dreaming of the stars // XYRAPHERIEL

[THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background-image:url(http://i52.tinypic.com/otj5sn.jpg); width: 390px; -moz-border-radius: 40px 0px 40px 0px; border-radius:40px 0px 40px 0px; opacity: 0.8; border-right: #a17700 15px solid; border-left: #a17700 15px solid;] » i shoot for the moon « » but i'm too busy gazing at stars « The Doctor stood in the TARDIS, leaning against the console. She'd never seemed so big before; there had always been someone else to smile and make everything so much smaller... So much simpler. Left to his own devices, he'd withdrawn into his thoughts rather than going out and having fun, and this was his reaction. He'd started to get bitter, irritated. Bored. He'd promised Amy that he'd look after himself. This wasn't looking after himself. This was letting himself stew in his thoughts -- which he'd never done before -- and stop having adventures. It had already been a week of just sitting around in the TARDIS... Why did he keep taking people along? Why did he just set himself up for failure like that? He couldn't protect everyone; he never could. Why did he still think that he had a chance? Rita had said it herself; it was a god complex. A god complex deals with feelings of inflated personal ability, privilege, or infallibility. The Doctor knew that he couldn't save everyone, he knew that he couldn't be perfect, but he tried anyway. Everywhere he went, someone died. And... he was sad. His heart broke for every life he let slip through his fingers, especially ones like Rita. Rita was brilliant, amazing, the type of person he'd want to take with him on his journeys. And she'd died. She'd died, and he hadn't been able to save her. Who would be next? Amy? Rory? River? He couldn't have let that go on. And so he left them. He saved them. He saved them from himself, from the danger they all knew found him at every turn. He'd wanted to see. He'd just wanted to see the universe. He never meant to become a warrior. What had happened? Why had he changed? What had changed? He wanted to be good. He'd always wanted to be good. How had he become this? River's voice echoed in his head, a verbal slap in the face as the words had slipped from her lips. "When you began all those years ago, sailing off to see the universe, did you ever think you'd become this?"

[/b] All superheroes had people who wanted them dead. The only problem with that theory was that the Doctor wasn't a superhero. He wasn't even a hero. He was just a mad man with a box, wanting to go off and see the universe, just to see it. Why did that have to be so hard? Why were there people that hurt others? He knew it was naive, but the one thing he truly wanted was for there to be no war, no violence, no killing. He just wanted the universe to be a peaceful place, where no one was evil and everyone was good and loving and selfless and... impossible. He knew it was naive, because it wasn't possible. There would always be evil. There would always be hatred, violence, killing. And that was why he existed. He was there to stop all of it. He'd started out as a scientist, wanting to see the universe so badly that he'd sabotage his own TARDIS to do so. Now... now he was a warrior. And if he had to be a warrior to protect the universe, protect the ones he cared about, he'd do it.

With renewed strength, the Doctor set out again, getting up from the bed he rarely used but had been laying in for the past week. He navigated the hexagonal TARDIS corridors, knowing the path to the console room by heart. He knew where most of the rooms were, but there were some he still didn't know about. One of these days, he'd just go exploring. He kept saying that he would, but he hadn't just yet. He'd just been so busy with adventure after adventure with the Ponds and everyone else... His hearts swelled with sadness again, and he forced the memories of Amy and Rory back down. He couldn't think about them. He couldn't... It hurt too much to. He missed them so badly that he'd cried in the TARDIS after leaving them behind, the start of this malaise. As much comfort as River had been, it still hadn't stopped the sadness in his hearts. He stepped into the console room and smiled, going up to the console and stroking the controls. "I'm back, dear." he whispered to her, his voice hoarse from not using it for a week. She hummed with pleasure at his words, revving the engines as she tried to contain her impatience. She'd been waiting for a week, after all, most likely she was bored. "You know where to go better than I do." he said, clearing his throat to try and get his voice back. "Lead on!" She didn't hesitate, zooming off into the vortex with such speed that he was nearly upended.

She shuddered as she landed, the final thrum of the brakes wheezing echoing through the console room. The Doctor popped to his feet, grinning like a madman as he ran to the door. What would be out there? Would it be the icefalls of Ipheron? The swirling spires of the Andalicht Empire? He couldn't wait to see. He opened the doors and his grin grew wider as he stepped out into a busy street, recognizing it as Victorian England. The best part wasn't even all the people bustling around him: it was snowing. He'd always been fascinated by snow, as it had always been different on Gallifrey. He'd never been let outside the Citadel, and so he'd never had the chance to play in the snow outside while it was there. The binary star system that the planet orbited would burn through the snow quite quickly as they rose, and by the time they were overhead, the snow would all be gone, either evaporated or sunk into the ground as water. And as such, the Doctor had never fully experienced snow. He still had yet to jump in it or play in it, seeing as how whenever he'd wanted to just put everything on hold and have a romp in the snow, he couldn't. However... As he rounded a corner, he could see the end of the town, and beyond there was an entire plain of still, undisturbed snow. He quickly walked through the town and emerged beyond the houses to realize that the plain was truly undisturbed, and it went on for as far as the eye could see.

