them, weaving the threads of all the others into a pattern that she obsessed over alone for...she didn't even know. Over an hour, certainly. It seemed to be the most important part of everything.
No burning worlds here. No sunflowers. The past was dead; the promises of the future were what needed to be shown. That and the admonishment to seize them fully, before his refusal to live meant that his granddaughter did not get to.
She knew the end result was beautiful; she knew it was more complex than anything she'd ever done; she knew she'd spent most of the night on it, so it damn well /should/ be good by now. When she hit the wall at six-plus hours and found herself so stiff and aching from kneeling on the floor that it took her a minute of painful effort to straighten...she knew she had to be done. /Please let me be done, and have done this right./
She started picking up her things, carefully wiping the floor free of any traces of pigment. She'd sprayed the panels with fixative; her work here was done and she was so tired she wanted to cry. She had more smudges on her nose, her arms were multicolored up to the elbows. /What am I gonna do when I run out of art supplies?/
She stretched tentatively, alarmed by several very loud and almost painful pops. "Ow. Ow. Ow."
Then realized she wasn't alone. As in.../multiply/ wasn't alone. And she didn't know how long they had been standing there.
[Doctor/Rose] Jackson Pollock-style Paintfest (tag open)
Date: 2006-04-20 11:20 pm (UTC)But Mara was there, on the floor, stretching. In front of her was another amazing piece of art. Rose’s eyes widened as she saw her own face, with an almost golden fire behind her, laces with green and blue. The Doctor was there as well. And was that the faint outline of Jack? Yes, but Mara had never met Jack. There were other faces, people she didn’t know or recognize, and this rippling light weaving through all of them, made her think of fluid, water, not lightening, although the glow of it might suggest something more. There were also words in that geometric, odd writing that the Doctor sometimes used, and that the main computer sometimes showed without translation. But who was the young woman in the center? She was pretty, and almost fragile looking. She stood out, by the colors ringing her.
The Doctor crouched next to Mara, his expression shocked. He knew none of his pictures, paintings or holo-images of Susan were in the section of the TARDIS open now. Except the two in his own room, shoved in a drawer.
“Past,” he pointed to the geometric word/writing closest to his image, “future,” he pointed to the one above and off to the side a little of Susan, “present.” The word/image was closest to Rose’s painted face. The ones at top proclaimed ‘the Legacy of Rassilon’.
The Doctor recognized some of the other faces floating about as well. Romana, Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, Brigadier no more and the most happily married man he’d known aside from David Campell, Susan’s own husband, and there e was, ‘floating’ a bit above her. Next to him appeared to be the faces of Rosanne, Jenny and Simon, his great grandchildren, though they appeared to be adult here, and Jamie, the eldest, had barely been twelve when he’d seen them, before the war.
“Where did you see these faces?” It wasn’t accusatory. He seemed, almost melancholy yet awed as he looked over the whole. Hints of the Time Vortex. Rose couldn’t know the nimbus behind her image called to mind Bad Wolf, and the kiss she could, thankfully, not remember. The support struts in the consol room seemed to support the painting.
“It’s gorgeous.” Rose murmered.
[Mara] The Messenger (tag Doctor/Rose, open)
Date: 2006-04-20 11:44 pm (UTC)/Well, crap, at least it has his attention./
When he asked his question, she smoothed her hair back self-consciously, leaving several colorful streaks. "I didn't see them anywhere," she said in a tiny voice.
They were waiting for more. She blinked, looked at the painting like it held an explanation, and then said softly, "I don't see with eyes or hear with ears or learn these things from books. I didn't look at a photo album. I d-don't even know what any of it means or who these people are, mostly. I'm just the messenger. As...as usual." She started gathering up her things, leaving the painting behind.
"Yes, but who was the message from?" the Doctor asked gently.
She shouldered her bag and started limping for the hallway, hoping she'd at least get a chance at another shower and an hour's nap before they had to go. She paused and looked the Doctor in the eyes for a moment. "A friend of yours, who doesn't have a voice of her own these days," she said simply. Then she turned to go.
[Rose] The Messenger (tag Mara, open)
Date: 2006-04-21 03:07 am (UTC)Mara's parting words had been a bit enigmatic. Rose knew the Doctor knew lots of people, and she hadn't met many of them. But she had to wonder what friend would send a message through the shy artist... or even could.
She made her way to the kitchen. Coffee she could make, even if it had to do without cream. She eyed the refridgerator with care. Why was she thinking of the locker aliens in Men In Black? Would the sentient mold be blinded if the door ever opend and the fridge light came on?
Oh well. The bread was a week stale, as were the bagals. Not that the toaster would cook them anyhow. So she dug out the pop-tarts, as that was all the rewired chrome contraption would deign to cook. Coffee and Pop-tarts were not the best way to start a morning sure to lead to a long walk. There were crackers and peanut butter. Some wheetabix, but no milk. The milk was apparently evolving into some sort of curdled politician. Would it want to negotiate for ownership of the fridge?