The Black Pot

The doctor knew a topic like this would come up, and he knows he could be his normal cynical self and drudge up all of those bad memories, but decides against it.

"I was in love once. Twice actually. First time, when I was in high school. A girl took pity on this wallflower at a school dance and asked me to dance. Turns out she was just tryin' to make her boyfriend jealous. He tried to make her dance with him, and she didn't want to, so I punched him in the nose, and the rest is history. We married while I was in med school, and we had a beautiful little girl." He shrugs. "But it didn't work out."

"Second time, it was pretty much a whirlwind type of romance. One of those love at first sight type of things. Never was a believer in that type of stuff until I met her. But again, it didn't work out. We were from two different worlds." The doctor smirks. "Literally. So I've figured I'm not cut out for love. Seems I always find it in the wrong places."

"As for the deserted island, I don't know what I'd bring. I'd probably bring some good books. I haven't had much of a chance to do any readin', and I miss it. Nothin' like relaxin' with a good book for hours on end. One of my favorite pasttimes is sittin' in the shade under a tree with a warm breeze in the air, readin' a book. But I suppose bringin' food would be a good idea."

Again, I've been out of touch, sorry. Had a lot of stuff happen in my personal life that took away from my online time. Barring any unforseen circumstance, it shouldn't happen anymore.

Q stands up, musing. “I assume this is your standard desert island? No phone, no lights, no motor cars? Not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, it’s primitive as can be? I also assume there is potable water and food? Coconuts and fish in the lagoon? Otherwise it’s a sort of moot point. And some way to make a fire?” He grimaces. “Raw fish is gross.” He looks around. “I’m serious you know. I went on an expedition to the Andes with my Dad while I was in school and we had to bring in everything. We couldn’t just run to the shops if we needed something and I wasn’t allowed to do magic. Oh, and I also assume I wouldn’t have my wand.” He nods, thinking. “All of that taken into consideration, I think I’d like to have a book with me. Yes, something to pass the time while I wasn’t gathering food and stuff.” Q frowns. “But which one?” He mutters. “Ah!” His eyes light up. “I know! The dictionary! It has all the other books in it so that’d be best.” He sits down, and then quickly stands back up. “The Unabridged Oxford English Dictionary please.” He nods emphatically and sits back down again.

The air smells good today. Fresh, coming in from the sea. It's a welcome change from the dojo - the dojo that is his now. He's upending things, remodeling, changing the layout of the rooms, too; there had been nothing historic or venerable about them, and although he firmly believes that it's hard use rather than design that ennobles a place... Well, he was sick of the rank-sneaker smell, a sign of the hall's earlier incarnations.

His cough is better, too; the sun helps, he thinks.

When he catches sight of himself in the door of the café, he's... surprised. He must have forgotten to shave, his braid is rattier than usual, and his jeans are about to fall off his hips.

The door jangles its customary chime in greeting. So few people in here, he thinks, eyes adjusting to the dim interior. He scratches his nape with blunt, split fingernails. "Desert island?" he repeats hoarsely while sitting down. "Forgive this person for thinking Margate was a desert island."

Caprica spends awhile just sitting in a chair, hands clenched together in her lap, not looking at anyone. She stirs some with what Navarre says, the metaphorical stranding here, then retreats into her thoughts again. When she's collected herself enough and there's an opening to speak, she stands up and clears her throat. She looks paler than usual and her voice shakes at first, but grows more even as she progresses.

"I've been thinking, ever since the Doctor left and came back... changed, not quite who he was before... that I'm alone here. Like the, ah, wolf said, being something that nobody else is, it makes you feel stranded here. It's not because I'm not from Earth, although I suppose that's part of it. It's..."

She draws a breath. "Some of you have asked before if I'm human. And the answer I've given is that I'm a woman. That's an... evasive answer. Because I am a woman, that's true, but it isn't a full answer to the question.
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"The one thing I couldn't live without on a desert island? Literally?"

Of course, he'd live anyway through anything it could throw at him— starvation, dehydration, drowning, sun stroke, animal maulings— if rocks fall, everyone dies, but Jack gets up again. It's not really the most accurate question for him if it's meant literally, but if he interprets it as what would keep him from, oh, going mad or deadened inside with loneliness and waiting...

Jack looks pointedly at the Doctor, then out to the café, holding up his left wrist to display the brown leather cuff strapped around it.

"I'd want this working if I was stranded on a desert island, so I could teleport myself off of it. I've got something in here called a vortex manipulator that lets me hop through time or space or both— if it wasn't broken, but it is, so I'd be stuck like I'm stuck here unless this got fixed. Or maybe make sure I had my mobile with one of those get-a-signal-anywhere cards. Great devices, those. And this already has a GPS locator. I'd make some calls and pull together my own rescue mission to get the hell off that island. I'm really not interested in being stranded again anywhere else. Here we are, though, stranded. But I guess this place is maybe proving that with the right company..."

