The Universe's Mixer

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. )

Elle didn't know how many days it had been. How long, or how short, she didn't even know the time when she'd been handed the release orders. Good. She was really sick of being here hopped up on something or tested out. Run like a freaking battery would be. Elle was GLAD she was free. What she wasn't glad about was that it seemed that the place was nearly, or completely, empty. Was she the last one? Were they mad about her killing/harming/maiming those nurses? Fine. Good. She totally had a right to do that.

Company employee or not.

Here she was standing outside the doors with one other person. Wondering where the hell to go next. The girl, had to be a girl as she didn't look much older than Elle was and Elle was maybe just a bit of an adult.

"So um.. any idea what day it is or what we're suppose to do now? Does your head feel as heavy as mine does?" Elle rubbed some of the blond hair around the back of her head, then smiled cheerfully.

SHE WAS FREE.

Sarah Bailey was staring off in the distance, sitting on the ground with her arms hugging her legs. Her chin was resting on her knees, her back pressed against the wall in the inner courtyard. A rather childlike yet comfortable position as she watched the other patients, vaguely aware they were there. The drugs kept the witch’s mind and memory fuzzy to the point that Sarah thought she was still in Saint Francis Memorial Hospital. That was the name of the hospital her father had brought her after Sarah had slit her wrists back in San Francisco. Her mind had made the logical assumption she was still there.

Occasionally Sarah wondered about this as she didn’t remember there being quite so many people here before or that the hospital was so large. The dreams she had also troubled Sarah as well, dreams of girls who could fly, being able to change her appearance with a gesture, a troubled boy and lightening, always lightening. Sometimes she wondered if these dreams had been real but such thoughts usually went away after the nurses gave her the daily dosage of sedatives.

She was one of the quieter patients who never made a fuss, not even after she had first woken up in the hospital. Being in a psychiatric hospital had been too familiar for Sarah and though she had power, it was not in Sarah’s nature to lash out unprovoked. There had been no need to restrain the witch for long and the drugs she had been given had made it impossible for Sarah to concentrate long enough to use her powers. In fact, Sarah had forgotten all about her powers and believed it was part of the hallucinations she suffered. A strangely comforting belief for if the powers were a hallucination then Sarah had nothing to feel guilty about. She hadn't done anything wrong and the boy, Chris, he wasn’t real so she couldn’t have killed him.

As for why Sarah was sitting outside by herself, she was seeking some peace and quiet. The television in the common room had been too loud for her tastes and she liked being outside more than she liked being cooped up inside. It was comforting to feel the ground beneath her, to feel the air on her skin. She felt connected which Sarah knew was insane. How could she feel connected to the earth? The thought made her chuckle and Sarah muttered to herself, “Crazy new age bullshit”. Naturally that would be when Sarah realized someone was approaching, just as she was talking to herself like a nut job. “I’m not crazy”, she said to stranger as though she sensed the accusation coming. Too bad Sarah didn’t quite believe her own words.