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westwhere2022-10-22 07:42 pm
groundrules) wrote in westwhere2022-10-22 07:42 pm
Entry tags:
- 2ha: chu wanning,
- arc iv,
- arc iv: serthica,
- arcane: caitlyn,
- arcane: vi,
- better call saul: jimmy mcgill,
- better call saul: kim wexler,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: river song,
- doctor who: the doctor,
- hellblazer: john constantine,
- kingdom of the wicked: emilia,
- kingdom of the wicked: wrath,
- legend of fei: xie yun,
- legend of fei: zhou fei,
- mcu: yelena,
- mo dao zu shi: xiao xingchen,
- noragami: yato,
- oh! my emperor: beitang moran,
- oh! my emperor: su xunxian,
- original: licyn mansbane,
- original: red,
- owl house: eda clawthorne,
- penny dreadful: vanessa ives,
- shadowhunters: alec lightwood,
- shadowhunters: magnus bane,
- star trek: christopher pike,
- star wars: finn,
- the clock tower,
- the gifted: lorna dane,
- the gifted: marcos diaz,
- tian guan ci fu: xie lian,
- touken ranbu: kanesada,
- umbrella academy: five,
- umbrella academy: lila pitts,
- untamed: lan wangji,
- untamed: wei wuxian,
- warcraft: anduin wrynn,
- warcraft: wrathion,
- warframe: kahl 175
the clock tower
Happy Hallow-elevator! The clock tower event lasts between 22 October and 8 November. ICly, the tower incursion stretches around a week, and you’re welcome to have your character investigate something else, if they finish early!
ALL IS AS ALL WAS
Play it cool, as Serthica’s customs officers pore over your passport papers, before grudgingly allowing you overground. Minaras, you hear, is hunting a delinquent.
Both it and Eidris fare well, with no sign of the damage that preceded the Unwinding. Locals no longer behave eerily, dragons and clockwork droids roam freely, and everyone hates taxes.
Yet perfect strangers insist they know you. Your assigned address leads to a different house. The roads, buildings and architecture look ‘lived in,’ but changed.
No one remembers the Unwinding.
- ■ Burlap mannequins sometimes watch from mirrors, windows and reflecting surfaces.
■ You might hear shifting and scratching in Eidris walls.
■ Minaras has doubled its bounty for a man not unlike Leonard McCoy.
■ Black fungal spores are found on the increasingly voluminous experiment vials, specimens and supplies thrown out by Minaras medical facilities.
■ Frail and confused, Ellethia survivor Zenobius finally awakens. A short thread is up for RNG grabs.
TRIALS & NO ERRORS
The guard troops that Eidris and Minaras assign to the Neutral Zone now protect King Thivar and High Councillor Arabella during the annual Sanctuary Reckoning trials. Both adjudicate cases that violate the ceasefire.
Prolonging the trials buys time for your companions in the clock tower.
- ■ Create a distraction — flood the judgement hall rooms? Fire? Illusions?
■ Pose as trial participants: perhaps you are of Eidris, and you caught this wicked Minaraian raiding your home? Mayhap this wretched man of Eidris stole your girlfriend? Wait, you’re a Minaraian who wants to kill King Thivar?
■ …organise breakouts, if Thivar or Arabella have your jailed. You are first imprisoned in makeshift Sanctuary cells — all but poorly locked, glorified closets. Get a trial sentence!
■ Thivar and Arabella treat the trials as a box-ticking exercise.
THE TOWER
As Eidris and Minaras play court, you can infiltrate the Neutral Zone clock tower of Vassarizhia.
- ■ Only token security remains. The door is unlocked.
■ Karsa supplies paper talismans that must be burned in the watch fire at the tower’s top level.
■ Each burned talisman amplifies the reveal spell that Karsa activates. Link a finished burning thread by 8 November to help the cause.
■ A November mod post will describe how much of Serthica’s ‘undeath’ characters can see.
■ Placing Magnus’ dragon eye before the tower’s telescope will allow characters to always see Serthica’s undeath, moving forward.
✘ ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE
Imperfect stillness dominates Vassarizhia: your footsteps do not click, words die in your mouth. The tower’s rickety gear slither silently. Your heartbeat aligns with the clock’s tick… tock.
You have the growing, gnarly certainty that you have invaded something ancient and alive.
The tower’s entryway level is large, deserted, stacked with gears. At its core is a dilapidated open elevator shaft.
A large sign says to find and pull the floor lever, if elevators stop.
- ■ There are two elevators. Each narrow lift can hold up to four people, crammed. The upper half of the carriage is chain-link fence, while the floors contain hatches that sometimes open mid-travel for 30 seconds. Hold on to ceiling-bound leather straps.
■ The ropes holding the elevators are thick, but tattered.
■ The elevator’s creaking squeals can awaken swarms of 1m-tall bats and bat wyverns. They rattle the lift, but ultimately withdraw.