He had it all to himself. Perfect.

[/div]

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» is it bad that i kind of got a high off of writing this? «

tagged » - - - - - - xyrapheriel
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[xyrapheriel]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] repair your broken wings The time has come to remember how to fly Xyrapheriel had spent so much time observing the Doctor that he had almost come to forget the reason why he had started doing so. He had become the man's closest shadow, a silent companion never seen by the Doctor or those who accompanied him, but always there all the same. The TARDIS knew of Xyrapheriel, as more often than not he would arrive beside her shortly after the Doctor and his friends had left her behind to go on their adventures. The TARDIS was the best way of tracking the Doctor, as she left a very unique signature in the fabric of time. She also had an undeniable life force, which Xyrapheriel found himself frequently acquainted with whenever she saw fit to play a game with her thief's solemn shadow. Now and then she would stop suddenly, or merely cloak herself, causing Xyrapheriel to bump into her directly and forcing him to hide very, very quickly. Every time this happened, he suspected it was the TARDIS urging him to stop following and simply join the crew, but every time he hit her his heart sped up in panic at being discovered by the Doctor and he fled her teasing invitation. It was not as though he meant the Doctor any harm - in fact he suspected if that were the case, the TARDIS herself would have found some way of revealing him - so much as it was an intense case of insecurity and fear. He had sought the Doctor out in order to find a way of convincing himself to continue his own existence. To remind himself why the universe was worth saving. The Doctor suffered immensely, but he never gave up, which was something both awe inspiring and confusing. Yet there was one thing the Doctor always had, that Xyrapheriel suspected granted him the strength to carry on. The concept of a companion was alien to Xyrapheriel, despite the fact he had literally been created to be someone's companion. Or perhaps it was because of how he had been created that the idea was so unusual to him. That, or the thousands of years entirely on his own. Either way the fact remained that the Doctor always had at least one said person with him. At least one other person to help him carry on. This was a truth of the Doctor - a truth that was now being fearfully denied. Having watched the Doctor as long as he had, Xyrapheriel recognized the signs of the man's depression and felt concern the moment he set up a home for Amy Pond and Rory Williams. He did not want to believe it, but when the Doctor left them behind Xyrapheriel knew things had gotten too dark for the Doctor, and it was then that Xyrapheriel realized he could no longer hide himself. He understood something suddenly - but there was a problem. He could hardly enter the TARDIS without arousing the Doctor's suspicions, and the last thing he wanted was to fully explain himself on their first official meeting. Of course, there was the option of suggesting he was a future version of the Doctor himself, but Xyrapheriel was not at all fond of the idea. As much as he hated the thought of revealing himself on their first meeting, the thought of starting anything with betrayal was absolutely abhorrent to Xyrapheriel. Xyrapheriel realized betrayal was perhaps not the word he was looking for as he thought it all through. Lies - that was it. A relationship started from lies was not something he wanted between himself and the Doctor. Though perhaps lies and betrayal were one and the same, for lies were an active part of betrayal and were in fact the basis of it. Regardless of the linguistics, Xyrapheriel knew that claiming to be an older version of the Doctor was simply not an option. So, Xyrapheriel intended to approach him on the first place he landed, though the TARDIS seemed to have other - and perhaps better - ideas. Leaving the Doctor to the capable hands of River Song, Xyrapheriel had anticipated a quick rebound. If anyone could cure the Doctor of his melancholy, surely it would be River. Yet a week of terrifyingly silent TARDIS later, and concern had faded much closer to panic. All his plans to not enter the TARDIS were starting to frazzle incredibly at the edges, as he swore to himself that if the Doctor did not emerge within a given time frame, he would go in. Then when said frame was passed, Xyrapheriel would extend it a few hours, a day, until finally his will solidified. If the Doctor wasn't out within the next twelve hours - a full, complete week - then Xyrapheriel was going in. As though hearing his sudden resolve to break in (For he'd made his vow out loud), the TARDIS took that moment to hum back to life, causing the floating-much-too-close Xyrapheriel to hop out of her timestream as surely as a startled rabbit would hop into a hole. He hadn't expected a response to his verbally spoken promise, but he got one. Huffing to himself, Xyrapheriel did a search for the TARDIS' signature and followed her bemusedly to Victorian London. Arriving shortly after the Doctor, Xyrapheriel gently brushed his fingers along the TARDIS' side as he stepped behind the Gallifreyan, pausing as he noted the stance. The Doctor was looking out at the open country, and at first Xyrapheriel did not understand why, until the flakes drifting past his face and clinging to his hair finally registered. Victorian London in the middle of winter. Of course - a handful of the Doctor's favorite things in one little comfort package to cheer him up, dutifully delivered by a loving TARDIS. Smiling softly, Xyrapheriel allowed his hand to drop, his fingers trailing away from the blue box with whom he was far better acquainted with than the man he approached behind now. The sadness of the Doctor pained him - he had watched the man for too long to not sympathize, had been protective too long to not be concerned. Abandoning his own fears for the sake of giving the Doctor what he needed most in this quiet, lonely hour, the man formerly known as Project 13 stood beside the Doctor and gazed out at the snow in a companionable silence that seemed out of place for two men who were just now meeting face to face, not that Xyrapheriel understood that if truth were told. "It's a beautiful night out," Xyrapheriel offered mildly, tilting his eyes skyward just a touch and remembering at the barest second not to refer to the Doctor as the Doctor just yet. "Do you know there are tribes of people with nearly a hundred names for snow?" He asked, referring easily to his old Arctic friends, the Inuks, though he could just as easily have been referring to aliens. Not that the Doctor knew that just yet, either. Still, Xyrapheriel felt it a clever opening, considering the Gallifreyan language had so many words for time, and the Doctor did enjoy learning new things. Though when it came to Earth, Xyrapheriel wondered if there was anything he did not already know first hand. Sorry its so late love!

