applesaucedream | Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

photo encampmentunderthesea_zps98ceddce.jpg

Since the dreamers of Manhattan had such a lovely time at the last vaguely-nautical-themed party, the Rift has decided to step things up a notch. Tonight, the dreamers will find themselves in what appears to be a city very much like the one they inhabit in the waking world, full of towering skyscrapers, neon signs, and heavy traffic. But there is one rather crucial difference: this city is located deep underwater, and the aforementioned traffic is mostly whales and fish, with the occasional submersible thrown into the mix.

The walls and windows are heavily reinforced to withstand the pressure of the water outside, and the people who dwell in these buildings seem to be doing rather well for themselves, for the most part. Buildings are connected by enclosed walkways, so barring any horrible accidents, the dreamers should have no problem getting around without getting too wet.

Much like the city they inhabit in the waking world, some areas are more obviously affluent than others, and the dreamers are as likely to stumble upon an upscale club as an underwater pub. But while the chances of a full structural breakdown are slim, there are definitely some areas that are on the leaky side, and a general sense of claustrophobia pervades the city wherever you might find yourself.

Explore. Or, if you're feeling particularly ambitious, attempt to escape. Either way, take care - it's hard to say what might be lurking in the darkness just beyond the city lights.

[ooc: Y'all know the drill. All characters are welcome, whether they are in the game or not. Characters can remember or forget the events of the dreaming at the player's discretion. And the party never stops - backtag into infinity!]

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There he is, she feels his attention focus in on her and spots him in the same moment, and then she's matching him stare for stare, returning the curious contact just as tentatively, inquisitively. She just blinks at him for a moment, trying to parse him, this unfamiliar permutation on the most familiar mind in any universe.

"That's... not a wrong assessment," she admits, taken aback by his directness and quick recognition of her and the way he's being all... unknown. "You're new," she adds, sounding a little wondering and a little confused, shaking off her hesitation to stand up on her toes and study his face more closely. She tilts her head while turning his mind around in hers like a shiny bauble. "I did not see you coming." And that's a source of some discomfort, enough to quell her usual surge of love upon meeting a Doctor, at least for the moment. She's crossed paths with future incarnations of his relative to her present plenty of times, but in her own universe, always within the context of the Web, making sense, being a future fact that's accounted for. This one's context she can't see, he's not reassuringly woven into any history, though she knows he must be in his own universe. But knowing that isn't enough to make him seem... comfortable.

He can feel the unfamiliar and frankly disheartening gulf that exists between them, how sad that it should be this way, it never should. "I'm not new," he manages to scoff reassuringly, though of course he knows what she means. Dwelling on that isn't appealing by any means. "But why are you in here?" His extravagant gesturing manages to encompass both the concept of the dream and the human form before him. Nyssa, he remembers, of course he does, he's not completely inept with faces.

She's disheartened too, both by this unsettling disconnectedness and by her own reaction to it. No Doctor should ever not be unconditionally welcomed by her. Yet she can't quite do anything to change it, all uncertain mental hovering as she lowers herself back onto the heels of her feet.

"Out of habit, I suppose," she replies to the more obvious of his two meanings, still with an uncertain and somewhat forlorn expression. "I have been using this form for quite a while." So he's apparently not even from a universe where she has taken to wearing a body. Not that there seem to be all that many iterations of her out there to have done so. But this is something he likes, he should like if she knows him at all, so she adds with the attempt of a proud smile, "Do you like it?"

He returns the smile, albeit sadly. Of course he likes it, is there anything better than new things, and that there should always be new things. It's fundamental to who he is, that he approve of such things. "Of course I do."

He hates that this strange wedge between them exists, the moreso for how much he can feel that something has worn on her terribly, that she is existing under duress. If he were just a little more demonstrative in this regeneration, if he felt just a little less uncertain of how to respond to something that should be so familiar that responses are practically instinctive, perhaps he could hug her, reassure her mentally. But in one of his strange moments of blind insecurity he isn't even sure he should try. "And what about me? What d'you think?" It's a joke, on the level of his clothes and manner anyway, she's not able to be concerned. But underneath that, the reaching out for approval is real. "It's taken some getting used to. It always does."

