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The Doctor ([info]fromgallifrey) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-06-21 19:29:00

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Entry tags:!complete, day 12, location: barn, remy lebeau, the doctor (ten)

Who: The Doctor and Remy LeBeau
What: Friendly fight
When: Day 12: 8AM
Where: Forest, nearest landmark, the Barn
Rating: PG

Status: Complete

The Doctor hadn't slept well. The night before he knew was leading into an even numbered day; an experiment day. It was sad that his mind kept on it like that; kept turning with the desire to anticipate and thwart a foe he could not see. Perhaps that was why the Doctor had such a difficult time pushing his eyes open. He didn't want to wake and see his friends snatched up for someone's trivial idea of a game. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. What was once the barn was still cluttered with musty couches and spread out among them were the people he'd come to call friends. Each were dozing quietly.

The Doctor saw his opportunity and he made good on it. Pulling on his trainers and slipping out the door he was headed out into the woods. He hadn't forgotten the plans he'd made for the people in charge. He was going to make good on them. Today. Twigs and brush crumpled beneath him as the Doctor moved quietly through the trees. He didn't want to take the road. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He had a singular focus and not one iota of it included anyone else within the glass bubble. Well, unless that person happened to be the Insider.

 A not so quiet sigh escaped the Doctor. The silence was good company in the sense it didn't make his head hurt any more though also bad as it didn't do anything to still his mind. Wheels kept turning at a furious pace. He needed to go to work on things other than barns. He needed to stop being so attached to the people here, even Jack and Sarah Jane perhaps, and do whatever needed to be done. Would there be collateral damage? How about what he'd do to that 'Insider' when he managed to find them? For a man who didn't like battles or wars or violence the Doctor was finding himself sliding into the darker parts of his mind where things didn't reside in the moral - where they just needed to be done.

Today he would start with the Post Office, he would look through the nooks and crannies there, and then he and his torch would head down into the tunnels where he would find the Insider. He would find the insider and he would find out everything that they knew. He would then continue his search for those working with the insider and force them to return everyone. Following that he would destroy the town and it's bubble so that it would never be used again. Finally, he would deposit those behind it all in a cell on Rigaula Seven where they would never age, never know freedom, and never have any hope for rescue. It was those thoughts that kept cycling through the Time Lord's head. Running through on loop again and again. It was like a mantra. Insider, puppeteers, escape, prison. Those same thoughts caused the distant look in the Doctor's eye and the setting of his jaw. He would have his way.


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[info]ace_of_clubs
2009-06-21 07:28 pm UTC (link)
Any small move would be mimicked by the Cajun, any turn, any twist, any breath. He wasn't moving and he wasn't letting go. Like super glue, he had plastered himself to that blue suit and the man beneath. Sorry, Doctor, but you'd won yourself a Cajun, and you hadn't even known you were playing until now, had you? Dangerous game, this.

"Non." He agreed again with a soft breath. He never stopped. He never gave up. And he never surrendered -- he would certainly give the illusion of all three, but it never truly happened. "I don' stop." The quiet words were clearly smiled out, as his lips touched against the Doctor's ear, soft and intimate. He liked to touch. Liked the warmth of another body, the feel of another heartbeat, and with the Doctor -- His Doctor -- he'd found two for the price of one.

"Maybe I don' know no better, bu' ain' never been real smar'." That was a lie of course, he knew he was smart, but all the same. "Maybe I shoul' run, but I ain' gonna. I make my own choice, Docteur, an' you ain' gon' change my min'. I'm gon' stay here, 'til you change yours. C'est juste comment il est. Gon' haf'ta get use t' me bein' here. Presse' 'gains' you, layin' on you, soakin' up 'de ligh' comin' offa you. 'De flowers do 'de bes' in 'de ligh' of 'de sun, an' I'm doin' grea' righ' here. Sun ain' got no choice 'bou' it, gon' give 'dat ligh' to everyone, even 'dem don' 'pprecia'e it. But 'de flowers do. I do. Et vous m'avez. Me voici. Je reste et vous restez avec moi." He was staying, the Doctor was staying, and the Doctor was staying with him -- and that was the end of the conversation, for Gambit. He'd made his demands, he'd held on, and for him, it was his mind made up. "I deserve you, I deserve 'dis. An' you deserve me, an' all 'de bi'chin' an' whinin' an' complainin' 'dat come 'lon' wit' me."

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[info]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 07:29 pm UTC (link)
He hadn't known he was playing at all. Not even remotely, the Doctor never played anymore. Not like this. Not with anyone. Ever. He didn't have the stomach for it anymore. At least, he thought he didn't.

The Doctor never stopped either. Unless someone knew how to make him - to convince him that he ought to, that he had to, that he must. So many things were saying stop and go all at once for the Time Lord. Stop? Go? Come? Leave? He was pushing himself around just as much as the Cajun had. He made his life getting people to run with him - and now he had someone demanding to run with him and he didn't know what to do with it. Actually, he did and that was the problem.

The feeling of Gambit's lips and breath along the tender skin about his ear made the Gallifreyan shake. He'd forgotten that feeling, that slow delicious hint of anticipation that lodged in the back of the mind and itched and rubbed and burned until you paid attention to it. He was working very hard at not paying attention.

The Cajun, apparently, thought he could move mountains and walk on water as he professed to change the Time Lord's mind. Perhaps he could because the resolve that had rooted so deeply in his gut was melting with each shared breath.

"Je ne sais pas quoi faire avec vous," a tentative affectionate brush of his cheek against the other's as he wanted to remind himself what that felt like. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing with the Cajun. His brain said fight while his hearts said rest.

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