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by maroon 5

[THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background-image:url(http://i52.tinypic.com/otj5sn.jpg); width: 390px; -moz-border-radius: 40px 0px 40px 0px; border-radius:40px 0px 40px 0px; opacity: 0.8; border-right: #a17700 15px solid; border-left: #a17700 15px solid;] » i shoot for the moon « » but i'm too busy gazing at stars « The Doctor looked up as the voice startled him out of his reverie, his gaze falling on a rather... odd looking young man. He looked out of place for Victorian London, and especially in the snow. Of course, he himself looked out of place, but he always did, and no one questioned him. "It is a beautiful night..." he replied, his voice a bit soft as he brushed the snow from his coat. The Doctor's normal interactions with people were rather... different than this. Most of the time, he was the one talking to people, rather than them talking to him. He always was the one to start the conversation, most likely with some form of "Hello, I'm the Doctor." and asking about whatever kind of disturbance he'd heard about. Now, however, this young man had snuck up on him -- something rather hard to do, even when the Doctor was rather preoccupied with the snow -- and had instigated the conversation, which was a rather... odd one, at that. It was... normal. Human normal, not Doctor-normal. Doctor-normal was running about, sexy fish vampires and blowing things up. Human normal was just boring. "I know over a hundred words for snow." he added, wondering just what this guy was thinking, bringing up the fact that there was a tribe of people that had a hundred names for snow. He knew over five billion languages; he knew at the very least five billion words for snow. Of course, he knew that there were some languages he knew that the native speakers didn't have a word for snow, just like the people of the Gamma Forests don't have a word for pond, but the many words in other languages made up for them. There was something very odd and different about this person. His eyes were old and young at the same time, a conundrum that even the Doctor couldn't piece together. Before he really had a chance to study him, a scream and gunfire echoed from the town they stood outside. He immediately stood up and started running, calling back at the boy. "Sorry, that's my cue. Got to run!" There was trouble in Victorian London. He knew there was a reason the TARDIS had taken him here that had nothing to do with the snow. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ » notes « tagged » - - - - - - xyrapheriel 385 - - - - - « words lyrics » - - - - - - eminem elevenie - - - - - - « credit

