The Universe's Mixer

"Place smells funny..." Logan breathed to himself as he took another smell of the air. It smelled like any other city he had been to, yet there was something underneath that the Wolverine had picked up on. He didn't know quite what it could be, as he had never smelled anything like it before, but he wasn't sure if he liked it.

The motorcycle he was currently perched upon was idling in park, the kickstand pressed firmly against the concrete as the short mutant's blue eyes swept the busy, bustling metropolis.

"Sure ain't Canada either," Logan said to himself with dismay. How he had gotten off of the path he wasn't entirely sure. He knew those snow covered woodland paths like the back of his hand, he had travelled to his cabin many times before. Probably even more times than years he'd been alive, and that was a good amount of time.

Still, he came to the conclusion that he must've blacked out while riding. But this city made no sense and perhaps that was what was throwing the feral mutant.

He wondered where he had ended up. Most cities had some kind of town loyalty, a name that was plastered all over to notify someone of their specific amount of pride. He saw none of that here, that or he was missing it completely. His eyes were sharper than most, though, so missing something that vital was almost a slap in the face to his skills.

Nonetheless it seemed to be evading him, which he wasn't too fond of.

The people seemed normal enough and nobody seemed to be paying him any attention, which was alright with Logan. He made sure to keep a straight face, to act like he belonged here and not that he had randomly appeared. Vulnerability wasn't a trait the Wolverine liked to let on that he felt. He was better than that.

Pulling the kickstand up, Logan pushed the bike's gear into drive and he coasted down the streets and ended up near what seemed to be a vast park in the center of town. It was there the Wolverine pulled the bike into an empty slot for parking, killed the engine and threw the kickstand down once again with a boot.

"I am absolutely certain there is a library," Abe said as he roamed the streets of The City donned in his wet suit top, shorts, tool belt and boots. He held a shiny pamphlet in his hands studying the information for what seemed like the hundredth time.

He'd taken to spending his nights in the pond despite there being available vacancies at nearly every complex he passed and having money and credit cards appear in his tool belt. The whole thing befuddled him, actually, and he proceeded with trepidation with the apparent gifts using them only for essentials like food or...lotion.

He'd accidentally bought a lotion that smelled like roses so he was currently much more floral than he usually tended to be. He wasn't one to be vain over such things, but he didn't think it was at all manly to smell like a garden. Perhaps it was at least poetic. Roses did have thorns!

"I've already been here! Back there! Oh! This is infuriating! Sleeping in a place that is constantly littered with soggy bread, fast food containers, and shoes (for whatever reason)and I can't locate a library that is clearly listed as one of the amenities of The City in this pamphlet!" Abe exclaimed. He'd been searching for an hour now.

Abraham was relieved that people were staying away from him, at least. (Possibly due to his mad ranting.) If he saw one more pair of wide eyes just staring he would consider doing them a favor and poking them out!

( Cut for 'The Name of the Doctor' spoilers. )

The Doctor sat up suddenly from the ground. He was nowhere near Trenzalore. In fact, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and waiving it about in the air, he adventured to guess that it quite possible that there was nowhere further from Trenzalore that might have existed in all of Time and Space than from the very spot he occupied at that very moment.

"This is unexpected."

The Doctor frowned and scratched the back of his head, still puzzling over the readings from his screwdriver, which looked more like a handle with a tiny claw found in those ineffective crane vending machines with the cheaply made stuffed animals surrounding a tiny green light.

The Doctor's sonic did not retrieve stuffed animals from vending machines. Well, it could but that would be a very serious abuse of power and not to mention very undignified. The Doctor had only done that the once.

Standing up slowly, noticing that there were stars in the sky and his own timeline no longer appeared under attack. Well, first he noticed his own timeline was no longer under attack and that there were stars in the sky he did not recognize. Now that was a neat trick.

"Alright," he spoke to the air, "you've got my attention."

Hank wasn't happy with how things had gone. He'd transformed, painfully, and nearly wrecked his lab before he got ahold of himself. The table on its side had shown him nothing but a giant white mass, and between that and screams of "BEAR!" as he made his way out of the hospital as carefully and timidly as possible made him almost certain he was a polar bear.

But how on earth had he become a polar bear??