■ The elevator can stop at as many levels as you want (or none!).
■ Beyond the second level, you feel intensely paranoid and see your companions as the persons you most hate/fear for five to 10 minutes. Reaching the top, you are tempted to cut the lift ropes of those who follow. (The ropes and elevators recover, after crashing to the bottom. )
■ On each floor, as you exit the elevator, a nearby wall shows a different scratched instruction, signed by DAVID.
LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS | LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)
LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH
CONTENT WARNING: MINOTAUR, BODY HORROR
Step into a jail maze, flooded to knee level. Confusing corridors narrow, widen and contort, while wall torches dim.
Intermittent howling reveals you’re not alone. Hiding, you see child-like chalk drawings of forest animals on walls — and a great minotaur. Keep silent.
- ■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY.
■ Collect some of the many discarded daggers or axes. Rope bundles float in water — use them to paralyse your captive or briefly force them under your control.
■ Don’t linger in one place: rotting, bodiless hands surface to restrain you.
■ Bad news, if you swallow water when the minotaur or dead hands try to drown you: your skin stretches and bursts, while your bones pop and extend. You mutate into a half human, half woodland creature, all bloodlust. ( Inspiration, anyone? ) Your companions should still recognise you; between hazy memories and constant pain, you might struggle to remember them and even attack.
■ Morphed characters can (painfully) return to normal within minutes of re-entering the elevator.
■ A smaller and distressed three-headed minotaur also roams the labyrinth. Two of its heads sob, while the third urges you to hide with it when brother approaches. It tries to throttle you with a noose to make brother happy, if you follow. David did say.
■ The minotaur and its sibling have poor sight. They cannot enter a corridor where you’ve drawn or laid down a line.
■ Pull the lever, and a straight corridor leads you to the elevator.
LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR
CONTENT WARNING: GIANT SKELETON, BLOOD DRINKING
Here, only barren stone and thin rivulets of fresh water pouring from wall fountains with sharp-tipped ornaments — your spilled blood quickly infects the basins. Knives, pins and bowls have been abandoned nearby.
High pressure and vertigo overwhelm you. Follow a rhythmic heaving to where the upper half of an enormous skeleton — the Ancestor — has broken through a wall. White, silk thread fetters it. Dried blood rims its cracked mouth. Before it, the stone floor has been tarnished, up to a 5m radius.
The Ancestor appears dormant, a crown of iron thorns on its head. It clutches the lever tightly in its right hand. Above it, an engraving urges, SPILL WINE FOR YOUR ANCESTOR.
- ■ David S P’s elevator scrawl says, WATER TO WINE.
■ Dally staring and you feel dizzy, nauseous, depressed and compelled to share your close-death encounters. Before you know it, you are stepping into the Ancestor’s radius…
■ …where it plunges for you, if you don’t bear a filled cup. The silk ropes keep the Ancestor from reaching beyond 5m.
■ Two carvings under his fists read HONOUR THY FATHER and DISHONOUR THY MOTHER.
■ Quickly distract the Ancestor from crumbling his captives, tearing their arms or attempting to eat them.
■ The Ancestor is instinct-driven, consumed by thirst. It cannot see or smell, and only remembers taste. Sounds divert it.
■ Improvise: there is no actual wine here. Infuse water, spill blood, or vocally pretend you are delivering wine, and the Ancestor might spare you.
■ If sated, the Ancestor releases the lever.
LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
CONTENT WARNING: SCARECROW, SKINNED CREATURES
Enjoy pitch dark, dread and bile spreading in your gut. Take a candle from near the elevator and roam through small, unlocked rooms that feature tattered beds, strips of tanning leather and blood or wax spilled on the floor.
- ■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, O CATCHES IT.
■ Ahead, you see candle-bearing mannequins that dance a hora to the same song played by Jim Kirk’s music box: “Up the mountain, in the grove, hand in hand to Ke-Waihu, fresh harvest’s a treasure trove, each fall we feast anew.”
■ The creatures are patched abominations of wax, skinned flesh and burlap. In the middle of the hora is a wiry scarecrow, eyes blazing with candle fire as it points a large cleaver. In certain lights, the scarecrow’s face briefly contorts into that of your mother. It wears priestly robes that Arc III survivors may recognise from the House of Ravens.
■ As the dance finishes, you notice the lever in the middle of the circle, where flame spells out TAKE THEM, NOT ME. The game begins.
■ The abominations run, gleefully manic and screaming TAAAA~AAAAAG. YOU’RE IT! The scarecrow unflinchingly cuts them down while pursuing you. Hide in the abandoned rooms, or risk snuffing your candle to avoid detection.
■ Some abominations slap you, hold you, or alert the scarecrow. Others offer shelter. A few peel off wax skins from their limbs — showing black fungi beneath. They murmur, IT NEVER GOES AWAY.