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[xyrapheriel]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] repair your broken wings The time has come to remember how to fly When the Doctor slowly straightened, brushing the snow from his coat and speaking in an unusually soft voice, Xyrapheriel silently acknowledged his first mistake. The Doctor was never approached by strangers - it was always the other way around. More than that, one did not sneak up on the Doctor either. Of course, Xyrapheriel had not intentionally crept up behind the Gallifreyan. His silent footsteps were both a natural part of him as well as the result of many years of training and an unconscious practice that had made the silence permanent. Awarding the Doctor a somewhat reassuring smile that was the closest to an apology he could get without openly acknowledging the fact he knew he had unnerved the man, Xyrapheriel slid his hands into his coat pockets as the chill of the air began to register against the flesh nerves. Confronted by a somewhat defensive Doctor set away from his usual comfort zones, Xyrapheriel began to think of a way to mitigate the situation. He could tell from the unimpressed and somewhat curt response that the Doctor had as much an idea what to do as Xyrapheriel himself did - which was to say, none at all. Before he could respond to the Time Lord who was now giving him the very same odd looks he had hoped to avoid to begin with, the sounds of terror reached them. As the Doctor rushed off, Xyrapheriel looked back toward the TARDIS and shook his head in amusement. "You just think of everything, don't you?" he asked of the blue box, who had gone well beyond bringing the Doctor to a comfortable place that could potentially ease some of his grief. No, never something so simple for TARDIS and the Doctor. She had picked a place in peril which would distract the Doctor sufficiently, and grant Xyrapheriel the best possible way of joining forces with the man: An opportunity to prove himself. Using an old Chronyvaesthical trick, Xyrapheriel moved ahead of the Doctor toward the sounds of screams and guns. It was rather similar to running at extreme speed, though not like that at all. His physical presence was mostly in the timestream itself, with only the faintest afterimage - the dimmest shadow - of himself upon the land. To Xyrapheriel's point of view, he was walking placidly in the right direction as the world sped by. To anyone who blinked, he was a blur that passed in the peripheral vision, exceptionally easy to dismiss. In this manner he was capable of ensuring two things. First, it allowed Xyrapheriel the luxury of examining the situation before leaping into it, as there was always a few moments of pause between phasing from stream travel to solidity once again. Secondly, it ensured Xyrapheriel arrived before the Doctor did, which would hopefully both intrigue him and indicate that Xyrapheriel was a bit more than your average companion, but not be so suspicious that the Doctor would be too on edge to consider Xyrapheriel as companionable materiel. When he had decided to go from comforting the Doctor to being his companion, Xyrapheriel was not entirely sure, though he suspected it was around the moment he decided he wasn't going to wait any longer for the moping Time Lord to leave his TARDIS. Still, a part of him was certain that comfort and companionship, for the Doctor, were one and the same in any case. Eying the scene before him, Xyrapheriel wrinkled his nose in silent distaste. He had no more love for the Sontarans than the Doctor did - in truth he probably had less. Their warlike natures were an irritant to Xyrapheriel, an echo of Nezzareth that was far from comfortable. They had codes of living their war-like ways, which did nothing to redeem them in Xyrapheriel's eyes. The Nezzarian Empire had codes too, after all. Still, Xyrapheriel recognized an oddity when he saw one, and these Sontaran's certainly fit the bill for odd. There was no war here in Victorian England, no reason for the carnage and destruction the forgotten project was now bearing witness to. Eyes narrowing, Xyrapheriel flared his nostrils angrily as one of them turned his weapon on a young boy, surely no older than eight. Using the last few moments of his time lapse to move in behind the Sontaran, Xyrapheriel solidified in time to land a punishing kick to the probic vent. As the child ducked for cover in a motion that would have been too late to spare him, the Sontaran's legs buckled and he fell with Xyrapheriel posed rather guiltily behind him as the Doctor showed up. Second first impression, ruined. The Doctor's first response was never violence. Had he thought of that, Xyrapheriel would have just bodily shielded the child. Then again, surviving such a shot was something Xyrapheriel didn't want to explain. Though of course, he would have to explain how he arrived on the scene before the Doctor - which he had counted on, just not quite so soon. Not that any of that mattered currently, seeing as there was more than one odd Sontarsn on the loose. The fact they were attacking peaceful Victorian London grated something on Xyrapheriel, something that said this was wrong, all wrong, and it had to be stopped. "Doctor, three o'clock!" Xyrapheriel voiced sharply, pointing in the direction of the Sontaran taking aim directly to the Doctor's left. He was too concerned about keeping the man from getting shot to care about the fact he was consistently digging his hole deeper. Not to mention the Sontaran heading his way. As he wasn't sure how to even begin negotiating with broken Sontaran's, Xyrapheriel opted for a quick trip behind an overturned carriage. Using it as a shield, he crept around to the edge to check on the Doctor's progress. If you want anything changed, let me know. I can honestly say this is the first time I've loved writing something and been terrified to post it. So let me know if you hate it or need it edited.