Thankfully he still had his wits about him after the initial panic subsided so he'd gotten out and immediately made for the only individual he thought might have an inkling of what was happening.

He was worried briefly that he couldn't properly remember the way back to the blue box, but as he left the hospital he found his way back with relatively little issue. Luckily it was right where he'd left it last. Right in the park, where it was hidden and safe to approach.

Still, before he did the giant bear stood up to his full height, some fourteen feet, looking around and then landing heavily. He just didn't think it would do for somebody to panic seeing a giant bear attack a blue box. That would attract attention, and the Doctor probably didn't want attention. People snooping around a space ship. Hank didn't like people snooping around his lab (unless they were pretty redheads) and he didn't even live there, technically.

Making his way over Hank sniffed out the door (which was easier then getting used to these eyes enough to find the door visually) and then lifted his paw, gently as possible hitting the wooden door with the back of it so he didn't risk injuring the wood. It was still a mighty set of thuds, however, and Hank winced, then sat back on his haunches in a very human-like manner. He filled up the doorway, head hung low and almost to his belly, waiting to see if the Doctor answered and feeling a great amount of shame for coming to a man he didn't know so well with such need. But even if Hannibal might know something of what was happening, he was probably back in the hospital, and Hank couldn't stand all the panic even his careful wandering had caused. No wonder that wolf had been so upset.

Amy Pond brewed her own trouble.

While the Doctor busied himself being Doctor-y, Amy decided to explore. Vampire Bars had only been the start. The City had plenty more to offer. There had been the library, but Amy found it much quicker to interrogate the librarians than to read the books themselves. A short skirt, a winning smile and there was no telling what a poor civil servant might research for you.

There were a few places that always existed since the history of The City. Although the history didn't make much sense Amy decided the places that had always existed might be important in some way. There'd been the museum, the botanical gardens. She finally settled on the hospital.

As a former kissogram, Amy had no qualms about dressing up in costumes. As a troublesome redhead she had no qualms about taking someone's lab coat. She also put a stethoscope over her shoulders just for good measure. With the heels, the pencil skirt and low cut blouse, Amy Pond was ready to snoop where she didn't belong.

From one of the nurse's stations she grabbed a clip board. There was nothing important on it, as far as Amy could tell, just some sort of medical release permission form that most patients were required to fill out. Holding the clip board, however, gave Amy an air of authority, provided that she hide what was on the clip board.

She opened doors, looked through windows, and even went through empty doctor's offices. Anything that wasn't locked or bolted down was examined. So far? Nothing. So Amy helped herself into the next room, a laboratory with impressive looking equipment. It was new, spotless and a bit sparse.

"Ooh. What do we have here?"

Help yourself, Amy Pond.

The Doctor had gotten distracted. ( It happened. )

Pond was gone. Ordinarily, this would not have been cause for concern, but she'd taken a communicator - not one of those City mobiles, but a proper earpiece that used the TARDIS as an antenna and shouldn't have gone out. He'd made it himself. ( And, if the City were interfering somehow, the Doctor was going to take it as a personal affront. )

It wasn’t until her third encounter with the special edition personal ads that Amy finally bothered to read them. She recognized one immediately, assuming he’d written it to find her and possibly even spread them around himself. The Doctor was always doing brilliant things like that. Sure it was silly, and he was probably going to get a lot of messages he hadn’t intended but he’d found a way to communicate with his companion.

It made perfect sense to her. There was another personal ad she hadn’t recognized, though she have. It’d been written for her. But as of yet no one had replied to it.

She wasted no time leaving the following message: “Doctor!? I really hope this is you and this is not some other Space Gandalf. If it isn't you just ignore this. Sorry. But if it is please, please, please call me back. 555-551-5527!”

The rest of the time was spent waiting. And waiting. And staring. ( An hour felt like several when you had nothing else to pass the time. )

The Doctor had just had the sort of day that generally got him killed. In fact, if one were being technical, he had gotten himself killed - he was just going to have to wait for the payoff down the line. He tried not to think about it; Death was always going to have come for him in the end, and it could still be years yet. The time and place had always been in her hands - he'd only acknowledged as much. Or so he told himself; the truth was that he hadn't a complete grasp on what exactly he'd gone and done.