■ Parchment strips fall from the scarecrow’s sleeves, reading, HAPPY NAME DAY, MOTHER KNOWS BEST, THE SIN RAN DEEPER THAN SKIN, IF YOU CAN BEAR IT, IT’S A GAME.
■ Bless David: draw the scarecrow into a drawn or makeshift circle to trap it.
■ Intense, paralysing fear arrests you, if the scarecrow catches you. The wax abominations chant, TAKE THEM, NOT ME. One might even take pity and move your numbed mouth to utter the words. Say them — and the scarecrow lands deep cuts on your arms, then pursues your companion.
■ If you betray someone, the abominations take the appearance of your worst version: whether physically mutated, with a temper that amplifies your worst features, or both.
LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
CONTENT WARNING: MANIPULATION, MENTAL COERCION
You enter a quiet room. The lever sits on a table, beside rope and a dagger. As you approach, your surroundings transform: perhaps your dearest dead appear to warmly welcome you. Crowds of your doubters celebrate your success. Or you are in a calm oasis, where nothing hurts.
- ■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, THIS DREAM IS A NIGHTMARE.
■ Whatever your deepest wishes, the room’s vivid illusions provide. With time, your beautiful dreams deteriorate into horror. Sometimes, you hear whispers of, Make a wish.
■ The room increasingly drains your life force. Within half an hour, you have gaunt flesh, brittle bones and a hunched back. Or you might feel compelled to harm yourself, clawing your arms and face, or pulling your hair out.
■ The damage comes undone minutes after reaching the elevator.
■ The room focuses on one person: if someone joins you, they see fainter echoes of what the room shows you, but they are not enthralled. They must coax or drag you away.
■ If you are under the room’s influence, it forces you to make any later intruders stay.
LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)
CONTENT WARNING: PLAGUE, THE CHILD
At the tower’s open-sky top, fire crackles from a small stone pit, shielded by a familiar, immovable blood-spattered white umbrella. Nearby, discover an immense rusted telescope and other discarded astronomy tools.
You trip on rain-battered yellowed bones at every step. One skeletal hand holds a watch piece, engraved for Mr. David Sebastian Pumpkins.
- ■ David S P’s has only scrawled his signature.
■ You might reach the flame easily, or be overwhelmed by sickness, black fungal spores blooming on your fingers, while you cough blood and experience intense fever. The symptoms wane once you reach the fire.
■ Burn paper talismans and link finished threads to help Karsa’s spell.
■ The child with a fox mask from the Unwinding could appear. Sign up for one of three short threads, which must finalise by 3 November.
NOTES
- ■ Some of the bigger plot clues have been emphasised, to help navigate through the horror details.
■ You can hit up some NPCs during the trials.
■ Check out plotting posts for last-minute team-ups.
■ Back to the top.
no subject
[ The Doctor's tone isn't lost on her, and she's glad, for the moment, he can't see her face. It isn't that she regrets her choice. She isn't even really angry with him anymore. But it has hurt, the reminder, more than she'd expected. She's spoken about it openly enough since arriving here, but it's different with the Doctor, to say the words where he can hear. And though she's committed to memory every time she's lost him, the when and the how, she doesn't care for having his deaths repeated either. ]
Yes, Fred, as long as we're sharing, how did you come about your end? [ When she pulls away, her fingers still brush his arm, reassuring him she'll be fine. This time she's more cautious, giving the skeleton less attention as she scans the walls and floor. ] Who's bound you here?
[ She doesn't really expect an answer, but hollow, unseeing sockets turn at the sound of their voices, now they've woken? him. ] Nothing wrong with his hearing, apparently. Don't ask me to explain that one.
[ Then she's looking back at him again. ] I'm sorry, did you say scratch-and-sniff?
[ She's married to a child. ]
no subject
Excuse you, River, he's a mature and responsible adult.]If you haven't read them, then you won't understand, of course. They're delightful.
[ Even now, sometimes, he forgets. He just forgets that there's nothing after this for River. He almost - almost - says they need to work on broadening her horizons. They're rather limited in that here in this world, though, and there's nothing at all beyond this. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, he doesn't appreciate the reminder and the heavy weight it comes to lay against his hearts. ]
You can hear us, good. You're not exactly the conversationalist, my friend, but suppose you only need to listen anyway.
[ While River does her own studying of the walls and floor, the Doctor casts his eye back to their skeleton "friend." He's curious about the Ancestor's other senses, how attuned they are. All five senses intact, or less than? Reckless, probably, but he ventures closer again. Even knowing what happened before, he's too curious. How close can he get to the lever? If he moves slowly, quietly, and carefully, can he approach? Is the Ancestor alerted by sound alone?
It occurs to him that if River notices, she might try to stop him, so he looks back at her, trying something that he never has before, seeing if he can communicate with her telepathically. I'm testing a theory. Just stay where you are.
He wants to inch a bit closer to the lever, curious to know where the boundary lies without drawing the Ancestor's attention. Will River hear him? Will she stay where she is? ]
no subject
Besides, I usually prefer something a little less...family friendly.
