Live for today, we'll dream tomorrow

[likesimpossible]

Who: The Tenth Doctor and open.
Where: Everywhere.
When: 3/8, throughout the day.
Rating: PG.
Summary: The Doctor is on the loose, poking his nose into places it doesn't belong.
The Story:

The library | Early morning

After the oh-so-scintillating experience of being stuck on a pathetic little bit of hallway until he found a way off, the Doctor's gone off in search of a little exercise for his brain. And that means a good long session in the library. It's a brilliant place, really, with so many books on so many different subjects that it's not difficult for him to find a stack of interesting material and a good corner to sit in that the hours almost run away from him.

That's where he can be found this morning, with a stack about ten books high standing a bit precariously next to where he's sitting.

He's about halfway through a book discussing Earth's aquatic botany. And yes, he's very much engrossed in said book.

The gardens | Mid-afternoon

After several long and productive hours in the library, it's now afternoon, and the Doctor is outside going for a brisk walk through the gardens. It's very snowy outside, but that doesn't appear to bother him in the least. He's made several circuits around the place by now, and he's decided it's a good time to go investigate the hedge maze.

It might be just a maze, but he hasn't gone there yet, so what better time than the present? And, well, after sitting so long amongst the dusty yet fascinating books, he's a bit stiff, so a good leg-stretching is absolutely in order.

The attic | Evening

It could be said that the Doctor has a thing for spending copious amounts of time in dark, quiet, and dusty places, and now that evening's fallen, he's upstairs poking about through piles of what appears to be broken bits of junk.

But there is that little saying about how one man's junk is another's treasure, and the Doctor subscribes rather wholeheartedly to that saying. He's digging around through the piles of stuff with an almost reckless abandon, coming up just a bit short of flinging things around.

Except, there's some rather fragile bits of junk up here, so throwing things might damage them, and that would be a complete tragedy.

Comments

[jivitadana]

Doctor, if there's one other thing you learn about Arisato Minato is that he can sleep. And sleep anywhere. Therefore, as the Doctor is taking his walk through the Gardens and on the way to the hedge maze, he can find a snow-cleared bench and Minato sleeping on it. At least he had a scarf on since, although sunny, the weather was still crisp and on this side of colder than cool.

He had the same idea that he would rather be outside, especially after being indoors for a while already. A little fresh air did some good for anyone, and Minato liked colder weather too. Not too cold though.

[likesimpossible]

That actually takes him by surprise, when he rounds the corner and spots him asleep on the bench. He's seen a lot of things, but somehow, someone asleep outside in the cold and snow that still is rather cold, even with the sun out, isn't really one of them.

He switches directions to trudge over to Minato's bench where he hesitates, wondering if he should just move on or wait and see if he should do something. Waking him up might be a bit rude, though, particularly since he doesn't seem to be in any danger of freezing.

It's an odd situation, though not the oddest he's ever been in.

[jivitadana]

After a moment or two, Minato peeked an eye open. Against the light he could see someone standing nearby, and recognized who it was. He pressed a hand against the seat bench, then sat up, adjusting his scarf as he did so.

"Hi, Sensei. Going for a walk?"

[likesimpossible]

Oh, well, that's a good sign. He stepped closer, but not too close, just enough to possibly covertly examine Minato to make sure he's really all right.

"Yeah, I thought I could use a bit of exercise. I've been in the library, and it's a great place, but after hours of sitting and reading, it does get a bit cramped." Stiff, even, which is why he's been putting himself through some rather vigorous paces. "Do you usually sleep outside, though?"

[jivitadana]

"It doesn't seem the same twice." The library was huge. Minato did stop by whenever he could, picking up a few books here and there. He wasn't in school now that he was here, but it didn't mean he had to stop studying too.

But at the question, he didn't seem too unfazed, except maybe a little concerned since really, he shouldn't be making other people worry.

"Wherever, actually." Maybe not the best idea. "... I kind of like sleeping."

[likesimpossible]

"No? Do you mean it actually changes?" Actually, that simple statement doesn't do it justice, anymore than Minato's had. If it really doesn't seem the same twice, that could possibly mean there's some tricky things going on here, like shifting dimensions. Or else it could mean the mansion itself is sentient, altering rooms and their contents as it sees fit. And that is a very interesting idea to consider.

