It's infuriating, to say the least. To be compelled in such a way again, although at least this time, the Doctor feels far more in control as compared to how his mind had been toyed with in the Tower.
A question like that isn't simple or easy, not just for himself, but for the consequences he's well aware must await them if they don't answer correctly.
The Doctor glances at Clara for a moment, his eyes darkening, but he points to himself silently, telling her to abstain for just a moment. He'd rather be the one to do this first and he needs her to listen.
His first instinct is to lie, of course. He's very good at that, he always has been. Why should he tell a stranger, this man in particular, what he most desires? Why does he owe him that? Why would he owe anyone that? The anger builds to a simmer in him, because as he much as he loathes being forced to speak the words, he's more upset that Clara's being forced into as well. She's been through enough as it is. But here they are, and it's unavoidable.
Lie or truth, lie or truth?
Of course, because they're constantly being toyed with, the truth must be told or they'll be punished. The point is to make them suffer in some manner, to play with them. He'll have to tell the truth, otherwise he risks Clara being harmed. They're far enough away from the shore now that if something happens, he's not sure how difficult it might be to swim through the undead grabbing at them.
For Clara's sake, the answer is simple.
Folding his hands together, not looking at Clara's eyes now, casting his gaze to the shoreline (such as it is), the Doctor quietly confesses, "To not be alone."
That suffices, but their captor isn't done with them yet. Where would you stop to obtain it?
The Doctor's jaw tenses, clenches, his eyes flicker to Clara again briefly, back to the water, to the undead reaching for them.
no subject
A question like that isn't simple or easy, not just for himself, but for the consequences he's well aware must await them if they don't answer correctly.
The Doctor glances at Clara for a moment, his eyes darkening, but he points to himself silently, telling her to abstain for just a moment. He'd rather be the one to do this first and he needs her to listen.
His first instinct is to lie, of course. He's very good at that, he always has been. Why should he tell a stranger, this man in particular, what he most desires? Why does he owe him that? Why would he owe anyone that? The anger builds to a simmer in him, because as he much as he loathes being forced to speak the words, he's more upset that Clara's being forced into as well. She's been through enough as it is. But here they are, and it's unavoidable.
Lie or truth, lie or truth?
Of course, because they're constantly being toyed with, the truth must be told or they'll be punished. The point is to make them suffer in some manner, to play with them. He'll have to tell the truth, otherwise he risks Clara being harmed. They're far enough away from the shore now that if something happens, he's not sure how difficult it might be to swim through the undead grabbing at them.
For Clara's sake, the answer is simple.
Folding his hands together, not looking at Clara's eyes now, casting his gaze to the shoreline (such as it is), the Doctor quietly confesses, "To not be alone."
That suffices, but their captor isn't done with them yet. Where would you stop to obtain it?
The Doctor's jaw tenses, clenches, his eyes flicker to Clara again briefly, back to the water, to the undead reaching for them.
For Clara, for Clara, he reminds himself.
"Truthfully, that terrifies me."