His gaze takes in a few people around the room. Ianto, the Doctor. The real Captain Harkness. People he loves. "With the right company, I can get through it, hmmm?"

He settles back into his chair and sings a few lines,

"Captain Jack will get you high tonight
And take you to your special island
Captain Jack will get you by tonight
Just a little push and you'll be smilin'"

He pauses a moment, shifting out of singing, and then adds, "Although I think that was about heroin, so... whoops! Don't do drugs, kids."

The one thing you couldn’t live without if you were stranded on a desert island? What kind of topic is that? After all, desert islands tend to be places which lack even the bare necessities of survival – yet, judging by the reactions of the patrons, the slight groans, this silly question is a common, even overused subject.
He doesn’t feel in the mood to state the obvious – that the one thing one can’t survive without on a desert island is a nice stack of provisions and a speedy rescue. He certainly doesn’t want to think about being stranded, be it blessing or curse.
He glances slightly at the last speaker – Borgia was his name, wasn’t it?

“I tend to agree with Master Borgia” he mutters, stirring his icy tea.

"What, like Elba?" He snorts. Oh, he's been on a dread isle, nevermind that its name won't mean a thing to this particular assembly. "Or the Isoletta di Megaride? That wasn't deserted, I grant you, but it might as well have been, for all the exalted company it presented."

When he shrugs, it's accompanied by a wince. His shoulder hurts. Sharp jabs of pain take his breath away and shut him up. Twisting his right foot around the leg of his chair, he tries to ride it out, vision going blurry. Breathe, he reminds himself. Breathe, goddammit.

He's not sure what else to say. Dropping his gaze, he stares at his hands until he sees clearly again. "No lo so," he mutters. "Perhaps you'd best take a sword along. So you have something to fall on."

Rusty's obviously uncomfortable with this topic; hell, this very idea. So he downs half his beer in one go before he stands up, looking around, frowning slightly.

"I don't have an answer to this one," Rusty says. "Whatever I'd take with me wouldn't matter much, since just being on a desert island would probably drive me batshit insane in about ten minutes." He stops - breathes - and takes another drink. "Being on your own is one thing. Time to yourself - that's all well and good. But being isolated like that...away from everyone and everything...no phone, no TV, no radio, no noise...no other people? None at all?" Rusty shakes his head. "Couldn't do it. Might as well bring a straight jacket with me, since that's what I'd end up wearing."

He's still shaking his head when he sits back down.

Phèdre really had no clear answer for this question. She'd managed to find reasons to be busy the past month--talking about love had just been too painful for her. She had not liked the question at all...which was startling unto itself, considering she was a D'Angeline.

But being here had changed her. Deeply. She'd seen too many hurt by love in the past months. She glanced at Ianto. Too many. The beliefs she'd carried with her to Margate were still strong, but here? They seemed somewhat out of place.

She pushed thoughts of love (and its heartaches) aside.

"If I were stranded on a desert island, I would take a mirror."

She waited for a moment, smiling at the expressions on her friends' and acquaintances' faces--and the few smirks she noted. She grinned.

"But not, you may be surprised, for vanity's sake. The mirror I speak of is a magic mirror. Hyacinthe, my dear friend, is master of this mirror, through which he can see all the world, and control the skies with it should the need arise. Were I to have such a mirror at hand on my desert island, though it could not feed me, clothe me, nor keep me warm, at least I would be able to...."

Her smile faded, her thoughts turning of their own volition--damn them--back to the pain in her heart. When she spoke again, she did so softly, unable and unwilling to hide her sadness.

"With such a mirror, I would be able to see my loved ones as they went about their lives. I would never wonder how they fared. With Hyacinthe's mirror, I would take care of them, and keep them from any harm that should come their way."

She blinked, shaking her head. "It would be a wonderful thing, aye, though a tragic one. For me. But at least while stranded, I would know my loved ones would be safe. My fate wouldn't matter--only theirs."

Oh dear Christ and all the ailing, suffering saints. The last time she was required to play this parlour game was in Tripoli with Hayreddin Barbarossa, one of the Cainite Ottomans who controlled the region, when she was negotiating a safe trade treaty for the Giovanni. He had agreed that their merchant fleet could sail the Mediterranean unmolested and that the merchants could operate a warehouse 'tax' free in the city if she answered him just one small question.

