westwhere | the unwinding

the unwinding

Heya! Let loose for Serthica’s Unwinding — our event spanning 24 September-15 October that doubles as a test drive.

This round’s test drive participants do not require an invite to apply. Applications open over 8-14 October. Enjoy!

THE UNWINDING

TEST DRIVE TOURISTS | OLD TIMERS | DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
SPILL THE TEA | DRIP BY DRIP | ALL A DREA —

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✘ NEWCOMERS | BARRELING IN

Soaring seagulls and splintered silence. You awaken on the shoreline of steampunk citadel Clockwork Serthica, recovered by the irritable witch Karsa.

She shares translation and communication devices, scarce healing and a rapid briefing: you have reached a world where undead forces seek to weaponise you in their battle for dominion. Karsa’s employer, the Merchant leads travel to beacons meant to return you home.

Other otherworlders have already infiltrated Serthica. Karsa steers newcomers into the impoverished underworld of the Mouse House, to board a rickety coal train serving the citadel.

■ Silver tongues can win you passage.

■ ...alternatively, hide in the obscenely large whiskey barrels the train also smuggles in.

■ Mid-voyage, the train quakes, slamming you into walls and windows. Around you, the stench of bleach, the warm crackle of embers and static magic that builds thick, nearly electric.

You feel faint and fainter, when you overhear Karsa’s murmured, “It’s too early” — “find” — “find” — “it’s like a drea” — “don’t unwind” — “all child’s play.”

And then you’re U n w i n d i n g.

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✘ OLD TIMERS | INHALE-EXHALE

Eidris, Minaras, the Neutral Zone: all abuzz with residential whispers of imminent Unwinding — an annual fixture natives dread without fully remembering.

■ In the two days leading to the Unwinding, characters struggle to tell apart or remember the physical features of natives.

■ Some locals steal you into dark alleys, where they become suddenly stiff, emitting a rusty, guttural Ke-ke-ke sound. They do not recall this after.

The Unwinding kicks off at 6am, when both Eidris and Minaras are overground. Jim Kirk’s fixed music box begins to play, its chipper rural tune overtaking your thoughts: “Up the mountain, in the grove, hand in hand to Ke-ke-ke — Ke-Waihu, fresh harvest’s a treasure trove, each fall we feast anew.”

Earth shatters seismically underfoot, magic depletes, the citadel’s clock tower strikes 6:00 — and an urgent communication from the Merchant is interrupted by static, “You can we-we-we-…-stand it, the white man come — remembrrrrrrrrrrrr live, you are alive, do not be convinsssss —ssss — ssssd otherwisssssss —”

But you’re already U n w i n d i n g.

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✘ DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Down and down, you tumble, Alice — through a cavernous tunnel that widens and chokes arbitrarily. Sometimes you float and fly, sometimes you’re thrust sideways. Mostly, you keep falling.

■ Beware objects falling into you: from grand pianos to mystical balls of fire, stray beds, love letters and sharp-pointed weapons. Even a blood-spattered umbrella that shields against anything.

■ You’re dropped unceremoniously into an underground lair, as items keep falling down. Unclaimed, they disappear within minutes. Three jackalopes smoking opiate pipes point you indifferently towards a locked door. On its handle sit a bone dice and a note instructing, ROLL FOUR TO OPEN.

■ The dice can only be thrown every 10 minutes and feels too monstrously heavy to lift otherwise. Each roll makes the effect of the previous throw disappear. If you get:

one: gravity fades, the dice floats out of reach. ( The jackalopes enjoy the breeze. )

two: the floor, barring a few narrow steps at great jumping distance, is lava. ( The jackalopes check ‘hell’ off their vacation list.)

three: an irked dragon coils beside you. (The jackalopes prepare to tan.)

five: the thrower grows and grows and grows, until they must contort creatively to fit inside. ( The jackalopes charge rent. )

six: the room fills with water that nearly reaches the ceiling. (The jackalopes are competitive swimmers.)

seven: everything about your companion irritates you. They even breathe wrong. ( The jackalopes find this awkward. )

eight: The floor slowly expands into quicksand. ( The jackalopes hoverboard. )

■ Roll four and the door creaks merrily open. A second note slips loose, I’m sorry. Head in, your newfound possessions abandoned — and keep U n w i n d i n g.

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✘ SPILL THE TEA

You wake, dressed to the steampunk nines, at a tea party, alongside a companion and a slew of eerie guests: cog droids, faceless people and animated human-sized burlap mannequins. You only hear static and white noise when they speak.

