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dropped:the doctor (five)

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[he starts off with an assuring smile, even as the fog rolls around him]

Hello. I'm the Doctor; I've met quite a few people already. I don't seem to be affected by the fog, so I wanted to offer my -

[he stops abruptly, brow furrowing]

Did anyone hear that?

[he turns, then, focusing off-camera - and then the colour drains from his face, the strength from his voice]

Adric?

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[the sudden space is both a relief and a loss; he takes a moment to steady himself, to take in the worn walls and dusty corners

he turns to Rhade with a wry, bleak smile]

Which war? [then he shakes his head] They weren't all wars. Some were - were barely skirmishes, really. Some didn't need to be battles at all if they'd only bloody listened. [his voice rose higher and higher, only for him to wince at the end, raising a hand to his temple]

I'm sorry. I - it's all so vivid now.

[Now that he's satisfied that at least this room's secure, he goes to sit nearby.]

It may be vivid, but you're safe. [If they'd only listened. That he can relate to, too. But apparently Dylan doesn't hear him until its far too late. There's nothing that he can do for his friend here. All his warnings were for nothing.]

You can't start any wars in here.

[Maybe he can. Maybe Rhade will take words and ideas and use them to tear down a civilization. He doesn't know whether he likes or hates the idea. He's slowly coming around to acceptance of what he is, anyway.]

Can't I? [he rubs at his forehead, as if he could rub the images away] I've seen people incite violence from iron cells.

[his eyes widen as the room changes; wood to steal, boards to bars

he can't help but chuckle as his hand falls] Well, there's a familiar sight.

[he blinks rapidly, willing reality to come into focus]

[He leans to get a better look at the Doctor's face, watching for his reality to drift in and out. But his tone briefly becomes cheeky.]

Oh, I can be incited into violence. But I'm quite stubborn and prefer my violence to be my own. So it would take you a while.

[the room fades back into view as the Doctor laughs] Careful. Nothing tempts me more than a challenge.

I knew you had a competitive spirit. [His grin looks a little cheekier, encouraged that the Doctor's spirits seem to be lifting. Maybe if the hallucinations hold, at least they'll keep with mood.] There's nothing a Nietzschean likes more than a little character building competition.

[And they like winning, too.]

Nietzsche! Now, there was a fellow. I had some splendid arguments with him. [he tilts his head slightly, pensive] We agreed on quite a bit, though.

[His brows pop right up.]

You met Nietzsche?

[He can't really decide whether the Doctor is fog crazy or not. It's entertaining, even if he is.]

Oh, yes - in 1879, not long after he resigned from the university. [he shakes his head, frowning faintly] It was a shame, the troubles his health gave him.

Yes, well... also a shame how his health was taken advantage of by the nationalists. Applying his name to things he never would have supported.

[He fusses with his arm wraps, ones he's had to make since coming here so they're a little uncomfortable around his boneblades.] "Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius. Send your ships into uncharted seas. Live at war with your peers and yourselves. Soon the age will be past when you could be content to live hidden in forests like shy deer. At long last the search for knowledge will reach out for its due, it will want to rule and possess, and you with it." [It's one of his favorite quotes. He fidgets a little more with the wrap, before shrugging.]

For an individualist, I suspect I am going to begin feeling the lack of my own kind very keenly if my stay here exceeds a few more months. [He can admit that.]

[his frown deepens as he shakes his head] Too many such voices are appropriated - stolen.

[he adds his own voice to the quotation, soft and faint; there's a weary, wistful admiration to his voice]

Perhaps speaking of them will help?

[He's torn for a moment, considering what Dylan told him. But he knows what he loves about his people. He knows what he holds above all else about it.]

We're warrior poets that travel the stars and bring civilization. We know personal respect, because we know shaming is how you wound someone with words. We're competitive with others and ourselves so we might grow personally from it, and build ourselves stronger for no other reason than to improve. We know the truth you see, and the truth you don't see. We are egoistic, vain, selfish, and we love our children. And those that give us those children deserve absolute say in how they spend their lives, and that all sentient beings deserve the right to stand up and fight for themselves.

I heard some of my people become something else in later centuries. But for hundreds of years, this is what we've been and what we should be. [He looks more proud then as he looks at his boneblades. Then a little sad, and hums thoughtfully. He'd prefer Nietzscheans as he knew them, not whatever Dylan was describing.]

[the Doctor smiles as he listens; he wishes he could take such pride in his people, that he could speak of them with sincere fondness]

If your people changed for the worse, it's certainly possible they can change again.

What about yours? [Since they're talking, and as long as they're talking the Doctor seems to be- well, he doesn't know whether he's seeing things or not, but he at least seems to be very much in control of himself.]

[his smile becomes a wry smirk] My people.

[he sighs, then, pushing a hand through hair] The Time Lords. They - were innovators, once. Explorers. Defenders. They certainly weren't flawless, but they tried.

[he shakes his head] Over the millenia, Gallifrey has grown stagnant. Aloof. Corrupt. More concerned with its own pompous superiority than the wonders and atrocities of the universe. We're the keepers of Time, and of the glorious, unwavering status quo.

[he sees her, then, just a flickering glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and he can't help but smile] I...do have some hope for change, for the first time since I was a child.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely, which is a problem to those without power." A paraphrase of Drago Museveni. [He grins again.]

As you said. Your people have changed for the boring. [It sounds boring to him, anyway.] Perhaps one day the will remember invention.

[He might have actually met Nietzsche and might not be fog crazy. Time travel is known to exist in his time- more of a hazard that's to be avoided, for fear of influencing relevant events. To explore it would be hazardous... if very interesting.]

[a wry, soft chuckle] Indeed it does.

Boring is delightfully apt. [a sudden, nostalgic smile] I did my very best to disrupt that, in my youth.

[He purses his mouth with a mischievous look.] Ah, then your people are still capable of actual childhoods, then? [If they didn't become something far more offensive, he'd be grateful his people didn't one day become boring.]

[with a faint smirk] That depends on one's definition, I suppose. I did my utmost to be very childish. [he taps his lips] Oddly enough, it seemed to agitate people.

I somehow find myself inclined to believe that might have been intentional. [And again, the personal space was invaded- but only slightly. He touched the bright hem of his frock coat.]

This doesn't look like a scientist's outfit.

[the Doctor's getting used to that, and he doesn't withdraw from the touch; on the contrary, his smile deepens] No, and it certainly doesn't exist on Gallifrey. They've never given cricket the slightest thought, I'm sure.

Cricket? [With that distant sort of awareness that comes with someone recognizing a game they'd heard mentioned in an old book rather than a game they'd ever seen actively played. Not that he has anything against sports- he enjoys them quite a bit, even if his preferences for games are tactical.] This is what they [wore] wear?

More or less, yes. I added the frock coat and forwent the pads. [his eyes suddenly widen] I think I might - [he slips a hand in his pocket, rummaging around] Ah!

[and he pulls out a smooth red ball, holding it out to Rhade] This is a cricket ball. Came in very useful, once.

[That pocket had looked a lot flatter a moment before, and as soon as he took the ball he also leaned in and tugged the pocket open to look into it.] Do you have a hidden panel in here?

[the pocket looks far deeper than it ought, crowded with entirely too many bits and bobs; with a sly grin] Something like that, yes.

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