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Rebel Doctor, Regeneration Episode
Fandom: Doctor Who (AU with Alternate Doctor)
Rating: ...PG?
DISCLAIMER: I own a sonic screwdriver. And a Weeping Angel who's currently chained up. And a Dalek that's currently on Angel-Watching duty. But I don't own the concepts; I just bought the items from licensed retailers.
He stumbled into something that resembled a Victorian horror setting.
Mist rose up from somewhere unspecified in the floor-which, like the other fixtures, was a deep black, intricately carved iron grating. In the middle was some of the most obvious alien equipment he'd ever seen-a tall, vertical column of glass with a glowing ball of light of energy in the centre. A hexagon around the column held the other equipment, mostly constituting a variety of switches, knobs, dials, and buttons that his fingers immediately twitched at, wanting to touch. He wouldn't have been surprised to see a lamp post somewhere. Carved railing, with delicately detailed wolves panting out at him with hungry smiles, encircled the equipment.
He couldn't see walls, or a ceiling even for that matter. On the edges of his perception, there was only The Door and a vague ending to it all...somewhere. How this all could fit inside a tree, he had no idea. Perhaps he was hallucinating.
As if in a dream, he walked to the console. His only thought was to get away, to run and keep on running, to escape this dreadful nightmare. He didn't want to be here, in this...thing. But a part of him, as much as he hated it, recognized this as safe, as home. A part of him he couldn't even name or put a finger on.
His fingers gently reached out, almost shyly feeling the buttons, unwilling to press one, unaware of what they would do. He heard some sound in the back of his mind, but dismissed it. As if possessed, his hands began moving over the buttons, levers, cautiously pulling one, energetically hitting another for all he was worth. His feet joined in the dance, twirling him around the console gleefully, ignoring his brain's startled protests. He felt himself being jerked around like a puppet, barely in control of his actions-and yet, some part of him felt that he was not out of control, that, in fact, his body was doing this under some orders of his deep psyche that the rest hadn't managed to explain yet. The thought of some hidden part of himself dictating his actions only disturbed him more, but his mind didn't have time to stage a protest, as some part of him broke and was whisked away into the wind. He crumpled without a sound.
Fandom: Doctor Who (AU with Alternate Doctor)
Rating: ...PG?
DISCLAIMER: I own a sonic screwdriver. And a Weeping Angel who's currently chained up. And a Dalek that's currently on Angel-Watching duty. But I don't own the concepts; I just bought the items from licensed retailers.
He stumbled into something that resembled a Victorian horror setting.
Mist rose up from somewhere unspecified in the floor-which, like the other fixtures, was a deep black, intricately carved iron grating. In the middle was some of the most obvious alien equipment he'd ever seen-a tall, vertical column of glass with a glowing ball of light of energy in the centre. A hexagon around the column held the other equipment, mostly constituting a variety of switches, knobs, dials, and buttons that his fingers immediately twitched at, wanting to touch. He wouldn't have been surprised to see a lamp post somewhere. Carved railing, with delicately detailed wolves panting out at him with hungry smiles, encircled the equipment.
He couldn't see walls, or a ceiling even for that matter. On the edges of his perception, there was only The Door and a vague ending to it all...somewhere. How this all could fit inside a tree, he had no idea. Perhaps he was hallucinating.
As if in a dream, he walked to the console. His only thought was to get away, to run and keep on running, to escape this dreadful nightmare. He didn't want to be here, in this...thing. But a part of him, as much as he hated it, recognized this as safe, as home. A part of him he couldn't even name or put a finger on.
His fingers gently reached out, almost shyly feeling the buttons, unwilling to press one, unaware of what they would do. He heard some sound in the back of his mind, but dismissed it. As if possessed, his hands began moving over the buttons, levers, cautiously pulling one, energetically hitting another for all he was worth. His feet joined in the dance, twirling him around the console gleefully, ignoring his brain's startled protests. He felt himself being jerked around like a puppet, barely in control of his actions-and yet, some part of him felt that he was not out of control, that, in fact, his body was doing this under some orders of his deep psyche that the rest hadn't managed to explain yet. The thought of some hidden part of himself dictating his actions only disturbed him more, but his mind didn't have time to stage a protest, as some part of him broke and was whisked away into the wind. He crumpled without a sound.
