The Doctor (11) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madmaninabox) wrote2011-03-30 05:33 pm
madmaninabox) wrote2011-03-30 05:33 pm
Entry tags:
PSL: Eleven and Jack on Arcadia
Arcadia: not a planet, but a habitable moon circling a gas giant of roiling purple and silver clouds. One of the most beautiful places in all of reality; a well-kept secret, so well-kept that most societies thought it nothing more than a legend.
Even now it was difficult to visit. The majority of Arcadia's timeline was locked inside the Time War, but there was this brief pocket of time after it had become civilized but before it had begun its descent toward the Fall. This made it even more of a jewel than it had been before the war: one had to either be fortunate enough to live during this time or use a trick of time travel, slip in at just the right window. And for Amy, for this certain trip, the Doctor had taken special care to pilot the TARDIS as correctly as he could.
The entire surface of the moon was covered in a sort of organic city: trees that had grown, one might think impossibly, into staircases, vestibules, halls and corridors. Except for the occasional sound of some party happening somewhere in the distance, Arcadia tended to exist in a meditative silence - but the place wasn't without its excitements. The pathways were so convoluted and there were so many hidden nooks and surprises to discover. Wander long enough and one could run across just about anything: bars, music halls, gardens, art galleries... pleasure palaces. There were at least three of those. The Doctor had taken extra care to steer Amy clear of them. Even if she didn't remember Rory, he did, and facilitating her precociousness felt like being the accessory to some sort of adultery.
Also, they were prohibitively expensive.
But they'd gotten separated. The Doctor hadn't meant it to happen; neither of them had, but it had been somewhat inevitable. People who arrived on Arcadia together tended to go in different directions eventually. Superstition went that the moon led people to what they were looking for, even if they didn't know it.
He ascended a winding staircase into a little cubbyhole of a bar lit by floating globes of light. The place was mostly quiet, though there were a couple of people laughing loudly in one corner.
A young female server appeared at his side, holding a tray of golden drinks. "Would you care for some Ambrosia, sir?"
The Doctor eyed the tray of drinks. He remembered thinking it was too sweet the last time he'd been here. Well, new face, new mouth. He nodded and took a glass.
Even now it was difficult to visit. The majority of Arcadia's timeline was locked inside the Time War, but there was this brief pocket of time after it had become civilized but before it had begun its descent toward the Fall. This made it even more of a jewel than it had been before the war: one had to either be fortunate enough to live during this time or use a trick of time travel, slip in at just the right window. And for Amy, for this certain trip, the Doctor had taken special care to pilot the TARDIS as correctly as he could.
The entire surface of the moon was covered in a sort of organic city: trees that had grown, one might think impossibly, into staircases, vestibules, halls and corridors. Except for the occasional sound of some party happening somewhere in the distance, Arcadia tended to exist in a meditative silence - but the place wasn't without its excitements. The pathways were so convoluted and there were so many hidden nooks and surprises to discover. Wander long enough and one could run across just about anything: bars, music halls, gardens, art galleries... pleasure palaces. There were at least three of those. The Doctor had taken extra care to steer Amy clear of them. Even if she didn't remember Rory, he did, and facilitating her precociousness felt like being the accessory to some sort of adultery.
Also, they were prohibitively expensive.
But they'd gotten separated. The Doctor hadn't meant it to happen; neither of them had, but it had been somewhat inevitable. People who arrived on Arcadia together tended to go in different directions eventually. Superstition went that the moon led people to what they were looking for, even if they didn't know it.
He ascended a winding staircase into a little cubbyhole of a bar lit by floating globes of light. The place was mostly quiet, though there were a couple of people laughing loudly in one corner.
A young female server appeared at his side, holding a tray of golden drinks. "Would you care for some Ambrosia, sir?"
The Doctor eyed the tray of drinks. He remembered thinking it was too sweet the last time he'd been here. Well, new face, new mouth. He nodded and took a glass.
no subject
He wanted to say hello. Didn't necessarily want to just walk over and do it; didn't know whether Jack would understand who he was and anyway they seemed to be... well, doing the sort of thing that got done a lot between Jack and other people.
It took him a few more seconds, but he finally stumbled upon the solution. He snatched a napkin from the bartop, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for a pen. A few minutes later, when the server brought the new drink to Jack's table, she was also holding the napkin, folded in half. She presented it to Jack, pointing out the Doctor as the one who'd sent it over.
The note, when opened, would prove to be a single question: Did it work out with Alonso?
The Doctor gave a short, fluttering wave.