When you leave the table, a fox butler passes you the empty kettle, asking you to, ”Make tea and finish here”.

■ You’re inevitably stuck in a decrepit dollhouse. Heavily boarded doors and windows ultimately open to show plague sickness in the streets. The fox butler closes them, reminding, ”He’ll make it go away.”

■ Travel a corridor of repeating rooms to reach the kitchens, and don’t dally. Every time the clock strikes a new hour, the partygoers grab their sharpest knife and stalk down the house to pursue you. The frenzy lasts 10 minutes before they return to their seats — barricade in deserted rooms, hide behind curtains or climb up the chimney…

■ For tea, the mannequin cook directs you to retrieve juniper and rosemary leaves from the greenhouse, where plant tendrils try to trap you, leaving marks of mould; rescue the milk container from a cat that’s running on the crumbling staircase, and sugar from a dish in the lavish nursery room, where ghostly hands might seek to drag you into walls and send you back down the rabbit hole.

■ Supplied, the huffing burlap cook prepares tea. Just as you’re about to taste the black brew at the party table, a man in white takes and spills your tea out in a plant pot. You only hear, ”You don’t need this yet” — before you’re U n w i n d i ng.

■ On exiting the Unwinding, your pockets burst with plants or leaves of juniper and rosemary. They can alleviate McCoy’s sickness.

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✘ DRIP BY DRIP

You wake up in bloodied clothes in a filled bathtub. You are hounded by urgency, as if you’re hunted. The unease never wanes, as you gather your bearings and join the bustling city streets, armed with a blood-spattered white umbrella. In your pocket, two paper notes: CHILDREN LIE and WHAT IS HIS NAME?(

Your memories are confused: half of you is certain you are a content citizen of Serthica. The other riots that you don’t belong. An excruciating migraine strikes when you try to remember how you arrived here.

Gravity’s a loose concept: you walk, or you float. The city is either perfectly still, or inundated with the screeching of hearses and criers. Locals — all faceless, or man-sized burlap mannequins — mill busily, despite the forlorn rain.

■ Hold on to your umbrella: linger uncovered in the rain, and your facial features slowly fade, while you desperately try to convince your teammate that you should stay here forever. You recover once dry.

■ The inhuman locals grow increasingly more hostile with time: carriages want to run you over, friendly burlap shopkeepers push you into a ditch. They chase if you ask their name.

■ Happily, this world is vulnerable to your desires: wish gravity undone, and you can walk on walls. Think a river into being, and it bursts ahead. Imagine buildings, and they pop up. Playing God comes at a price of bad luck: the staircase you envisage thins and breaks just as you cross it, your knife rusts after the first swing.

■ Your pursuers abandon you, when you reach a deserted marketplace and encounter a drenched, battered boy wearing a fox mask. He is playing with paper boats in the middle of a large black puddle. You feel deep and building hatred for him.

■ Seeing you, the child mentions one of you previously tried to kill him. He offers his name, in exchange for your umbrella:

a. Refuse or dally, and dark hands rise out of the puddle to pull you and your partner in, scratching you bloody. The last thing you see, before you wake up in the bathtub again (or out of the Unwinding), is a man in white who collects your umbrella. He holds it over the child, scolding, ”Did you forget again? This one never hurt you.”

b. To surrender the umbrella, step on the paper boats as you cross the puddle to the boy. Walking straight on water feels like stepping on knives. The child accepts your umbrella, whispering his name is ”Hyang-Won”, before you start to fade out of the Unwinding.

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✘ IT WAS ALL A DREA —

New or old, as the Unwinding ends, you wake up in Ma’am Mariol’s modest orphanage in the Mouse House. Mariol, the orphans and Serthica at large recall nothing about the Unwinding. Karsa, who dragged you in, is pale and exhausted, her memory patchy. She urges everyone to recuperate before heading back overground.

■ Your body shows only a fraction of any damage sustained in the Unwinding.

■ Ma’am Mariol’s labyrinthine home offers limited accommodations: share beds, floors, and household chores, while the orphans led by curious Gavroche, peer in.

NOTES

■ You can make network posts outside of the Unwinding.

■ Feel free to mark if you're a test drive tourist or an old timer in your top level!

■ The Unwinding is a shifting of realities not a dreamscape.

■ You can opt out of the Unwinding by keeping characters in the Mouse House. Here, nothing seems amiss.

■ QUESTIONS!