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by maroon 5

[THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background-image:url(http://i52.tinypic.com/otj5sn.jpg); width: 390px; -moz-border-radius: 40px 0px 40px 0px; border-radius:40px 0px 40px 0px; opacity: 0.8; border-right: #a17700 15px solid; border-left: #a17700 15px solid;] » i shoot for the moon « » but i'm too busy gazing at stars « As the Doctor ran, he couldn't help but try to figure out what was going on. Was it alien? Usually it was, which was why he needed to be there. No one else knew how to deal with alien threats, as humans tended to go in guns blazing and think that everything would be resolved if their enemy was dead. Which, yes, was a viable reasoning, but it wasn't something he particularly liked. Nonviolence was always the best thing, though sometimes that didn't work. He thought about all the times he'd had to hurt people, had to kill people, in order to keep the majority safe. It hurt him, it really did... but it was for the greater good, right? Sacrifices had to be made in order to keep people safe. He thought of Amy, of Rory, of all the companions he'd had and lost. If one of the sacrifices was his mental and emotional well being... then so be it. A protector had to be selfless; they couldn't be worried about their own safety, their own health. If they had to be hurt in order to save people, then that was the price they had to pay. The price he had to pay. He came upon the scene where the screaming had come from, and immediately, he was on his guard. The man from earlier was protecting a child from a Sontaran, kicking the clone in the probic vent and knocking it out. It was good that he was protecting the child, but the violence wasn't something he was too fond of. His brain kicked into overdrive, trying to figure out what was going on in this situation. Sontarans in Victorian England. There was no war here, nothing the proud warriors of Sontar would want to associate themselves with. They were attacking everyone, not just men, which is something that Sontarans didn't normally do. Nothing made sense. Sontarans were a proud, militaristic race. Their beliefs glorified battle, war, and killing, and diminished anything else. Things like diplomacy and peace were lost on them, but even they had morals, twisted as they were. Fit men who could fight were the ones worthy of killing, not women and children. Where there was war was the place to be, not a peaceful, primitive time like Victorian England. These Sontarans were brutal to the point of psychopathy, which meant that something was wrong. Had something happened to the Sontarans' cloning mechanism? Or had this been simply a one off mutation? Whatever it was, he didn't know, and he probably would never know. He was broken out of his deductions by the man shouting at him. Before he could register the fact that the man had called him out by name -- or the name he chose to call himself, rather -- he saw the Sontaran taking aim at him on his left. He dove out of the way of the shot, taking cover in a doorway. This wouldn't give him too much longer, seeing as how the Sontaran had seen where he'd gone. He quickly ducked through the door, found the stairs, and ran up them two at a time, getting to the first floor. He looked out the window and positioned himself, not even bothering to open it; he didn't have time. The Sontaran was moving slowly, cautiously below him, and he needed to hurry. He knew that the only way he'd be able to do this was to surprise it, and what better way to do that than from above? Even though violence was something he didn't particularly like, in this situation it was their only hope of getting out alive. These Sontarans were brutal psychopaths, having deemed humans as prey. They wouldn't stop killing until they themselves were killed, and so, as much as he hated it, they needed to be stopped. The Doctor ran forward, bracing himself and breaking through the window. A few of the shards caught his exposed skin, slicing through his face and the top of his hands as he fell. He landed directly on top of the Sontaran, hitting the probic vent with his foot on the way down and using it as a cushion to minimize further damage. However, the impact did send him crashing to the ground, landing in the broken glass with a thud. The good thing was that his coat and pants had protected him from most of the glass, but his unprotected skin had taken a bit of a beating: his hands had quite a few cuts on them, most of them shallow and easy to heal, but his face had taken the worst of it. His right cheek had been sliced pretty badly, starting at an inch from his ear to about the bottom of his cheekbone, and there was another one above his left eye, diagonally from his hairline to just below his temple. They were both bleeding, but not too badly; however, his red-orange blood wasn't human, and people would be scared of him and probably not listen to him. Not good. The last Sontaran had heard the crash, seen his friend go down, and was aiming his gun at the Doctor. Extremely very not good. He started evasive maneuvers, not in the mood to get shot today, and as the Sontaran tried to shoot him down, he was just getting closer. When he got close enough, he grappled with the Sontaran for the gun, succeeding after a few tense seconds, and managed to whack the Sontaran in the probic vent with it. As the Sontaran went down, he discharged the weapon pack, taking the magazine out of the gun and giving a bit of a sigh. He needed to figure out whether or not there were more Sontarans in the area, and how to get them somewhere they couldn't hurt anyone. Though, while the Sontarans were unconscious, he could figure out how the man from earlier knew him, knew how to defeat a Sontaran, and how he'd gotten there before the Doctor himself had. "Alright then." he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "First thing's first, but not necessarily in that order." He went up to the man and gave him a once over, then frowned contemplatively. "How do you know me?" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ » hopefully this makes up for my shittastic last post « tagged » - - - - - - xyrapheriel 1,048 - - - - - « words lyrics » - - - - - - eminem elevenie - - - - - - « credit

