Rose had been leading the way, assuring the Doctor no one had touched the controls because no one really knew if doing so would make her blow up or something. He was insisting on taking a look anyway, whether it was to really check or to rile her up she wasn’t sure.
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.
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timeasmymeasure
[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.