She supposes it's only fair that he turn her question and request for approval around on her, but that doesn't make it easier to answer. What does she think, when she doesn't know this incarnation's particular quirks, doesn't know how he reacts to things and what they've seen together and how he came to be. Still, he wants an answer, needs one even, she can tell that much. He's as disturbed and lost as she is, perhaps even more, if his unusual lack of reassurance is any indication.

Strangely enough that's something like a comfort; now she knows what to do. Besides, she does know everything about him that matters. So when she finally answers after a long moment's consideration, it is with a warm, genuine smile. "I am sure I love it. You don't really change, not to me." Perhaps she can't speak for herself just now, but she can speak for her other self, his version of her.

Whom he should be with instead of here, she realizes and her smile disappears back into new, more pressing concern. "You aren't trapped in New York, are you?" No, she would have noticed. "You should wake up, and avoid spatio-temporal rifts at all costs." Not that she's sure this would be in any way effective, but it's worth a try, this is too important not to at least try, and she takes his hands for emphasis. "Realign my shields, have me keep watch, just in case."

A warning in a dream, he could beam with joy for the fulfillment of that trope, if it weren't so obviously deadly serious, and the potential expressions war briefly on his face. And where is he, anyway? The him that ought to be here, is he trapped in New York? What could possibly have gone so wrong.

"No, no I'm not, why would I be? What happened? Where is he? Where's the rest of you?" A torrent of questions, each as important and demanding answer as the last.

She sighs, a little out of relief that it's not too late for him, but mostly because those are distressing questions and she's no good at explanations even when she isn't upset. But she'll have to do her best.

"I am trapped in an alternate New York, I was taken by a rift so sudden and powerful I couldn't escape it... and I was on my own, you'd gone out..." She tries not to think of her own Doctor, usually, it just makes her more miserable, more lonely and desperate to return to him. He won't even notice she's been gone, she will be absolutely punctual when she gets back home, if she gets back... With some effort she drags herself away from the precipice of hopelessness to continue her explanation, though clinging to his hands more fiercely now. "You are here too, from another universe, your eighth... though you were older when I arrived. Many more people are trapped as well. This is a telepathic communal link supported by the rift, I go here to escape linearity just a little..." But now she's met him here, and she doesn't want to think about what that might mean.

"That would have to be some rift." He looks Shakespeareanly aghast, appropriate for warnings in dreams and handwringing distress. Appropriate, for something that must be truly tragic and terrifying, how dreadful that must be for her, no wonder she's warning him so strongly. And a telepathic communal link, what a set up! He looks at it with impersonal admiration. Sure it's awful, but look at the craftsmanship! He wouldn't mind having a go at it, another time perhaps. But that seems to be exactly what the TARDIS is afraid of, she doesn't have to say it out loud, and his attention swoops back to her, squeezing her hands as reassuringly as an animate bundle of twigs can. "Don't fret, my dear, I'm sure it's just coincidence. And I'm sure you'll get back in time. Absolutely certain." He stops before he can quantify it less than reassuringly.

Any trace of his confidence is like a balm to her despair and she soaks it up as much as she can, but it's far short from enough. And there is so much he doesn't know about her circumstances.

"We tried manipulating the rift once, I even connected to my home universe, but it very nearly tore me apart." And the experience still casts a horrified and frightened shadow over her mind. "We haven't attempted anything since, we mostly gather data now. Your eighth incarnation isn't very... focused." It's not exactly a criticism; the need to leave isn't as urgent in him yet and he's always been flighty, she's used to it. But she is also so worn down by being blind and trapped here that her hope and faith in him are wavering more than they have in a very long time. So she needs more than a pat on the console to be comforted.