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[ ...okay. He wasn't expecting that, exactly. She's upset, clearly; he doesn't miss that almost sob from her. It's entirely possible it's simply her relief at seeing him, given everything that's just happened. That would be an easy thing to assume. He's not sure what to do or how to comfort her for just a moment.

Before he can think to do anything at all, what says confuses him. He also can't help thinking of the other Claras he'd met who had died. ]

I'm not dead, so no, to answer your question.

[ For the moment, he just assumes she's still reeling from what's happened. It's a somewhat logical conclusion to draw about this place.

He still can't help being upset that she's here, although with her awake and talking to him, the selfish part of him is a bit relieved that she's here. He can also keep an eye on her better, of course. ]

Unless you know something I don't, which couldn't be the case. No, that wouldn't be. I'm sure it all felt like a bad dream.

[ Clara's trying to process his words. I'm not dead. ...but he was. She'd thought she saved him and failed, but this is a much better version of events: The Time Lords granted him just enough life but something went sideways and now, here they are. The Doctor isn't dead, and she would rather live in this weird reality than the universe where his face doesn't exist anymore.

It was all a bad dream. She throws her arms around his neck, launching herself at him before giving him any warning. He's solid and as warm as he gets. Aside from the strange newness on his skin from this place, when she presses her face against his shoulder, he even smells the right way.

He isn't dead; they're here together, and her mind is perfectly willing to believe it. The truth is boxed away so quickly that she's forgotten it already. Pulling back just enough to look up at him, she lets out a heavy and shaky breath. ]

Don't scare me like that again. Don't you ever. I thought you were gone.

[ He'd wondered that - how she would perceive his absence, while he remained trapped here. Her time, her reality, would be linear as it always was. From what he could tell about this world, nothing should be affected in her reality, presumably, and she would be safe.

But he'd thought more than once - would she realize he was gone when he didn't come to pick her up on 'Wednesday'? That must be, and that explains her emotion now.

He always loves a hug, of course, and he's relieved to see her safe here, when it could have been worse. So, he hugs her in return, keeping her close for a moment. ]

Ah, right, of course - I was supposed to come back on Wednesday. Got a bit delayed. Not to worry now, Clara, eh? I'm not going anywhere.

[ He has no idea what she's actually referring to, of course. ]

[ For the few blissful seconds it takes for her mind to process his words, Clara's sure everything will be alright. His arms are around her again, his voice is in her ear, and she can feel his hearts beating against her chest. He's whole and here, because of course they're here together.

If only he'd stopped talking or the words were arranged in another sort of order. Creeping dread ices its way up her spine and her body tenses as she pulls back from the hug, staring at him. She's beginning to breathe as if she's been running a marathon, shallow and rapid in between words. ]

No. No, you can't do this. You don't get to do this.

[ Her voice trembles as she pushes herself up on legs that are shaking so badly, she has to brace her hands against the mattress she was sleeping on. She knows she's about to have a panic attack, she has enough awareness to know instead of causing a scene, she needs to go outside. Before she can do any of that, her eyes meet his, wide and shattered. ]

Tell me what you remember.

[ Clara hears herself asking the question without even realizing she thought of it. ]

What's the last thing you and I did together?

[ Okay, he's clued in now. Something far worse is going on than he'd realized. He'd thought her tenuous emotional state could be easily explained by her having just been through the rather unsettling Unwinding as her first introduction to this world. It's much more than that, though, clearly.

He frowns in concern, leaning in a little, resting a hand on her shoulder. ]

Merry Gejelh. The Queen of Years. Parasitic alien god brought to a complete halt by clever Clara Oswald and the most important leaf in human history. I dropped you home, you were safe, you were supposed to stay safe right there until I came back for you. But now you're here, and I'm obviously missing something.

More context, please. What's going on, Clara, what's happened? Are you okay?

[ For a few long seconds all she can do is stare at him, eyes roaming his face until it's blurry. With a hard swallow, Clara closes her eyes and tries very hard to compose herself. Focusing on her breathing, both his questions are answered by a shake of her head. Instead of escaping into the outside air, all that she can do is sink back down onto the bed. ]

For you, we've only just met. For me, it's like I've known you all my life.

[ He has no idea, not yet, and the panic bubbles in her chest again. What if she accidentally says something she shouldn't? Has she said too much already? Covering her face, Clara begins to cry; she isn't loud, not the dramatic sort in this regard, at least. But it's unmistakable in the way her shoulders are shaking that something heartbreaking is happening. ]

[ There's not much room to move around, but with what little space there is, the Doctor manages to pace around in a small circle slowly. His hands are a little busy, briefly resting over his mouth, sweeping through his hair. He's fidgeting, restless, trying to work out what he should say and how much he should or shouldn't ask.