[ That glimmer of amusement is back, a return to solid footing.
She doesn't need to be reminded nothing comes after this place, that what they do here and now is all she gets. There's no forgetting for her, no running away from it. The truth of it shadows her always.
And she'd still do anything to distract him from it.
When his thoughts cut through her own, she looks up, surprised. His presence isn't unwelcome, it's familiar even, but he's still young.
Late in their marriage, when they'd had few secrets left to each other, their ability to connect so wholly had been something she'd treasured. It's something she's missed.
( It had better be a good theory. )
She keeps a watchful eye on his progress, ignoring the mess of her swirling emotions, and starts talking again. ]
He'll never shut up now. You could have saved us all a lot of trouble if you'd answered his questions.
But to be fair, I expect that's hard to do in your current state. Haven't much to work with, have you, poor dear.
It does beg the question, how do you intend to enjoy your wine?
no subject
For the Doctor, of course, forgetting is a conscious and very deliberate thing. Her death is the truth he's run from since he's known her. Every moment spent together, they were working their way back to it, and he's never wanted to face the truth of it, yet he can't ever escape it. So to survive and keep himself from plunging fully into madness, he forgets. Convenient, that forgetting. It's how he'd been able to cope with the loss of Gallifrey and what he'd done; forgetting that's not really forgetting at all, but tucking it all away very carefully into a little box, not to be disturbed.
He's pleasantly surprised when River responds to his call to her, though. It's nothing they've ever tried or done before, at least as far as he's aware, but now's the perfect time to put it to good use.
To test his theory as it pertains to their current captor, he'll have to remain quiet; a rare and almost impossible thing for the Doctor. But with River talking and the Doctor not, he has a chance to find out if their gracious host has full range of his senses. As the Doctor inches closer, very slowly, it becomes clear to him now that the Ancestor can't see him.
Of course, because he is standing so close, that dizzy, nauseous feeling returns and he stumbles a bit, drawing noise and attention to himself. That giant hand lunges for him, trying to smash him up against the opposing wall. It happens so quickly that the Doctor doesn't have a chance to react. ]
no subject
It's an effort to keep what she's feeling to herself, outside thoughts and impressions, to share only the words she chooses. The connection is all-too-familiar. She knows the shape of his mind better than she knows her own.
They'll have to have that talk now.
She's been avoiding it for days now, weeks maybe. But no more than he has. One of them will have to bend eventually, before the silence suffocates them both, and it will never be him. Oh, she can't tell him everything, but there are things he should know. Why she'd been angry. Why she isn't anymore. Why she still has every right to be. What she'd like from him. What she needs. Most importantly, he should know what it means to her that they're here together now, that they've been given this time.
And if he gets himself killed before she gets the chance to tell him, she'll never forgive him.
So she keeps her attention trained on him, even as she talks, every sense on high alert. ]
Don't tell me we're meant to make a ritual of it. How would we know the rules?
[ Then the Doctor stumbles, drawing the Ancestor's attention in an instant. She doesn't have as much time as she'd like (it moves remarkably quickly for its size) but she's already moving too, unceremoniously tackling the Doctor to the ground. It's far less gentle than his earlier rescue and they land in a heap, but she's back up quickly, concern darkening her eyes as she looks him over. ]
Idiot.
[ It's muttered softly, irritated yet vaguely affectionate. ]
no subject
He'd only thought to do this a moment ago to perform a function, something without much thought on his end. He does that too often sometimes, he knows. It's an intimate thing, or it should be, and he'd treated it rather cavalierly, and now there's no time to really even speak about it.
Not that he wants to; he's in no rush to speak about the things that hurt.
Luckily, he doesn't have to think much for the moment, and before he can register what's happening, River suddenly has him on the ground. He should take it more seriously, probably, but as he moves to stand, he simply smiles and reaches out to tap her nose before flapping his coat a bit to get the bone dust - or whatever it is on the floor, mixed with the dried blood - off. ]
Yours, dear.
[ That handled, the Doctor claps his hands and then rubs them together almost gleefully, turning in a half-circle and just surveying the room around them again. ]
Love a good tackle, gets the blood pumping - thank you, wife - thank you, Fred - and really, we've put this off long enough, haven't we?
[ He learned what he needed and wanted to know. The Ancestor can't see them, so in a way, this makes it easier. ]
I'd enjoy some wine of my own after that. [ Of course, that's a lie. Never did get the taste of wine in this life. Still, he reaches for one of the discarded bowls and makes it a point to make the sound loud, clanging it against the stone floor as he lifts it. ]
Give us a moment to mull it, spice it up a bit. Only the best for you, Fred.
no subject
My idiot.
The silent thought makes her smile as much as his continued chatter.
When he finally pauses, she takes the opportunity to lean in close, voice soft, ] And what do you know about wine, Sweetie?