That gets a frown as a few more things shake loose in his thoughts. "Ahh, yes, that one could really put down roots. You could be here for some time with him." Nothing more needs to be said on that front, right? He seems to realise, visibly, that that's not precisely comforting. "There must be some way to set up a more stable connection. Well his memory's not the best, give him a sharp reminder now and then, that's a retroactive request, maybe set an alarm. It'll get done eventually." It's hard for the urgency to really set in, surely solving this problem is just a chore that keeps getting put off, like non-essential repairs or paying visits. "I know it must be very tiresome in the meantime though, very tiresome indeed. But you've seen worse. It'll get sorted." He tries, really very hard and without much native aptitude, to reach through her distress and the uncomfortable gulf of incongruity between them to offer some reassurance, remind her that her strength is something that can always be counted on.

No, that indeed wasn't comforting, but neither is the rest of what he's saying, in fact it all sounds rather naive and careless. Eventually isn't enough, and setting an alarm isn't going to solve this problem. Upset and alienated as she already feels, his form of reassurance is more off-putting than welcome; she sees the intent behind it but she is so tired of enduring whatever the Doctor decides she can survive, like she isn't suffering, like her strength is as infinite as her interior.

"Do you really think I would be this distressed if it was something that could simply be 'sorted'?" she asks sharply, narrowing her eyes and pulling her hands back. "If it was merely 'tiresome'? I cannot survive in this universe but for the rift's energy, I have been trapped and blind to Time for months. We have seen worse and I am patient but I am suffering, and so are others. Is that not of concern to you?"

Well, that was a misstep, he sees that now and looks appropriately sheepish. But the damage is probably done. Probably always would have been done, and suddenly he feels very lost. It's just so wrong, for this alienation to exist at all.

"Of course it's a concern," he hurries to reassure her, and he knows the indignance isn't helping his case but he can't seem to put the brakes on it. "I just mean--Look. I want to help, of course I do. And I'm trying. By getting you to tell the one that's actually there! You're lodging your complaint with the wrong office. I'm just giving you the right address." If only she were at a place in time to understand him a little better. He'd meant so well. "I'm sorry, I know I must seem callous now. That isn't how I want you to see me." It's just such a shame, this should never be the way it is. "I'd help you if I could. Maybe I can. Maybe I will, when I wake up. I can help make a more stable connection, that's a good start. I mean, I've already found the rift in my sleep."

Everything about this feels so horribly disjointed. His tone and words are only insulting her further; does he think she hasn't thought of communicating with the other him yet, that she hasn't used their bond and this form to make him understand her distress? And how dare he call it a complaint, the sort of thing she does when someone's graffitied her exterior or a companion pushes buttons without permission.

But at the same time she can tell this isn't what he means to do, it can't be and she can sense his contrition and helplessness. His apology is sincere and she suddenly feels like she's hurt him, failed him by not understanding him. How wrong this all is. But she can't make it right, can't reach out and make it better. She's distraught and lost, her anger draining from her to leave her earlier weary sadness.

"I told you to stay away from the rift, not go seeking it out," she argues hesitantly, though she's already considering his suggestion. If another version of her were to link with the rift at the same time as her, surely they would be able to force stability and direction on it. Perhaps she could even get Gabriel to help, she wouldn't let him connect directly to the rift, not after what happened to him, but he could lend her some of his power in some way; heal the damage the rift would cause before it can weaken her. She's torn between not wanting this Doctor hurt and wanting out, unable to speak further for either side of the idea.

He can feel her ambivalence about the idea. Of course she knows he'll probably seek it out regardless of her counsel, and without this informed version of her to refuse to stay on course. "Forewarned is forearmed. I don't intend to get sucked through meekly like soap down a drain." She doesn't even sound terribly against it, not really, not if she can be reassured he won't fall prey to the rift himself. "Of course, I'm not sure...Well. What if you just end up here?" Well that's not extraordinarily well explained. "I mean, with me. I'm sure that would still be an improvement--" Maybe. He isn't sure at all, and he looks at her askance to see if she's aware of the fact. "But you might still be stuck." He looks apologetic at having to voice this concern.