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[xyrapheriel]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] repair your broken wings The time has come to remember how to fly Crouched behind the upturned carriage, Xyrapheriel watched as the Doctor disappeared into the building he had used for cover and let out a sigh of relief that was short lived. He still had two other Sontarans to contend with, and while that wasn't exactly difficult by any stretch, he was highly limited by the fact he had no intentions of giving away his utter inhumanity to the Doctor. He was an alien, yes - one that could time travel and had an interest in keeping Earth safe - but there was no need to admit to, or reveal, anything beyond that. Taking out the Sontarans would be easy if he did not have to account for that, and the Doctor's distaste in violence. As Xyrapheriel was attempting to work out a way to handle this with limited violence and obvious abnormal nature, there was a sound that made his heart freeze even as his head shot up to see the Doctor falling from above, shards of glass cascading around the slender form and catching the sunlight with sinister glints. Landing with a surprising precision upon the unsuspecting Sontaran's probic vent, the Doctor failed to catch himself past that point, and Xyrapheriel watched in horror as the Gallifreyan slammed to the ground amid the field of broken glass. Things happened quickly then, as Xyrapheriel abandoned his shield in order to rush to the Doctor's side, even as the Doctor himself rose to his feet and ran straight for the last Sontaran. Digging his heel into the ground, Xyrapheriel pivoted around and followed, dodging shots by instinct, his eyes entirely on the Doctor. By the time he reached the man, the Sontaran was disarmed and knocked out in the moment Xyrapheriel stopped running. He watched silently as the Doctor spoke outloud to himself and clapped his hands together, before turning around and approaching him, which Xyrapheriel admitted to himself was the next logical move now that the Sontaran's were momentarily neutralized. Standing still, Xyrapheriel allowed the once over and thanked his long vanquished creators for infusing him with the blood of shapeshifters. He knew very well what he looked like, having perfected the look over a thousand years ago. There was nothing remarkable about him - he had made certain of that. His hair was an unremarkable tawny brown, his eyes a slightly darker shade of the same color. He had pale skin - common among humans, incredibly so - and though a bit tall and a bit to thin, he dressed with enough natural and neutral tones combined with carefully tailored clothes to hide those discrepancies. Discrepancies, he had learned over time, were what made people normal, which was part of his reason for having the two subtle ones he did. Everything about him was crafted with perception in mind; he knew what attracted attention and avoided all those factors, choosing what drew the least interest and then combining it for the ultimate disguise. A face so plain it was easily forgotten allowed him considerable liberties, especially when he kept his head down - which, unlike the Gallifreyan before him, Xyrapheriel tended to do quite well. To the Doctor though, Xyrapheriel expected he looked quite different. Oh, his physical appearance would be the same for the Doctor - shapeshifting was on a biological rather than a psychic level - but the simple fact he was clothed in 21st century Earth wear, had arrived on the scene before him and kicked down a Sontaran would be remarkable enough to overcome the otherwise forgettable features. Thinning his lips slightly, Xyrapheriel knew his answer to the Doctor's question could make or break a relationship that had yet to start. Yet for all his foot-in-mouth syndrome thus far, the Project was not created to be a fool and with how much he had lived since the moment of awakening, outright stupidity simply wasn't an option. "You are the Doctor," Xyrapheriel stated simply, raising his brow as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Any time traveler worth their salt knows who you are." His voice was soft and cultured, carrying with it a soothing quality that Xyrapheriel had never bothered to mask. Had he known his voice could also be considered remarkable, even that would have been a lie, but it fell into the category of oversights that made the Project so unique against his every intention. Stepping forward, Xyrapheriel reached out and touched his handkerchief to the Doctor's bleeding cheek. To him, the motion was incredibly practical and had an infinite amount of logic behind it, the least of which being that orange blood would be as alarming to Victorian London as the Sontarans themselves. Far more important than hiding the unusual mark, was the fact the Doctor was bleeding and was too distracted to care about it. "I don't know a great deal about Sontarans, but what I do know tells me that everything here is wrong." Lowering his hand from the Doctor's cheek, Xyrapheriel held out the handkerchief and indicated the man's hands with a nod. "Jumping out of that window was stupid," he stated bluntly. Torn as he was between concern for the Doctor and determination not to ruin their first meeting, the statement had to be made, for the sake of the heart that had nearly gone on strike watching the idiot Time Lord pull such a stunt. Gravity defying, Time Lords were not. "You should have allowed me time to handle it. You're going to have a hard time now if you don't cover that up." He knew better than to appear personally worried about the Doctor - that would give away too much, and somehow Xyrapheriel didn't think their first time meeting would be the best time to tell him that Xyrapheriel had been following him for ages. Looking around them in case the Sontarans were stirring, or that they had reinforcements on the way, Xyrapheriel turned back to the Doctor with a slight frown. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but considering what just took place, don't you think its a bit quiet?" This was reallyfunto write. XD