He also knew that Pond was in the City. He knew that there was a madman around who cared very little about the psychological trauma he inflicted upon people, nor did he seem to care much about who got hurt during his 'lessons.' He knew that he needed to seek out a 'Dean Winchester' for details.

The Doctor also knew that, no matter how much it pained him to stay in one spot, he couldn't leave. Not while this 'Trickster' was loose in the City. Not until he knew what made the City tick and how to ensure the safety of its residents. In a way, the wild goose chase that the Trickster had sent him upon had come to the desired conclusion, even if the Doctor now counted its perpetrator among his enemies.

So, reluctantly, after his 'guest' in the TARDIS had seen himself out, the Doctor set the coordinates not for places elsewhere in time and space but for a sidewalk in the heart of the City. He wanted to find Pond before she could get herself into too much trouble, and he'd have a better chance of picking her up on the sensors if he were in a central location. The TARDIS dematerialized from its spot outside the Magic Box and, with a tell-tale vrwooosh-vrwoosh, re-emerged in what was (at the moment) a spot near the geographical heart of the City. For now, that spot was just down from a cheese shop (aptly titled 'The Big Cheese') and across the street from an English style pub. It was interesting; usually the instruments were precise about the 'when' and 'where' of the TARDIS's physical location, but apparently being in the City made details scarce. He wasn't surprised. Of course the City would interfere in his ability to pinpoint things. He suspected that he wouldn't be able to trace the changing streets as they moved about, either.

The Doctor set the TARDIS to start taking readings then made his way to the doors. He needed to find a telephone book and see if he couldn't get a number for this 'Winchester' fellow.

The man who stepped out of the blue Police Call Box was not anyone Jack Harkness was likely to recognize. For one, he had the baby-face of a man still in his mid-twenties, and the previous Doctor's long coat and pinstripes were gone. Still, who else would take the time to lock the TARDIS and give her a fond pat on her side, the way you might part from an old friend?

((OOC: This is the last of my spam for today. I swear.))

It had not been a good few weeks for the Doctor. It was exceptionally rare that something managed to get one over on him; it happened, but infrequently enough that the occurrence was a surprise every time. He was worried - about Pond and Rory trapped on a strange planet (just imagine the trouble Pond could get herself into), about Lyra and Fred and Sherlock Holmes, trapped as he was in this strange place, about the designs behind the abductions. Things like this didn’t just happen. They took effort and knowledge and planning.

So? He’d paced about like a madman. The Doctor didn’t sit still easily, and exploring the City made him feel productive. Perhaps he could find where his crafty Urban Overlord had hidden the TARDIS. Perhaps he’d meet someone with some answers - or at least someone interesting.

He’d give the City one bit of credit: it had provided him with a suitable wardrobe. Tweed, ties, proper comfortable shoes for running about, and even a whole shelf of headgear. Now he could choose among fedoras, bowlers, a Stetson, three different takes on the fez, and what could only have been a Phillip Treacy original. It was in zebra print and had little ears on the sides.

The Doctor chose a broad-brimmed tartan fedora. ( It felt jaunty. It felt dashing and heroic, like Indiana Jones mixed with the Scottish Highlands. )

Sherlock had a gun pointed at a coat packed with explosives about to do something very clever when he heard a soft click! Just a noise. Not a bang. Not a scream. Nothing. Just a small noise and then he was in The City.

No pool. Just a City. American, he thought at first. So he started to walk a straight line. Point A to Point B, attempting to deduce his location. But the steets refused to make sense. Twice he passed his own street address of 221B Baker Street. He didn’t go in, of course. That would be mad.

The scale of it all was what impressed him. And the moving streets. What would it take to pull something like that off? So Sherlock continued investigating. He caught glimpses of brochures from The City; bus routes with maps that didn’t connect, a newspaper, an advertisement for The City Hospital.

Sherlock wasn’t mad. He looked down at the impossible bus route map which already failed to match up with the street corner he was already on, mumbling to himself, “When you’ve eliminated the impossible...”

Not mad and not dead.

“...Then no matter how improbable, it must be the truth.”

Sherlock knew what this place wasn’t. But he hadn’t quite settled on what it was.