Isabel had been on her guard immediately but she had given him a smile and a nod. The smell of the turmeric and garlic in the meal his last vessel had been eating before being tapped was on his copper-scented breath as he leant in closely to the forward infidel Cainite before him. If you were stranded on a desert island and could take anything, save a boat, that you wished with you, what would it be? She had blinked at the simplicity of the question and saw the trap that he set before her. A woman, feeble and weak minded would think only of necessity for creature comfort, or so Isabel guessed at the pirate's reasoning. There was no room in her answer for seriousness or debatable points, it was a question designed to test character as much as entertain. With a polite bow and flourish, Isabel looked at the red-bearded Cainite before her and smiled. I would take Yeshua ben Joseph with me, she had answered. The men looked at her curiously to hear her name a prophet and she could only grin wider. For is it not said that the holy man could walk upon water? Should I have him with me, I would need nothing else.

The room erupted into laughter and applause. The next night, treaties with the pirates had been drawn up, signed, and witnessed. Isabel smiled at the memory and thought that soon she should go see her old friend to relive wilder nights once more.

"The one thing I couldn't live without if I were to be stranded on a desert island?" she pretends to think about it a moment. Something more modern for this crowd is in order as an answer.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," she says at last with a cryptic smile.

Navarre was late. He'd spent most of the day as he did every day--sleeping. He'd learned quickly that being a wolf in Margate wasn't exactly a positive thing...so he'd taken to dozing the days away in his room at L's, and spending the nights roaming around the City.

He'd begun to spend most of his existence, therefore, quite alone, so had lost track of time. And now it seemed he'd missed Dora's little speech. Disappointment flared through him, though he was startled to see the child was talking to the footbox, and a large colourful bird sat upon it.

Stretching, then shaking his fur, he padded toward the table where L's had left a computer for him to converse with on these occasions. He rose up on his hind legs, using one paw on the table to balance himself, and turned it on. He watched as the image of a forest came up, with his icons to the left. There weren't many, and he was only interested in one. Quickly he began to tap in his message on the special paw pad L had designed, watching the screen as the morse code was translated. Thanks to L's assistance, he'd become quite adept at his new language.

When he was done, he waited for his turn, then howled briefly to gain everyone's attention. He pawed the mouse (which amused him) and let the computer speak for him.

I know all too well what it is to be stranded on an island. I look around myself every day and know that is exactly what has happened to me here. Deserted, no--but for me, for what I am--a man and yet not, a wolf and yet not--I am alone, and therefore I feel quite deserted indeed.

That is not the question though, is it. What would I take with me, were I to find myself on a real desert island? One with blistering hot white sands surrounded by endless blue? It depends, I would think. It depends on which 'me' I would find myself there as. Since I appear to be thoroughly stuck in my wolf's clothing, I will choose to view this question through wolf eyes.

Books are no use to me--I cannot turn the pages easily with my paws. Television? It is amusing, yet disturbing at the same time. Food--no, I can hunt. My computer--it has made my life bearable here, but a desert island...it would be useless.

He turned to face the footbox, where it played with Dora still. He walked toward the creature, his sinewy body moving swiftly across the floor until he stood in front of it.

I know exactly what I would choose to take with me. The Footbox.

He chuffed, and sat before it. He reached out and touched his nose to the creature, hoping it would understand his choice.

What greater object than such a creature as it to choose? Companion, provider, protector...it is all these things. It is my choice. With the footbox beside me, I believe I could endure. Though we cannot communicate easily with those around us, it has, as have I, learned to make its way in this world. We would make an odd pair. Perhaps we already do, such oddities as we are here in Margate.

Navarre bowed his head to the footbox, then placed his paw on its lid.

Dora bounds up easily at the announcement of the topic and waits while Sirius speaks. This one is very easy for her and she's bouncing a bit on the chair, thankfully being kept from falling by Iago's watchful eye and steady hand.

When Sirius finishes, she waits for a few minutes until she decides most people are looking at her and waiting for her to speak.

"That's easy. If I was on a desert island, I'd take Teddy!" She gives the large bear a firm squeeze. "And then we'd become pirates. And build a ship and sail away to get a crew and a parrot and blasters too! But no communists." She nods firmly then flops down again.

Well, I'd say my magic wand, but then I suppose if I had my magic wand, then I wouldn't be deserted, would I? At least, not for very long. And presumably the same goes for a decent long-distance broom.

But I can't really say I'm a fan of hanging about islands -- desert, or otherwise -- with nothing to do and no hope of escape.

Been there. Done that. Didn't like it.

And whatever it is I take or have with me, well, there's no doubt I'd get bored of it fairly quickly.

So...

*manages not to shudder*

I will say a cup of tea from the Black Pot. At least that way, it'll all be over mercifully quickly.

This month's topic is rather an oldy when it comes to discussions, but hopefully interesting nonetheless. We want to know the one thing you couldn't live without if you were to be stranded on a desert island. I'm sure you're all just dying to jump in with shouts of "a cup of tea from The Black Pot".

The tag for this topic is desert island.