Who: The Tenth Doctor and open to Sam Winchester, John Sheppard and Neal Caffery What: Arriving, waking up When: Day 1, morning Where: First his room than the 2nd floor receiving room Rating: TBA Status: ongoing
There was a chill that seemed unsettling and something else, rearing from the back of his mind, that came slowly into the Time Lord's consciousness. His first thought, among many, was that in confusion having fought tooth and nail, having avoided sleep for so long, having traveled place to place to place in his desperation, determination, iron cold terror of looking back and seeing what he really, truly had done. It was this in fact that caught the man off guard; the simple reality that he even was really waking up at all. How could he be waking up? This of course had to mean he went to sleep and as far as he could remember he'd been running from both the waking and the sleeping world altogether during his last attempts to defy any means of his own death and any means of who he'd become. A colder, more cruel man, something evoked in certain darkness, in hunger, in a terrifying power. A stranger who would look back at him from the reflective glass of the TARDIS hub; measure only now by the guilt and pain that strangled against ageless brown eyes.
After blinking against the ceiling the Time Lord, frowning slightly, already recognizing that one, he shouldn't be waking up, and well, two, he was in a gown. A medical gown, actually. Now that that was out of the ordinary. He managed to push himself up against a weak gurney, something despite the haunting that never seemed to leave his face sparking his curiosity. Ever like the child, it came when least expected and exploded into an array of energy and movement, the man more prone to this than anything when with a companion. Of course that had been the old him, one lost along years of traveling on his own, against the stars where he might just speak up to remember no one was there beside him. He moved a finger curiously against the table, bringing it to his nose and then looking around with a sort of intense, curious stare. Well this was new. All of it in fact.
Without wasting and more time the skin railed man moved swiftly to the locker, pulling it open with a strained creak and examined the insides with that same measured curiosity, grabbing a hold of the clothes and then the note attached to said locker.
"This is...this is definitely new." He hated himself for it, but that was excitement that leapt through him, driving a smile against his face. Maybe, and the man hated himself even more for the slight thought, a relief that wove against him that he might, just might, be able to push against fate and his own death if for just a little longer. Another mystery to occupy, to push, to feverishly defy. He'd traveled all across the universe in desperation to not let go so was this a gift or was this where he was meant, by practically divine intervention, to meet his end?
He looked up, sniffing slightly as if non too concerned for either outcome before promptly pulling the gown off in order to redress himself, still his eyes scanning the region with something of that still slight fascination, taking in the rotted and dusty cracks and peeling paint; the drip of what sounded like a leak. Yes, definitely a leak...
After this the man, curiosity and something of a shadow of his old spark pushing him onwards, he stepped through that door into another room entirely, still with that paper going through his mind; spinning on his heal to look around him as the door snapped shut; latching, locked from where he'd come...
"Hello? Figure might as well say 'ello. Anyone here?"