Her words before make sense now. She knows him better than he knows her and he doesn't like that, not just because he doesn't like the mystery there (and he usually loves a good mystery), but also because he can't help her or really do anything to reassure her.

When she sinks back down, after a moment, the Doctor moves to kneel in front of her. She's crying and he's a bit unsure of himself, namely because he's cautious about the reason for her upset. He has to be careful they don't cause a paradox inadvertently.

Finally, he rests his hands very lightly against the top of hers. ]

Clara - don't cry for me, not me, not this silly old Doctor.

You watched me die, didn't you? Now, before you say anything else, I already know. I know what's coming eventually. Not all the specifics, I can't know that, but everything has its end. That's where you're from. You watched me die. [ He repeats quietly. ]

[ By his words she infers she isn't dead, that this is something else entirely. Yet he's here somehow, walking and talking and breathing. She's supposed to save him, she's his Impossible Girl and she failed.

His hands on hers bring her out of her spiraling thoughts, letting her eyes meet his. How is she supposed to not cry when he's gone, and she doesn't understand the man who took his place? He answers his own question which leaves Clara with time to think and choose different words. They're words that don't come for a minute, stalled out like an engine. After a few false starts, Clara wraps her fingers around his. ]

I thought I saved you. I was happy, for a full minute. You smiled at me like I'd done it. [ And she had, he regenerated. As selfish as it is, his face changing hadn't been what she meant. She wanted him, her Doctor. ]

Not you! [ The stages of grief. She'd refused to accept it and her denial brought forth her bargaining with the Time Lords. Anger surges out of her - not at him, misplaced. ]

It wasn't supposed to make you change! You were supposed to stay mine.

[ Clara hears the words tumble out of her mouth and knows how awful they sound. But just before arriving in this place, the Doctor had left her, holding her breath and panicking until she blacked out. The man in front of her would've never let that happen. ]

[ There's more that he wants to say and do to comfort her, but they're in dangerous territory now. She has, perhaps, already said too much, but they can't take it back now. Given the nature of this world, he's not entirely sure what the ramifications will be when they eventually get back to their reality, but they have to tread lightly and be careful.

Just knowing that he evidently regenerated is...a dangerous thing. Yet, selfishly, it gives him hope.

The way she says 'you were supposed to stay mine,' goes completely over his head, though. ]

I wasn't supposed to change at all. You have no business saving me, Clara, that's not your job.

[ It doesn't work like that. He does the saving, no one else. Even though it's in his future and she's obviously okay, he still worries. ]

Oh, stuff it! You don't get to tell me my own business.

[ There's no malice or anger in her voice, not in any way. But does he hear her relief or lingering fear? Does he know what to listen for? Clara stares at him for a second before throwing her arms around him once more, pressing her face against his neck for a full beat of one of his hearts before she remembers when he said he was from. They're not nearly this familiar in his timeline and she pulls back, realizing that means he doesn't know anything about her yet.

Searching his face, Clara swallows, proud of herself for not crying again. ]

You don't know me anymore.

[ Her statement should be that he hasn't gotten to know her yet, but she doesn't correct herself, either. It strikes her that he doesn't have his regenerations now, he's back to dying in front of her if to comes to that. It would be real, it would be forever, and as much as the last one seemed to not want her there, at least she knows he's alive. She still stands by the universe needing the Doctor, even if he doesn't need her. ]

You're absolutely ridiculous, Clara Oswald.

[ He just needs to get that out for a moment. He still can't help being a bit annoyed that she put forth any effort at all to save him, of all people. It's not that he's in a hurry to die; far from it. He'd prefer to keep on going for a while, if at all possible. But when his time comes, he'll accept it. He'd already accepted this would be it, be the end for him.

But it's not, and he doesn't know what to think or how to feel. He's also at a disadvantage, not knowing Clara as well as she knows him.

Though - even not knowing her as well, he doesn't mind the hug. He hasn't worked out what or who Clara is, why she keeps coming back, why she's died more than once, what her purpose is. Can he fully trust her? There's so much unknown. And yet, he still doesn't mind the hug. Because he has a good sense of her heart already, because she came back to stare down a parasitic alien god with him. ]

No, I don't know you, but I'd like to. You're a mystery to me, but one very worth solving.