[ Then she moves a little ways away, her hand pressing lightly into his back before she does, a gentle reassurance for both of them. Two close calls behind them, they're still here, and all that's left to do is convince a blind skeleton water is wine. ]
You'll forgive him, darling, he does try. And his taste isn't so bad as you might imagine; he did marry me after all.
no subject
His own greatest fear just happens to be pressing a hand lightly against his back at the moment. ]
I know everything about wine, didn't you know? Took a course on it recently, in fact. All the better that we're here, wouldn't you say, where I can put my skills to good use. [ Lie, lie, lie. Oh, but this is an easy and fun one, at least. ]
Let's see, there's red wine and white wine. Some of them are dry and some of them are sweet. Some have more bubbles than the others.
[ See? He's a complete expert. He's got this. Moving towards one of the wall fountains, he begins to fill up the bowl, swirling it around slowly, letting the edge of it clatter against the wall a bit. ]
Did you know a touch of cinnamon really brings out the...earthiness of it? [ He's just making up things now. Make it sound good. ] I always have a bit of cinnamon in my pocket. Livens up everything.
[ He makes his way back towards River now, holding the bowl of plain water between them. ] What do you think, eh? Have I spiced it up enough? I think this is my best yet.
no subject
I did know, in fact. Of course, I never thought to mention it because I didn't have any on hand. We wouldn't have wanted to disappoint Fred here, would we? [ It's ridiculous, completely absurd, but it's exhilarating, too. ]
I don't know, Sweetie, maybe I should taste it first. [ She dips her fingers into the bowl with a faint splash, allows a suitable pause while she dries them on her hip. It's ever so hard to tell if they're convincing the Ancestor of anything at all. ] I think you've outdone yourself.
What do you say, Fred, have a sip?
no subject
You're going to love this, dear fellow. Perfect vintage, floral notes, that soothing hint of cinnamon and vanilla, truly piquant wine. One sip and you'll be soothed into oblivion, perfectly relaxed. [ Is he just recalling from memory something he read off a wine bottle once? Yes, yes, he is.
Sparing just one more glance at River, pausing to wink at her with a smile, the Doctor steps forward now, holding the bowl up and out for the Ancestor. He's confident in his steps now, he doesn't linger or dally, just marches right up to the giant skeleton, completely convinced of the lie they've woven. It's the only way to convince the Ancestor in return, really.
This time, when it hears him approach, its long bony arms begin to move again, but not to swat at him and instead, the small bowl is taken from his hands. This means the lever is open now, able to be pulled, and so the Doctor glances over his shoulder, back at River, just giving her a nod and a grin. ]
no subject
This is where they're both at their best.
Careful not to put too much distance between them, lest he get too sure of himself and need rescuing again, she slowly starts making her way back toward their escape as he steps forward. She's only a few short feet away when the Doctor flashes her that grin. He thinks he's so clever. But she can't help smiling back before she turns, quickly closes the remaining distance and pulls the lever. ]
no subject
Won’t miss you, mate, but thanks for the laughs! Warmest regards, all that fun. Feedback for next time: liven the place up a bit, you know, a proper party! Cake and streamers or something at the very least. For God’s sake, find some real friends.
[ On the lift at last, as the door closes, the Doctor’s eyes are lit up just a bit, and he’s just barely breathless as he smiles at River. ]
Hope he changes his life, really grim honestly. Just needs a new direction.
[ He teases a little, leaning back against the lift wall opposite from River, still smirking as he straightens his bowtie on instinct. He thinks for a moment to reach for River; to touch her arm, hold her hand, kiss her even. But since they’ve been here, he’s found himself shying away from physical touch with her. Not that he won’t accept it because he always will, but he doesn’t initiate as much as he would normally, or has even with others. He’s not even completely conscious of it, until the moment he thinks maybe it would be nice, and suddenly a part of him shuts down a little.
River is dead, and though she’s always been a ghost to him in one way or another, that never stopped him before. It’s being here and knowing this really is it for them, that terrifies him. It should make him the opposite, but though he’s enjoying the fun, the ease, the banter, the flirting, he’s finding it difficult to take it a step further. It’s because this really is the end, he knows. Their whole relationship has been built on an ending he knows will come, but this feels different and more difficult in some respects. When they leave here, River will still be gone and he doesn’t know how to say goodbye and he doesn’t want to.
So he keeps her at a safe distance even now. The more he touches her, the more it will hurt. As if that’s going to solve anything at all. It should be the opposite; soaking up every moment to the absolute fullest. But nothing has ever really been logical with him when it comes to feelings on this level. ]
no subject
Oh, Doctor, I've missed this.
[ Caught up in the moment, the words have a breathless honesty, but she isn't sad. Far from it. It's a wonderful feeling, a return of something lost.
