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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]fromgallifrey
2009-06-21 07:32 pm UTC (link)
The most perilous thoughts in the Time Lord's head outside of his own name were called to carpet by the red devil and the Doctor found himself little worse for wear. Better, perhaps. No, not better, just different. The charming, red eyed man had squirreled in and made a nest far quickly than the Doctor could have ever thought anyone could. He was clever, that Cajun.

He was lots of people's Doctor. He was The Doctor. Capitalization intended though impossible to pronounce. For the first time since the quake there was a light behind his eyes that wasn't just thoughts - it was life. He'd been silent too long, even as the Cajun brushed his lips across his cheek and claimed him like a prize; though, the Doctor had yet to claim his. For all his brilliance the Doctor couldn't seem to manage to find the words for what he wanted to say.

It dawned on him, slow and trickling like sunrise on the ocean. He breathed in, eyes intently focused on the red ones his opposite. "Thank you," a hand snaked up between them and caught the mutant upon the throat, his thumb at his jawline, as if to draw the other man in. When the Doctor said stop people listened, regardless of what they thought. And still the Cajun had persisted. That left the Doctor to deal with the prospect that he had in fact been wrong, that the Cajun had been right. He couldn't swallow that right now, it was as much as his ego could allow for him to say thanks without whitewashing over it.

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