[ He's not oblivious to the way she phrased that, but he doesn't draw attention to it for now. ]

[ Nothing about her should be a mystery anymore, and she has to press her lips together in a thin line to not tell him what, exactly, she is. She feels discombobulated; everything she's known from the person in front of her to the world she's on has changed in a day. Or two. She can't remember which anymore, sleep brought no clarity on that point. Clara's struggling to figure out what to say, which is ironic considering when she realized he really was changing, there were a hundred different things she wanted to tell him. Now he's in front of her and she can't think of a single thing. Even if she could, what good what it do? She's still a mystery, and he won't find the answer to her in this place. Not unless he asks.

Where does that leave her in this conversation? Where does it leave her with him? ]

I'm really hungry.

[ Not what she thought she was going to say, but now that she's slept, she doesn't remember when she last had food or water, both of which are probably important to have. If he's fussing over her then she isn't talking and doesn't need to figure out her words, not yet. ]

[ She looks exhausted, too, even having slept. She's been through a lot, even moreso now. It's usually the Doctor in this situation, knowing more than anyone else does, being many steps ahead. But it's Clara who knows everything, and though it must be absolutely dreadful, he's proud of her for not sharing every detail. It would be so very human, to want to divulge all of it, to be desperate to share it with someone else. But she knows better, clearly, and she's carrying a great burden now. ]

You would be, of course. Fragile human bodies, always needing nourishment. There's plenty to eat here, come on.

[ He tugs on her hand gently, helping her to stand as he does. ]

You look awful on the whole.

[ It's a testament as to how long Clara's been with him, really. She knows all the rules, everything she can and can't say, but that doesn't mean wants to keep them. She wants to first, tell him she's furious for the way he kept tricking her away from Christmas. Then, she wants to shove him for never telling her how regeneration works, exactly. And after all of that, she wants to do what she's done for so long now when she's unsure and upset: lean into him, let him soothe her with stories or explanations about something she's never heard of before while she listens to his hearts beat.

Instead of anything close to that, her hand stays in the Doctor's and she lets him help her up. It's the completely like him comment about her appearance that finally breaks through her confused grief. ]

Oh, thanks so much. Only nearly drowned, met a dragon, got chased down by knife-wielding partygoers, and about a dozen other things before making it to you. And before that, it wasn't exactly going my way, either.

[ Dragging a hand over face, Clara decides to push what was happening before out of her mind. What does it matter anyway? There's nothing either of them can do and they're here now, in the middle of someone else's conflict, trying to survive. ]

For the record, waking up to find you here was a little worth it.

[ She says that with the faintest hint of a smile, looking up at him. ]

[ ...oh, what? What did he say? Typically, he doesn't quite realize how that might have sounded before the words are already out. Really, given everything that's happened, he's just genuinely relieved to find that she's okay. She's safe here. Sort of. Is she? Well, for now. And safer, perhaps, than she might have been back home. Although, that's debatable as well. She hasn't had a good track record so far.

As they keep talking, he realizes that his gratitude at seeing her safe outweighs his worry and frustration that she's here at all. ]

And look at you, Clara Oswald, still standing! Just another Wednesday for us, eh?

[ Of course, he enjoys hearing that she's happy to see him. In her future, he's dead; well, this version of him. Something terrible happened, he's dead (well, he knew that was coming anyway, so that's not even technically a spoiler), but it's what came next that still puzzles him. He can't know, though, and it's driving him a bit more mad.

Still, he manages a smile at her in return. ]

Okay, a little worth it, I'll take that. How do I move up from it being a little worth it to see me, to just solidly worth it?

Edited 2022-10-07 16:09 (UTC)

[ Smiling again, this time a little more, Clara links her arm through his because she can, and she doesn't think he'll pull away, even without knowing her well yet. She pretends to think, humming. ]

You know, it must be the empty stomach. I think if you put food in front of me, you'll skyrocket. [ She's only half joking. Her stomach feels like it's vibrating in anger. ] I want to be optimistic that the food is above secondary school lunchroom quality. How full should my glass be?

[ There's an ease of familiarity here that's presently foreign to him. He'd be this close with Amy, certainly. He'd latched on to Clara, the governess, before he'd known she was Oswin Oswald, or a different version of her, more specifically. Now, here she is again, the impossible girl he can't seem to escape.

Who is she? Why does she find her way to wherever he is? Can he trust her? He's not entirely sure, yet his hesitation is at war with the genuine emotion she displayed earlier. He's made mistakes before, misjudged situations; it's possible that emotion was a trick, but he finds that unlikely. Which only confuses him more.

Who is Clara Oswald? And why did she save him.