She isn't blind to the distance between them. She's let him set the pace, tried to follow his lead. But as she reaches up to take hold of the leather ceiling strap, she leans in close, pressing her hand to his chest and letting it linger just a moment too long. Her eyes still shimmer with mirth as she pulls back. ] I think after that display you owe me a proper glass of wine.
[ She settles back against the chain-link as the lift lurches to life again, still watching him, and it doesn't take long to realize something's changed, the glow of their adventure leeching out of her. River's rarely entirely at ease. A certain amount of paranoia is built into her. But she always feels safe with the Doctor.
She's even less prepared when she stops seeing the Doctor entirely. Closing her eyes, she tamps down on rising anger, rising fear that she'll deny later, and when the lift pauses, she beats the Doctor out easily, not caring where they are. ]
It's just a room. [ Her confusion settles over her as she starts toward the table, and then everything changes. ] Oh.
[ Some part of her knows, deep down, this isn't real, can't be real.
It's her parents' living room. Late 40's? Amy's working on one of her novels, and she can hear Rory in the kitchen. River sits next to Anthony in the floor. He's just starting to crawl now. She won't have many more days with them like this; it's too much of a risk. ]
no subject
[ He wouldn't deny feeling exhilarated in the aftermath of what's just happened and he has missed this, too. He's missed her. There was very real danger, they nearly died, but they're alive, they're both alive here now. River is alive somehow, beyond all reason and understanding. He could grab her and kiss her, he really could, but something holds him back. For a moment, though, he covers her hand when she touches him, and then it's over all too soon, or perhaps...just in time, for the sake of his own hearts.
As the lift rises, the Doctor feels his emotions twist and turn in unexpected ways, from fear to anger and upset, and then it's not River's face he sees, but something more horrific. His mind can't seem to make sense of what's really happening, and then blessedly, the doors open again. Or not so blessedly.
River's out and away from him while he's still sorting through his thoughts, so when he finds her, she's already halfway into what he recognizes to be a hallucination of some sort, twisting her memories, her wants, her desires. The Doctor suddenly feels like an intruder, like River's heart is laid bare before him, and yet, for selfish reasons, he can't look away himself. His grounding in reality is his only anchor at the moment, but it would be difficult to deny that he isn't similarly caught up in the promise of what this room whispers to them. It's a horror, though, something twisted awaits them, and though he might long for even just a moment more with Amy and Rory, he worries what this will do to River. ]
River. This isn't real, we can't linger.
[ His voice is soft, kneeling beside her, daring to reach out and touch her shoulder softly now.
Oh, but to see their faces again, deluded as this all is. He's a weak man and he loves them all so much. But they can't stay, they mustn't. He can't know for sure what this room will do, but it can't be anything good at all, and he feels a surge of protectiveness for the sake of his wife, who's already lost so much. Here again, she'll lose, and he can't stop it. ]
no subject
The Doctor's hand on her shoulder is a surprise, a testament to how taken in she is by the illusion, a few more stolen moments with her family. But she reaches for his hand, squeezing tightly. ] Sit. I'm glad you're here.
[ His words are slower to sink in, snippets of memory intruding on the nearly perfect scene. And when she looks at the Doctor, truly looks at him, the illusion fractures. He can't be here.
The ache in her chest deepens as they slip away from her, and she turns away from the empty space, clinging to the Doctor. But the room hasn't finished with her yet.
Against reason, baby face and bowtie have disappeared, replaced by graying hair and angry eyebrows. She folds herself into his arms and breathes in the cool evening air in the shadow of the Towers. And she knows, too, this isn't real, but she doesn't care.
Until an uncertain voice behind her asks, 'Does this mean you aren't going to be my mummy anymore?'
Charlotte.
Is that what all this has been? A dream? A nightmare? Another hiccup in the Library's systems?
She backs away from the Doctor slowly, seeing him properly again, and then she shakes her head. ] I'm sorry, Sweetie.
[ Turning to face the eternal child who's become her daughter, River kneels and smiles reassuringly. ]
Of course I'm still your mummy. Always. Remember?
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And it clicks, for a fraction of a second, that this time here is Darillium, his Darillium, for all intents and purposes. Not what he ever wanted, but that's the way of things for them, it seems. Still, he feels a renewed purpose amongst the emotional devastation he's witnessing. River is here and whole and his, for however long they have.
Then everything shifts and she's a mother aching for her child. The only chance she'd ever been given for this and that had been his fault, too. They can't linger, it's dangerous, but for just a moment, he gets to pretend with her. For a moment, they're a family, in the only way they ever could be.
So, beyond reason and sanity, the Doctor kneels beside River, close enough for their shoulders to touch, and he smiles at the child that isn't real, but who's real enough to River for now. He doesn't say anything that would feed into the delusion, because his need to protect River is greater than anything else, even at the risk of hurting her, which he'll have to do in a moment. But, briefly, he gets to see her as a mother, something she'd always deserved. ]
The very best mummy you could ever hope to have. But she doesn't belong here anymore, she belongs with me.