( There was someone else. )

The escape attempt had been days in the making. First, the Doctor had needed to locate the storeroom where the patients' personal effects were stored. Then he'd waited for it to be opened, given that he had no tools to pick the lock. Finally, jackpot: a new patient had been admitted and, in the three minute window during which access was possible, the Doctor snuck in and stole back his things. Once he had his screwdriver? Getting into the staff changing room was much easier. Sure, he could've tried to talk his way in, but he felt that would've been too suspicious. They'd have upped his dose, and that would've greatly hurt any future attempts.

Two sets of scrubs, coats, and badges later, the Doctor was ready. It would be nice to say that he'd picked Fred as a partner in his escape because he was fond of her, or because he was worried. True, he was worried about her, but he also didn't want their captors to get their hands on her work.

( It was dangerous. And, if the right people were to see it, they'd be dangerous. )

Lyra couldn't remember how she had come to be in this strange and creepy place. The only jumbled thoughts she had were of waking up in an uncomfortable bed made of starchy sheets, and lime green jello being thrown against the wall. They tried to take her compass away, but she had kicked up such a fuss that they decided to let the child be, and dose her up with some nasty medicine.

Everything made her feel sleepy, despite not wanting to sleep. She fought as much as she could, but it was really no use, and there was no way to fight off the horrid dreams that plagued her sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she'd see her mother's cold, calculating smile as she slowly began to sever the invisible bond between herself and daemon, Pan. Her ears filled with the screams of the soulless children crying out in despair, or perhaps they were her own? she couldn't quite tell. Either way, she woke up screaming, thrashing in a sea of starchy sheets.

Today the nurses had ushered her out into a large common room, and dug up some old dolls for her to play with. They remained untouched, and she instead flopped in front of the strange box which played moving pictures - was it called a television, or something? She couldn't quite remember. It had been such a novelty the first time she'd seen one in The City, now it became more of a hinderance. She just wanted to be able to think, but her brain felt dead, as if a zombie had taken a bite out of it.

"Its no bloody use" She muttered to the wilted tabby cat that had sprawled out on her lap. "This place is driving me bloody bonkers."

At the end of his first day of exploration, the Doctor finally found his way into the dining hall. Inside the cafeteria, he quickly discovered that there were benefits to being 'mad' - he could ask for strange flavor combinations without any back-talk or mockery from his dining companions. After loading a tray with a slice of pizza (pepperoni with strange green peppers), a bowl of lime gelatin, and baked beans, he found himself a seat at a table. There, he proceeded to alternate bites of each dish.

It wasn't good. The beans were tolerable, but the peppers on the pizza tasted like fire dipped in brine and the jiggle of the green gelatin was downright terrifying. He turned the dessert dish upside down on his tray so that he wouldn't have to watch the mess swaying gently every time his knee bumped the table. Then he devoted his attention to picking the jalapenos from what remained of the slice of pie.

The Doctor felt uncomfortable and a little off - a mix of fatigue left over from all of the medical staff's tampering with his body chemistry, combined with the not-entirely-appetizing food. He knew that he needed to eat something, but honestly. If this was the main diet of the residents, no wonder they were ill.

It had taken the hospital staff a while to decide what to do with the Doctor. He wasn’t the only unusual patient in Arkham – they’d seen everything from supervillains to the undead - but when it came to anatomy, he was unlike the others. The Doctor was not human, or at least not a variant that the medical staff recognized. He’d woken the first night after his abduction, confused but lucid, hours earlier than expected. He metabolized the normal dosage for his height and body weight in half the regular time, so they’d increased the medication.

( It had almost killed him. )

Enough of this already. The Doctor was a traveler, a scientist without parallel and not happy to be stuck in one place for very long. It was time to go.

“RIGHT!” The Doctor ran around the control room of the TARDIS and prepared fold time-space to get the hell out of this City. It had been 6 attempts so far, but this time he had an “Ace” up his sleeve. His meeting with his old protégé had reminded him that the TARDIS had something in its storerooms. A huge amount of Nitro-9.

It took a few weeks to set the charges all over the City. Careful not to have them in place of any living beings. Every power station, feed and switching grid he found were now rigged to explode with a flip of a switch. To be sure, the Doctor also had constructed an EMP generator that should fry every conventional circuit in 50 miles.

The TARDIS was not conventional.