"Do you?" He doesn't, not particularly. And combining that with the fact that he doesn't need much of it, the Doctor just doesn't sleep all that often. "I suppose it could be relaxing." Assuming relaxation is even possible, which he hopes it is, at least in Minato's case.

[monopolies]

Poking his nose into places it doesn't belong is America's jam. Especially now that he's not so engrossed in his own problems he can't see beyond them.

Thanks to Wonderland's habit of tossing people through the tides of time before dragging them out again like the worst search-and-rescue team in the world, thirty years have built America to stand tall and straight. Not that it would be obvious to the Doctor, who only met America when the Weeping Angels only added physical years instead of actual ones.

Other than a passing of familiarity, America doesn't really latch onto the Doctor either. He knows the name, of course--he'd scribbled it like a footnote in his notes on Luke; he knows that the Doctor is a big part of his life, a big mysterious force that's as essential to his reality as gravity, something in the backdrop and always having some effect even if it's consciously apparent; he remembers that the Doctor was an alien, and English, and always fucking visiting England instead of him what a jerk--but he doesn't have a face to put to it. Lost in transition from Wonderland back home, he supposes. Muddled with all the other people who kept his acquaintanceship.

As he feverishly swims through books on how to turn kittens back into dangerous prehistoric hellbeasts, America does a double take when he spots the Doctor. He doesn't look like he's slept because he hasn't. There are a lot of reasons for that.

"Hey, you're still here too!" he exclaims like a person without a brain-to-mouth filter, which he is. Sleep deprivation just exacerbates the problem. He almost ends it there, but somehow his foggy mind manages to dig out a buried memory and he points more excitedly to the other man. "I picked ya up! Told ya I could throw ya like a javelin, and you were like, 'oh yeah ha ha I try to be sharp!' and you're still so bony! My God look at ya! So pointy!"

He's one of those people that gets more and more manic the longer he's gone without sleep, so his speaking gets faster and excitement races across his face.

[likesimpossible]

Well, that's good, because the Doctor rather likes it when he runs into people with similar ideas as himself. And if America is fond of poking his nose into things, then they might as well be called birds of a feather.

There's some vague recognition because of that other time, of course, and any signs pointing towards the fact that the Doctor's realized something is different about America are small at best.

One of these days, the two of them might have to have some sort of reckoning about this business of the Doctor's travels to England, but for the moment, the Doctor's just absorbed in his book-reading and when he's doing that, not much else can get through.

Although, he does register the fact that someone else is there and is now apparently addressing him. "I should think so, unless this is all just some very elaborate dream." But he's reasonably confident in the fact that he hasn't gone anywhere to his knowledge, just like he's reasonably confident that America is being just a little bit strange, and that is saying something.

"Right, you did pick me up, and rather handily as well." It certainly took him by surprise when it happened. He laughs a bit at America's rapid fire delivery. "That's me, bony and pointy. Is that a book about kittens?"

Interesting subject matter, that.

[monopolies]

Thrilled that the Doctor seems to recognize him back on some level (or at least pretend to, which is really good enough for America), he trots over to a more friendly distance.

"And I still can! Even better than before now that I can move around without any troubles." A confusingly personal admission that he doesn't bother to elaborate on. Thankfully he doesn't make any movements to pick up the Doctor again either; he just tilts his book toward him with an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah. A demon turned my dinosaurs into cute kittens and I'm tryin' to turn 'em back," is the most unexpected sentence anyone has probably ever uttered. "Not that I don't like cats, but they're so tiny and fragile! I already worried about their well-being enough when they could take down a bear, how'm I supposed to handle them as three pound balls of fluff?"

[likesimpossible]

And then he remembers (not that he really ever forgot) the circumstances of the first time he met America. The Weeping Angels were everywhere, and America had had more than a few of his years taken, thanks to them. With that knowledge in mind, he gives him a good once-over, just to make sure he's alright. He looks it, but appearances can be deceiving, and words even more so, but he asks anyway.

"Are you alright now, then? The last time I saw you, you looked as though you'd seen better days."