[ He reaches out now, trying to lace his fingers together with River's, trying to tug her away. ]
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She reaches out for her, but Charlotte pulls away, out of her reach. 'You wanted to leave.'
River shakes her head, blindly tangling her fingers with the Doctor's when his hand finds hers. ]
No. I've loved being your mummy, Charlotte. We're a family. You, Dave, and me.
I'd never leave you alone.
[ Except deep in her hearts, she knows she already has. ]
Doctor, I can't.
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River Song can't? I don't believe it. You can. You can, you must, you will. We have to leave, you don't belong with them. Not now, not here.
[ He tugs her hand closer, cradling it between both of his. ]
I'm real, River. We are, together.
[ He doesn't know if this will work, he can't accurately discern how deeply trapped in the delusion she is. This may mean nothing to her, she may push him away, but he has to try, he has to anchor her to something real.
Still holding her hand, he shifts carefully, leaning in close to kiss her. He is real, what's between them is real and alive, right now, and it's all that matters until they can get out of this room. ]
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She doesn't want to leave her, could never abandon her to that kind of loneliness again. But seeing her parents again, the Doctor...how she misses them.
But is any of it even real? Has any of this been real?
They don't really dream in the Library, but they've been attacked before. She's been attacked before.
She doesn't know what to believe anymore.
When he kisses her, the dam breaks, hot tears falling silently. Her free hand between them, she thinks she can almost feel his dual heartbeats. He's real. He has to be.
She settles against his chest, closing her eyes. If she looks at Charlotte, she'll be lost again. But finally, her fingers tighten around his. ]
Doctor, take me away from here. Please.
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[ Though he can see everything she’s seeing, he’s not under the influence of it the way River is, so he’s able, at least, to pull her out of this. He can’t take away the pain of what she’s seen, but this one thing, he can do. It’s both a mercy and a cruelty, it feels like, because it’s real enough for her, but he won’t linger a moment longer and risk her hurting any more than she is. To walk away from what her heart most wants, to have the presence of mind and the strength to ask, well – he’s not entirely sure he'd have such strength himself. She’s always been so much stronger than him. It strikes him then, even in the midst of all of this – why has she had to be so strong? For her life, for his sake. It feels like another cruelty that he wishes he could spare her.
All these thoughts churn in his mind, but he doesn’t delay moving; they don’t have the time to spare. The moment the words are spoken, the Doctor’s arms wrap around her and he very nearly carries her, bearing her weight as he tucks her close to his shoulder, trying in some way to shield her from what still lingers around them. He moves towards the lever; he can see it more clearly now, with River making the choice to be removed from here. With one arm still protectively around her waist, he pulls the lever with his other hand, and then begins to lead her back towards the lift, still doing his best to hold her close to him. It’s the closest they’ve been for any length of time since being here in this world together and he finds himself reluctant to put any sort of distance between them again, at least for the moment. ]
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But she doesn't want to fight him. The solid presence of him surrounding her is the only thing she's properly convinced is real. They've taunted her with him before, too, but not like this. He wasn't alive, but then she hadn't been either. Is she alive now? Oh, she just isn't sure anymore.
With her head resting on his shoulder, pressed close against him, she can faintly feel his hearts, synced to the same eerie ticking as her own, as if they're both mechanical toys. The sound that leaves her throat, muffled against the fabric of his jacket, is something between a laugh and a sob. And so she lets him half carry, half drag her away from the room and its whispers, the promises she knows it can't keep. ]
She doesn't need me. But she's still just a little girl.
[ A little girl who had been just as lost and lonely and afraid as River ever had in her own life, a little girl who needed someone. ]
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And when a man like him reflects, well, it's not that he's ever lacked the awareness of just how dreadful he is and can be sometimes, but he struggles to take that awareness and make it into something useful. Losing Amy and Rory changed a lot of that in him, he thinks, he hopes. Something good had to come from that, and from losing River. Could it make him kinder, as Amy had once remarked? Make him more loving? What does that word mean, loving. Is it this? Is it just being close to his wife and holding her through the pain? Could it be as simple as that? Has he run all this time from the simplest of moments, trying to stall the pain that's going to come. What a ridiculous notion, really. There's no stalling it, no delaying it. It will come because everything ends. All that he's done is made the choice for both of them and deprived them of so many good things.
He'd told Clara only recently that he wished he could be better at not running out on the people he cares about (loves). Can he put that sentiment into action? Can he be what his wife needs most? He hasn't done so far, not even close. He's not sure he could ever be what she deserves, because she deserves so much better than him. There he goes again, lost in his own inner turmoil.
For once - for maybe the first time - it can and must be about her. Not him.
And so, what does she need from him? Words? Hope? Truth? Touch? All of it or none of it. How does he do this?
With her head still against his shoulder, the Doctor acts with his first thought, which is to cradle the back of her head, pressing his own face a little bit closer.