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by maroon 5

[THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background-image:url(http://i52.tinypic.com/otj5sn.jpg); width: 390px; -moz-border-radius: 40px 0px 40px 0px; border-radius:40px 0px 40px 0px; opacity: 0.8; border-right: #a17700 15px solid; border-left: #a17700 15px solid;] » i shoot for the moon « » but i'm too busy gazing at stars « The Doctor frowned. "How do you know who I am?" he asked again, elaborating this time. "I don't always look the same." It wasn't that he was suspicious -- okay, he was suspicious, but that's besides the point -- his main intention right now was to figure out what this person wanted. Was he a good guy? A friend? Or was he someone that wished him harm? He was definitely out of his time, judging by the clothes, either really fast or possessing some sort of teleportation skill, from the fact that he'd arrived on the scene before the Doctor himself had, but was also a good person, from the fact that he'd taken out a Sontaran that was going to hurt a child, had warned the Doctor about a Sontaran that was going to shoot him, and had deliberately put himself in the line of fire while trying to see if the Doctor was alright. Hmm. All the signs pointed towards a fellow, good time traveler. Above all, he'd really like to believe that; people had been trying to kill him way too much lately, with the Silence and their crap. The man stepped forward and raised a handkerchief to the Doctor's bleeding cheek, something he'd barely even noticed before the man had pointed it out. Of course, it hurt, and he could feel the blood on his cheek, but that wasn't the main issue here. One, there were brutal, psychopathic Sontarans on the loose in Victorian England. Two, there was a rather strange man, possible time traveler, seemingly willing to help him out and possessing some knowledge of who the Doctor was. Three, people were going to die if he didn't concentrate and fix the situation. "Sontaran culture glorifies war and killing," the Doctor started to explain, "but they have a strict moral code that basically states that Sontarans don't kill people outside of some sort of war or combat zone. These Sontarans are targeting innocents that aren't even participating in any war, much less a war that the warriors of Sontar should be involved in." The Sontarans had been in a war with the Rutan Host for millions of years, and most of their efforts and manpower have been focused on the war. Why would there be random Sontarans killing people in Victorian England, of all places? "This is wrong. This is so wrong." His words came tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he paced back and forth in the snow covered street. "The Sontaran Empire has been engaged in a war with the Rutan Host that has gone on for millions of years; all of their resources and manpower should be focused on winning the war. Why are there Sontarans here, where there's no war, no fighting, in a time of peace?" It just didn't make sense. The man held out the handkerchief for him to take, and he quickly wiped up the blood on his cheeks. "Yes, I realize that it was stupid," he replied, his words a bit more curt and short than he'd wanted, "but it worked, didn't it? I'm not hurt, the Sontaran's unconscious, and they'll be off on some planet where they can't hurt anyone else soon." He tried picking up one of the Sontarans and nearly collapsed under the clone's weight. Oh dear. Not good. How was he supposed to get them to the TARDIS? He couldn't just leave them alone while he ran back to the TARDIS and brought it here; they'd wake up and run off. He couldn't carry them one at a time; he couldn't carry them at all, for one, and the other ones would wake up and run away. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't entirely trust the one who'd helped him; the Doctor couldn't tell who he was or what he wanted just yet, and something was definitely wrong. Not with him, necessarily, but with what he was saying, his body language, the way he was coming off... It wasn't anything he'd ever seen before, and thus, it was strange. It was then that the other man's words registered in his head, and he frowned. "Oh, yes, of course." he said, somewhere between exasperated and sarcastic. "Let the human time traveler with nearly no knowledge of Sontarans go up against them without me?" The Doctor scoffed to himself. "If you know anything about me, it's that there's no way I'm going to let people get hurt or die for me." It was true. All the ones who had died for him still lived on inside his hearts, and he carried their memories along with him so that he would be able to save the ones he could... and eventually let go of the ones he couldn't. There would be times when he couldn't save everyone, but that wasn't an issue. He saved the ones he could, and they were alive. He couldn't focus on the ones he couldn't save, because they would just weigh him down. They would keep him from saving the ones who needed him now, as he was still stuck in the past. He'd just recently found the courage to look back, but at the same time, let go of the past. There are things that he'll never be able to change, like Gallifrey, Adric, the Master, Rose, and Donna, but he'd never stop trying to help people. "It'll heal soon enough; I'm not as fragile as one would think." He waved off the other's concern with the knowledge that Time Lords healed quite a bit faster than other beings. "Of course it's quiet. People nearly got killed on the street? They want to stay inside and not get killed themselves." he said, like it was common knowledge. "Of course, the absence of screaming makes things quiet." And with that, he was still stuck with a bit of a problem. Go around trying to find the source of the problem, or keep watch over these Sontarans and make sure they didn't kill anyone else? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ » things just don't add up, both with Xyra and the Sontarans, and the Doctor's not happy. « tagged » - - - - - - xyrapheriel 1,008 - - - - - « words lyrics » - - - - - - eminem elevenie - - - - - - « credit