And, well, at least from the Doctor's perspective, it's almost better that the only problem America's dealing with now is having his dinosaurs turned to cats. It's much better than if they were still facing off against the Weeping Angels, that's all.

"Can you do that? Turn them back, I mean. And how did they turn in the first place?" It's magic of some kind, he supposes, given America's mention of a demon, but it's not as if this area is his strong suit. He might not ever admit that, either, because he's the Doctor, and he's supposed to know something about everything, more or less.

"But as to how you handle them, I'd say you should do it carefully." If he can, anyway.

[monopolies]

Completely misinterpreting the question, America nods eagerly. The Weeping Angels were just another event in the fog of his Wonderland memories, a quirky little adventure that he has no reason to recall without prompting. Running from terrifying alien monsters trying to drain his life force is just another day in the life of a guy who thinks dinosaurs are perfectly acceptable pets. Rather, he thinks the Doctor is referring to his condition before Wonderland had tossed him back into his own world for nearly three decades: mired in a civil war that tore his body open, set fire to vital organs and weighed down his soul with the hate and hurt and deaths of countless Americans. Definitely the worst he's ever been. He might not be flawless now, but he thinks he's made remarkable improvement in almost every regard to his being.

"No kiddin'! Sherman said war is hell, but he don't even know the half of it." He shakes his head. Too much to say about war and Hell and none of it involve memories he wants to willingly revisit. "Plus that asshole was part of the reason I hurt so much. Burn and salt the Earth, yeah, real comfortable."

Bitterness seeps into his expression. Goddamn it Sherman. Both sides fucked him up badly but that campaign, while effective, hurt like a motherfucker. Don't even get him started man.

Before he can get too wrapped up in darker thoughts, he shoves them aside, puts a cocky smile in place and puffs his scarred-but-not-on-fire chest proudly.

"Point is, I'm in better days now! Twenty seven years of rebuilding and industry do wonders."

Idly he flips through some of the book's pages (feeding, grooming, general care, but nothing about magic) before shutting it with a shrug.

"If I got that kind of power, I dunno how to use it. Far as I've heard, when I left--when Wonderland threw me back in my world, I mean, for like a week's time here apparently--when that happened, my raptors got real upset. The little one don't know how to manage his anger and I guess started freakin' out at my fella so people had to come and take care of 'em and calm 'em down."

By shooting them repeated with sedatives. America hasn't been told about that in any detail.

"And then I guess this bastard demon came and decided to turn 'em into cats! Just as one final 'fuck you' to my legacy, I bet. He and I never were... I dunno what the fuck we were, or what we are now, but let it be known that Crowley is the worst. And to top it all off, he's abysmally English."

Little does America know that Crowley is a massive Doctor Who fan. If he did, he'd step up his bad-mouthing game because he's just as much of an asshole as the demon. At least Crowley has a valid excuse.

[likesimpossible]

Well, if the Doctor ever gets wind of that knowledge, then, if nothing else, he and America would have some rather interesting (read: tragic) stories they could share, since war experiences seems to be a commonality between them, along with all the baggage that comes along with that.

"War is hell." The Doctor just repeats that, knowing from his experiences that it's an accurate summary. "It is that, and so much more." Burning and salting the ground is one thing, but the destruction of an entire planet and the murder of an entire species is another. And it might not have literally hurt him the day Gallifrey was destroyed, but there are other ways someone can be hurt, so the Doctor understands America's meaning, at least in part.

But like America, he'd rather not be hung up on the darker thoughts, so he puts on a smile as well. "Glad to hear it. Really, I am, and I'm sure that rebuilding of any kind does wonders."

He shrugs, remembering something from Luke about dinosaurs and America and needing help, but he didn't really know the details that led up to that. Now, as to that abysmally English comment, the Doctor might take offense to that if he were technically English himself. But the fact is, he isn't, so he doesn't. Luckily for you, America.

No, actually, he wouldn't do anything at all, even if he were insulted. He might use some choice words, but other than that, he'd let it slide. "That's an interesting way of getting revenge. Can't say I've ever heard of anyone doing that before, but there must be a way to change them back. I haven't a clue, but with all the sorts of people hanging about here, one of them must know something you can do."