Here, at least, there's nothing else to do but try to figure her out, get to the bottom of her true identity. But he doesn't pull away from her touch, keeping his arm linked with hers. ]

Overflowing, of course. Though, I've found, like most things, it entirely depends on your perspective. Ma'am Mariol does the very best she can with what she has, though there's been a horrible lack of resources for everyone down here.

[ Of course, Clara can't know what's going on in the Doctor's mind when it comes to her. She can't remember a time when he didn't trust her. Not until he regenerated and refused to let her close enough to help him. The only time the Doctor questioned her before that point, her memories were taken away. But if she knew he didn't trust her now, it would be too much after everything at home.

At the mention of the lack of resources, Clara frowns, now less concerned about quality than quantity. ]

Doctor, what do you think this place is, really? How are so many of us here from all over the universe? And not just that, there are parallel versions of Earth. Multiple versions. How is that possible?

[ It's one of his least favorite things, to be asked a question he can't fully answer. That's the thing; he should know. By now, he should have worked it all out. He should have solved the mystery, every single one of them, within a few days, at least. Being generous. But here he is, still trapped, as all of them are. He hasn't been able to really help anyone at all, and he frowns deeply at the question. ]

Well, multiple versions of Earth are entirely possible. Time is in flux, and every decision made has the possibility of creating a parallel universe that's splintered off from a tipping point, a point of divergence.

Where we are now, though - I don't know, Clara. I'm still working it out. I never stop.

Now I'm here, and we'll figure it out. Together.

[ Clara declares it with so much assurance in her voice, the confidence of someone who's worked out impossible things with him before. She doesn't know if she necessarily thinks they'll be able to leave, but if there's a way, he'll be the one to find it. That part she's sure of. ]

What have you gotten up to, anything I can help with yet? [ She doesn't know if she can sit on the sidelines and wait for things to happen, it isn't her. ]

[ Now she sounds like him. Is that good or bad? He can't decide entirely, though it is endearing. ]

Who do you think you're talking to? Have I gotten up to anything? Have I?

[ He looks almost incredulous, but there's a cheeky smirk on his face. ]

Well, nothing much at all. No, that's a lie - I've taken up knitting, actually! Every Thursday here, down at the community center.

Edited 2022-10-12 05:13 (UTC)

[ Clara scoffs but inside she warms at his tone, his expression - everything that's him that she thought was gone forever. She wants to soak it up as long as she can because who knows when it will end. But instead, she lets out a laugh. ]

I'm trying to imagine you sitting still long enough to knit. Can't come up with anything at all.

[ Except the evening he spent outside her window to make sure no one tried to hurt her. The list of things he'd accomplished was long and impressive. ]

Haven't improved on your quadricycle invention then? No Penticycle on the horizon?

You're putting a lot of pressure on me!

[ He does a very good job of looking put out by her suggestion that he should be inventing things. ]

Resources are limited here, Clara, and I don't have the TARDIS. Before you ask, yes, I have complained. I've complained often, everyday, to anyone who will listen. Nothing changes! I'm still trapped here with my knitting.

[ It only occurs to her after he says it, that even when the TARDIS abandons them for her own safety, it's always there, waiting to come back to them in the end. She can be frustrating, but the TARDIS would be here if she could. ]

We all know you're good at complaining, so the fact that you're still trapped here is impressive. [ She smiles softly and looks around quietly before looking up at him again. ]

Why do you think I'm here? Not that anyone should be, but I've talked to a lot of people and most everyone has some sort of power or ability. Or they're someone who can do very cool things like travel in space and time. I know you don't have any answers but I'm still new enough, you have to give me a minute to get it all out.

[ Excuse you, Clara, the TARDIS is absolutely perfect and has never done anything wrong in her life ever! (The Doctor's the only one allowed to vent frustrations about her...) ]

Why is anyone anywhere, frankly? Oh, good, a philosophical discussion. Do love those! Been a minute. Why are we here, why do we exist, what are we doing, what's our purpose, who will win this next round of Bake-Off? Okay - why are we here in this world, and you especially? Your connection to me, possibly? No - why? The mystery of your existence? Why would they care?

[ He paces around a little, moving his hands about with no real sense of direction or purpose. ]

Clara Oswald, the Impossible Girl. Cool and helpful, daring and brave, ordinary perhaps, but not. No, far from ordinary.

I've got it, I've worked it out! You are here because we were one short in our football club. Can't play without a midfielder, and here you are, excellent.

(no subject)

makemeasong - 2022-10-15 00:05 (UTC) - Expand

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