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[xyrapheriel]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-color: #000000; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #23819C solid; border-bottom: 10px #23819C solid;] repair your broken wings The time has come to remember how to fly As the Doctor requested clarification, Xyrapheriel thinned his lips in the unfortunate realization that like it or not, he was going to have to reveal a few things if he didn't want this entire meeting to go something along the lines of the Spanish inquisition - which wasn't even fun to read about, let alone face from the Doctor. That said, there was no time to go into detail and luckily, there was something that could hopefully buy him a little bit of time. "No you don't, but then that's Time Lords for you," Xyrapheriel stated in his serene tones, "The TARDIS, on the other hand, is fairly recognizable and has been documented across the galaxy and particularly on Earth. As such, new face or not, it is fairly easy to assume that a slightly out of place man with a big blue box is most likely the Doctor." Stepping back from the Doctor, Xyrapheriel surveyed the fallen Sontarans with a critical eye. "I thought there was something wrong with them," he mused, recalling his readings on but one of many races with whom the Doctor was enemies. "Though I'll confess I had greater concerns upon the moment than assessing just what was broken." Which was true, really. He'd known from the beginning something was off, but between children and Doctors, there'd been little time to assess much of anything. Glancing back at the Doctor when he found himself faced with the sharper end of the man's tongue, Xyrapheriel watched impassively as the man tried to pick one of them up. Taking in their considerable weight even without their armor, it didn't take much to realize that carrying them simply wasn't going to be an option for the lithe Gallifreyan. Seemingly coming to this realization himself, the Doctor abandoned his efforts and seemed lost in thought before once again turning his more sarcastic side onto Xyrapheriel. Before he could even think, Xyrapheriel's customary response to anyone calling him human slipped out before he could stop himself. "Hardly human. Partially, at best, and that's stretching things. Whatever I am, I can promise you human is but a small ingredient." Realizing it was a little late to stop himself, Xyrapheriel continued on, his words very soft. With his voice being as calming and smooth as it already was, the lowered tones made his words almost too quiet. "My appearance is deceptively human, so I can understand the initial assumption. You'll have to forgive my concern, Doctor, as I'm afraid I cannot yet explain how it is I know you. That said," he added, his tone shifting from the low to his more usual tenor, "I did know precisely how to take out a Sontaran when needed, so I would hardly say I have no knowledge of them. I may not fight them actively, but I've seen them in action enough times to understand how wrong this all is just as well as you." There was absolutely no trace of arrogance in his voice, or even a hint of insult in the face of the Doctor's lack of faith in his abilities. After all, Xyrapheriel had followed the Doctor long enough to know very well that the man would not tolerate having people get hurt or die for him, so he also realized that at first meet, the Doctor would have no way of knowing what Xyrapheriel was capable of. Shaking his head a bit, Xyrapheriel looked around again before pointing out the unfortunately obvious. "That may be so when the fighting is taking place, but not after. I've watched humans for - " he stopped himself from saying even longer than you, Doctor, and carried on smoothly with, "- a very long time. When bad things happen, there's always spectators. Sometimes even while its happening, but always after. They have an insatiable sense of morbid curiosity combined with a need to know the worst is over - so why is it that nobody is watching? Not even in the windows. There's quiet, and then there's simply something wrong." Not waiting for the Doctor to reply, Xyrapheriel strode up to the farthest of the Sontarans and knelt to check on him, ensuring that he was unconscious even as his eyes flicked up and scanned the area around him under the pretext of checking on the fallen alien. There was something very unusual about the lack of spectators - and that combined with these unusual Sontarans left Xyrapheriel feeling distinctly on edge. Something needed to be done to ensure the Sontarans stayed unconscious while he looked into it. r most likely, as the Doctor looked into it and he tagged along in full view, ready to step in when needed. Holding up his hand, Xyrapheriel considered a light dose of toxins into their bloodstream - enough to keep them down but not enough to permanently harm them - before he rose again and shook his head. He couldn't utilize any of his abilities like that, not with the Doctor watching and wondering. Furthermore, he probably would not approve of the method. Which left Xyrapheriel facing the fact he was going to have to ask the Doctor to do something he probably didn't want to do. Trust him. Turning away from the Sontaran, Xyrapheriel strode up to the Doctor again and spoke as efficiently as possible in the hopes that being brisk might spur the man into action even if he didn't fully trust the situation at hand. Pointing out the very thing that the Doctor himself have been mulling over, Xyrapheriel did what he could to make it clear they did not have a lot of time before the Sontaran's came to, and they needed to be properly subdued. Since they could not be carried to the TARDIS, that left one option. "You're going to have to bring the TARDIS to the square if there is any hope of getting the Sontarans onto it and properly attended to before they wake up and go back to what they were doing earlier. If they start to stir while you're gone, I can keep them under. I trust that you'll be swift," he added, hoping that the implication of trust in the Doctor combined with logic toward the matter would be enough for the Gallifreyan to go and do what needed to be done, even if it meant leaving behind an enigma of sorts. Let me know if you need anything changed!

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0