[939]

Johnny's been in the attic all day, just searching. He's not entirely sure for what, but by god, when Johnny's on a mission, he doesn't let up. Maybe he was after some sort of hint as to how Wonderland operates and who's controlling it. Maybe he just wanted to find some good junk for reasons unknown. Maybe I don't feel like coming up with a reason because my food is almost done cooking and I'm hella hungry. ~**~*~it's a mystery**~**~~*~*

Hell, it seemed like the Mansion was encouraging Johnny's explorations-- even the stairs to the attic transformed into a ramp to accommodate his wheelchair. As much as he hates how belittling the magical action seems, he's not going to pass it up. Let this damned place bring about its own downfall, whatever. Let's get some shitty poetic justice going.

Unfortunately for Johnny, the unorganized junk heap of an attic was far less accommodating. Within the first ten minutes of his 'adventure,' Johnny had abandoned his chair by the door. By the time the Doctor makes his appearance, Johhny's too far deep in stuff and things (read: trash) to make a quick retreat.

So he hides himself.

Even if no one's tried to kill him in Wonderland (yet), Johnny's not one to take his chances. He hides and hopes this guy will get bored, but when that doesn't happen immediately, Johnny starts to lose his patience. By the time the Doctor nears where Johnny left his wheelchair, he snaps:

"What the hell are you doing?"

[likesimpossible]

Well, it's not every day that the Doctor can be found in an attic digging through piles of junk, and it's definitely not every day that he gets hollered at while doing said digging.

His pursuit of random bits of junk forgotten, the Doctor straightens up to see just who is so ungraciously snapping at him, and before he's really gotten a good look, replies: "I'm looking for spare parts! Can't think of any other reason why someone would be up in a dusty old attic, can you?"

He doesn't look too perturbed at being interrupted; in fact, he's almost smiling. It's been a relatively good day so far, so even an abrupt interruption like this isn't enough to bring down his mood.

[939]

Johnny squints at the rhetorical question. What is this guy implying? Is he using clever language to infer why Johnny's up here? Is he just really incredibly simple? Is Johnny just way too goddamn suspicious for this world?

Who the fuck knows.

"Spare parts for what?" Johnny doesn't come out of his pile of junk. He is happy right here with potential projectiles, thank you very much.

[likesimpossible]

The thing about the Doctor is that when he says something, he could be doing any number of things, including making implications about other things and using clever language. Though he's not incredibly simple, not at all. In fact, he'd be the first person to say he's actually the opposite of incredibly simple. As to Johnny being suspicious, well, that's something he hasn't yet worked out.

Who knows indeed?

"I'm trying to put together an anti-gravity generator." Yes, from spare bits of junk. But if this doesn't work, then he'll just get the parts from the closet. And come on, Johnny, does the Doctor look like someone who deserves to have projectiles thrown at him?

No, he doesn't, does he?

[notmymccalling]

He'd just been toddling around trying to get his bearings now that he was stuck here. Yes, he had most of his friends around him to keep him company, but that didn't make him feel any better, because they were all trapped.

As he was mulling about, trying to learn the layout of things, his heightened hearing caught the sound of crashing and clunking. It sounded like someone was ransacking a room. The good kid that he was, he took it upon himself to investigate. Scott followed the sounds, getting louder and louder, until he came about... was it an attic? Okay, fair enough.

Making his way up, he looked around, chocolate brown eyes focusing in the new lighting. There was certainly a lot of junk scattered about and it didn't seem whoever was here was helping matters any. Broken nicknacks and useless contraptions, defective toys and other miscellaneous things littered the path. Scott stepped carefully, just hoping he wouldn't cause any more damage than there already was.

"Are you... looking for something specific?" Scott asked cautiously to the figure tearing through the accumulation of abandoned items.

[likesimpossible]

Said figure stops with the tearing upon hearing someone talking, and even then, with the amount of noise he was making, it's surprising he even heard anything at all. But he straightens up and turns around to look at Scott.

"Well, not quite. I'm looking to make something specific, and since I've heard asking the closets for too many specific things makes them not work, I thought I'd start with this instead."

Because bits and pieces can be made into things, so long as they are the right bits and pieces.

