InsaneJournal

Cannibalized bumper cars. Everywhere.

The slicked surface of the bumper car rink was shiny in the bits that could be seen; but, mostly it was covered in discarded bits of metal and tubes and useless bits of rubber. Somebody could probably build an entirely new bumper car out of the bits that had been left just lying around. In the middle of his mess, sitting in a bright yellow car was the Doctor, looking up where he'd tacked the sign from the top of the TARDIS and day dreaming. Nine said he'd wanted to meet here, so Ten just had to come; didn't he?

John Smith was quite comfortable in the middle of his impressive mess, ignoring the smell of burnt rubber and leaking oil that made the space smell less like part of the carnival and more like the middle of a garage. No, it was his mess, a victorious mess. It was this mess that would get them all out of here. Or so he liked to hope. Always that flicker of hope that the bad guys had underestimated the lanky man in the wrinkly suit and that again he'd get to be the hero and save the day. Or, he'd just get everyone out and they'd get to go back to their lives. They'd get to avoid whatever those letters on their limbs were supposed to be about.

If nothing else, this Doctor still had hope.