River was a little girl stolen from her parents, her whole life written for her. Alone, abandoned. He thinks back to her rot - solitude - and his fingers curl into her hair a bit, in a way that might almost be soothing. He's comforted so many friends just like this. Why is it with River that he questions himself? He knows; she's so important, he'll muck it up somehow, he always does, so he fears himself with her sometimes. But she deserves better than that, too. She deserves him trying. ]
We all need someone, no matter who or what we are. What happened in there, it was a trick. [ On some level, he knows she understands. It's not to patronize her, but to reinforce that it wasn't real. ] You are her mother, River, she knows that, you know that. Nothing can take that away from either of you.
[ It's important, because that part is real. What she feels for Charlotte is real and will always be. ]
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In a way, Charlotte had been loved as River had, quietly and with so much pain it blinded those who loved her to her reality. In their inability to let her go, they'd condemned her to never-ending childhood. Alone.
Of course River hadn't been insulated by happy memories or fairy tales. She'd been alone in the dark, surrounded by madness. And when they told her stories, she woke crying from nightmares. But she felt no less sympathy for Charlotte, for her daughter. ]
I'm fine, Doctor.
[ It's a reflex, to reassure him, even as her words fall flat between them.
The moment she'd found herself again in the Library, all she could think about was the Doctor. How he was still her husband, would always be her husband, and she would wait as long as it took for him to come back. Now he's here, right in front of her, and what she's missing most is being dead. Someone else should certainly appreciate the irony of that. But River can only let the tears fall. Even as her tears slow, stop completely, she clings to him no less tightly.
He's always loved hugs, this one, but he's rarely held her. His affection is reserved for others. She's an exception to the rule in a completely opposite sense for his future self, and the reminder makes her eyes sting all over again.
As long as they're like this, she knows she's safe, she's alive, breathing in the familiar scent of him. It's funny how he can be so different and still always the same. It doesn't matter if he's wearing celery on his lapel or going around calling himself professor, desperately running from the war or living in the shadow of its end. She's been with him in so many of his lives, loved him through all of them.
Had he been anyone else, she isn't sure she could have pulled herself away, to leave Charlotte again, to leave the family she knew was indisputably hers. ]
I am, you know. It wasn't intentional.
[ But it is something she'd wanted, once upon a time, being a mother. She'd even thought about asking him once. She'd been younger then, still working out what it meant to love him when all she'd ever been taught was how to hate him. ]
We should go, Sweetie. It isn't a good idea to linger.
[ Her mind is clearer now, but it will take much longer for the deep longing in chest to fade. ]
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A moment ago, he'd wondered if he could be the better man she deserves. Now, he's not only uncertain he can be, he's not entirely convinced she wants him to be. Their marriage has never been conventional, by any standards. He knows that she loves him and he's equally aware that he's never made any attempt to assure her of the same. He's not even sure how he feels. He loves her, yes, cares about her, most certainly. But does he love her? It's not so much a question of if he does, but if he can let himself. It all comes back to being terrified of her and what she represents, a love that never had a chance to even get started, that started at the end.
Yet, she had a marriage, a real one, with his future self, the one who cried their last night together on Darillium. That's the man she really loves, the one she really deserves. He made her feel loved, for the first time; he could see it in her eyes in that horrific delusion she was trapped in. She was happy. Some version of himself that he doesn't recognize made River feel happy and loved, and he's quite sure she'd prefer to be trapped here with him instead.
Where does that leave them, here and now?
Or perhaps, she'd prefer to be back in the Library, with the family she'd built there. He can't be hurt about either scenario; well, he can be and he is, but he buries that very carefully. What use is that pain? Nothing about it can be changed. Being trapped here together suggests that something about both their futures has shifted, perhaps irreparably, and he doesn't know what that means and he worries about the implications on their timelines and the universe itself. For the man who believes there's always hope, it's hard to let himself feel it.
She loves him, yes, but does she love him? Can he be that man? Every moment with her hurts, it always has, and it blinds him to anything else, to the ways he might be able to make her smile and laugh, in a real and lasting way. All the ways that he could and wants to love her.
Maybe it isn't possible with them at all. He's terrible at all of this, she knows that. Why should she let herself believe anything else?
It's selfish; what he wants, what he imagines their marriage could be. What does she want? He's never asked her. How does he do that? It should be a simple question, but like everything with River, it's anything but. He'd kept it a secret all that time, her death, the way they ended, trying so hard not to hurt her, trying not to hurt himself. He couldn't protect her from any of it, and he'd been afraid every step of the way to ever fall in love. How could he let himself fall in love when he knew where she'd end up? So he's built a wall so carefully around himself, and he's hurt her in the process. It was inevitable, perhaps, but if he'd done things differently, maybe he could have made her happy, too. There should be a chance for that here, but he doesn't trust himself. ]
Of course you're fine. You always are and so am I.
[ This, at least, they've always been good at. ]