[notmymccalling]

"Oh." Yes, that was a very eloquent answer. The teen realized just how unhelpful it was and offered a smile. "Okay, that sounds pretty cool. Are we talking like, an art project or something? Or are you a mechanic?" Because, wow. There are a plethora of different thingamajigs and trinkets littered about. It could easily be 'either', 'or', or 'neither'.

Scott really didn't have much experience with the closet yet. There seemed to be quite a bit going on in his life right now to tinker with one of the magic facets of this place. So he tucked that piece of information away for later consultation.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

[likesimpossible]

Very eloquent, yeah. But the Doctor's heard worse, so he doesn't let it bother him. "Art project? No, not that. Do I look like someone who works on art projects?" Don't answer that, Scott, really. "I'm not a mechanic, either." Though he does enough tinkering with things to pass for a sort of mechanic.

"See, the thing I really need is an ion accelerator, or at least an anti-gravity spiral, now that would be useful. But short of asking the closet for those and risking breaking said closet, that still leaves me with the problem of how to get those things."

If he could just find the right components (a bit unlikely, given the amount of junk in this room), then he might be able to build them, which is why he's searching in the first place.

[notmymccalling]

Scott opened his mouth, ready to answer the rhetorical question, not really sure if it was rhetorical or not, but the doctor continued, so he kept his comment to himself.

"I hate to sound negative, but I don't think you'll find anything that, uh... complex-sounding in here. But if you give me an idea of what they look like, I could help comb through this stuff with you. I have really sharp eyes." That was quite an understatement, but there was no need to go into detail about that. He could tap that much without losing control, after all. Right now, his emotions were calm and the environment seemed friendly enough.

"Can I ask what they're for? Just curious." He didn't know if he might be pushing his luck, being a bit too nosy, but he was interested. Even if he had no idea what an ion accelerator or a anti-gravity spiral was.

[likesimpossible]

"I'd be surprised if I did, honestly," the Doctor replies. "No, what I'm most looking for is bits of things that can be used to make other things." Yes, of course, the end result might come out appearing a bit crude, but beggars can hardly be choosers, particularly since the Doctor would rather have access to the closets as long as he can.

"Hold on a tic." He digs into his pockets and pulls out a notebook and a pen, and after a minute of scribbling, he shows Scott a rough rendering of an ion accelerator and an anti-gravity spiral. "Seems straightforward enough, doesn't it? Especially the anti-gravity spiral, which surprisingly isn't a spiral at all but a beam of light. It makes you wonder who gave it that name, doesn't it?"

Excuse the rapid-fire delivery. He's a bit excitable right now.

[manicuredangel]

Aziraphale, after having spent so much time in the library replacing and shelving the books in the library after the most recent fire caused by his demon boyfriend's mirror, noticed immediately that there were some books missing from the shelves. Now, this wasn't unusual, per se. People came and went in the library often enough that he found himself reshelving the library's contents far more often than he'd like. He had to keep reminding himself that the library of Wonderland was not his bookshop in Soho. These were not is books.

But still, he could not stop himself from looking around to see if the books were hidden about the library where they didn't belong. Perhaps on the wrong shelf or on a table or on a chair. Eventually he finds the stack of books in an odd corner along with, "Oh! Doctor! I didn't know there was someone else in here at this hour."

[likesimpossible]

It's a bit odd how the passage of time can mean everything to the Doctor, and yet nothing at the same time, at least not when it pertains to the things people do at certain times of the day. He's very much aware of the passage itself, down to the very last second, but in terms of things like sleeping and eating, he's not very good at remembering to do them.

Mostly because he doesn't really need them, at least not as much as a human would, so Aziraphale's comment doesn't surprise him too much. "It's a good time for something like this, but then again, I've found that any time is good for reading, whether it's in the morning or in the afternoon or very late at night."

[manicuredangel]

The angel smiled. There's nothing like spending time with another bibliophile. "Oh, yes. There's nothing like being drawn so completely into a book that you don't even notice the passage of time." Or the mold growing in the untouched mug of cocoa you'd made before starting the book.

He looks around. No, it's not his bookshop. But it will do. Still, he can't scare off the customers here. "What are you reading, if I might ask?"