The Doctor took a few photos, bought a couple of postcards, and made sure to leave a nice note for Ace. The TARDIS powered up, beginning it slow dematerialization. The Doctor smiled to himself and triggered the explosives. The City was rocked by 156 well placed bombs knocking out all the power they could. “AWW now for the icing!” The Doctor flipped a large paddle switch and the EMP sent a blue electronic wave over the City short circuiting anything more complicated than a toaster oven. VWOOORPP VWOOORP VWOOORP! The TARDIS phased out of this reality and fell into a wormhole.

Then it stopped. The Doctor was thrown across the control room, as the force of the deceleration was more than even the inertial dampeners could compensate for. “Oh no, what now.” The Doctor crawled to the console and peered into a viewer to see where he was. He Wasn’t anywhere it turned out The TARDIS was in the time stream, but it was not moving. It was stuck between moments and places. The ship strained around him trying to move on. Reality glimmered at the point the ship had been in the City.

It was a scenic spot in the park. Large oaks grew over a deep still pond. It was half frozen, but this did not detract from its beauty. The TARDIS stood a silent sentinel behind a wooden bench that faced the water. On the bench, The Doctor contemplated the last year.

Rose was gone. She needed him, but he could not help her. She was trapped, almost as certainly as he began to believe he was. If he was not in this bell jar of a pocket dimension He might be able to save her. He was an explorer, a Timelord, and he was stuck on this tiny little speck of reality. There must be a way off. If it was spring, he could have fed some ducks. No such luck. So he sat and thought. It had been a long time since he felt so alone. He could learn to hate the City for that. He shivered and pulled his tweed long coat around himself more closely.

Spock calculated a significant decrease in The City's temperature since the last time he had been there. Somewhere in the region of at least a 14.6 degree drop, according to his tricorder readings. Though, to be perfectly honest, Spock felt the change immediately upon transporting to the ground from the hovering Enterprise without having to consult his tricorder. Coming from the planet Vulcan, he was much more accustomed to a desert climate. He estimated that this change in weather might cause a .07% decrease in his immune system. He would have to remind himself to turn up the heat on the Enterprise when he returned from his investigating and be sure to drink a substantial amount of fluids. Fortunately, now that he had the ship to himself he wouldn't have to listen to the whining complaints of his human crewmates (who preferred a comfortable 20.5 degrees Celsius.) Even now Spock could hear Dr. McCoy's insufferable agonizing over temperature controls on the bridge whenever Spock was in command, Damnit, Spock! I'm a doctor, not a sand lizard! An obvious and unneccesary comment.

Humans had such an irritating need to vocalize discontent. It was a wonder they managed to invent space flight at all, let alone warp speed.
( A snowflake fell upon his nose. )

Sir Guy of Gisborne was walking through the mostly deserted streets, trying to get a better feel for this strange City he was trapped in. The people dressed so strangely, especially the women. Their outfits were almost all unfit to be seen in polite company and yet no one else seemed to be offended by their attire. This was all very, very confusing to the 12th Century knight.

Guy was beginning to think he might not be anywhere near England anymore.

Wherever he was, Gisborne needed to find a way to get the advantage over his rival, Robin Hood. And part of that advantage meant he needed to have his sword sharpened. Perhaps he should even acquire a second weapon. But to accomplish both of those tasks, he needed to find the town blacksmith.

( The streets were deserted )

Gwen decided at least for now she could lose herself in a juicy sounding puzzle. The man from the coffee house had peaked her interest and she did need to get her meds refilled in the process so a trip to the hospital was in order. After leaving a quick note for Jack along the lines of med refill but have my phone she set out for the hosptial. "Ok, this is ten times weirder than Carfiff, floating buildings location wise is a new one" making a quick mental note to ask Jack about that one as she walked.

But she did find the hospital after about 30 minutes of walking and getting lost. She asked to see Dr.Cameron if she was free as she stood at the front desk,"Its not a crisis but I just need to see about a refill for mirgaine meds" she explained. But Cameron had no idea of Gwen's private misery, something only Jack had seen and was facing along with her. The other mystery was the more interesting one at the moment: this guy who knew Jack. *Maybe from his past? There was quite a bit before Torchwood?* she got to thinking while waiting.

But in case anything does go wrong her gun was neatly hidden in the spare pocket of her knapsack.