She is about to object again, to the way he sounds like he still doesn't understand the severity of the situation and the power of the rift - it's true that she would have had a better chance to resist it if he had been piloting her when she was dragged in, but after having nearly been destroyed by it despite his best efforts, she's not so sure that that's enough anymore. Before she can say as much, though, he brings up a very important and very troubling point and her eyes widen in dismay.

"But that would be worse, I can't go to your universe," she says, sounding quite horrified as her mind runs through the implications. She wouldn't be trapped in one place any longer and she could surely see the Web again - and what a relief that would be - but his universe isn't permanently linked to the rift the way this New York is. It might close behind her and then she would never be able to return home, she'd still be in the wrong universe with the wrong Doctor, but one who has his own version of her to take care of; she'd be utterly extraneous. "I need to remain where I am and go home."

Alright, alright, no need for that, it's a perfectly nice universe he's got, not its fault. "I know, but it might be hard to manage a connection to your home when I'm here, I'm thinking of logistics here. It might even generate a, a sort of vacuum. I might be dragged through in your wake. It could be very unstable, a real mess." Other, even worse consequences he doesn't want to draw attention to when she's already distressed flit through his mind, rapid and unbidden like most of his thoughts. The rift would have to be central to any such endeavour, he sees that now. And as much as she will protest--as much as he already winces at the thought--that might mean solving this problem from within her current universe, with a lot of preparation and strategy of course. Maybe she won't notice this occurring to him. Oh to have his chalkboards at hand.

Oh has he finally arrived at that realization too, finally picked up on the fact that the rift is unpredictable and fiercely chaotic? She can't suppress a roll of her eyes despite her agitation. "That is what I have been saying," she points out, exasperated. No matter the incarnation, he always has to think of something by himself before he gives it any real weight, he can never just listen.

And if that hasn't changed in this foreign him, then she can also tell that this is the point where he thinks of some reckless plan she wouldn't approve of if he ever asked her. She crosses her arms in preparation of dealing with this, now that she has a mouth and words to object with for once. "And I will not have you trapped here as well. Help me from your universe's side, or do not help me at all." She may be ambivalent about him getting involved with the rift, but if he's thinking of deliberately passing through it, she has almost no trouble being firmly against it. She already has a Doctor here, two trapped and frustrated Doctors won't make things better.

There's already a Doctor here, sure, but not all Doctors are regenerated equal. But let that slide for now. It's such a shock, though not an unpleasant one, to get this kind of eye-rolling and mulishness in a new form. Really it would be an exceptional novelty, if things weren't so dire. It is a little harder to evade the disapproval this way, however, that had surely taken some getting used to.

If she's as in tune as all that, then she knows he won't accept either of those answers, if it looks like solving the problem from his universe's side will be impossible. He looks grave and apologetic, an expression that doesn't come naturally to his face, but he is nonetheless resigned. "You know I can't promise that." To companions, maybe, but not to her, she already knows better. "But I will be careful."

At least he's doing her the courtesy of not lying to her, she appreciates that, in a disgruntled it's-the-least-she-deserves kind of way. But that doesn't stop her from being exasperated and worried in the extreme, and she wordlessly frowns up at him for a long moment. Still, she does want his help, desperately so, willing to cling to any new sliver of hope. Eventually she sighs deeply, knowing it's futile to argue with him.

"You had better be," she chides him, most of her sternness replaced by conflicted concern. "Since you are determined not to listen to me, as usual." For the first time she feels a spark of fondness for him at that, reassured to see that nothing fundamental has changed at all, as obnoxious as this particular habit of his may be. Slightly less disgruntled and slightly more affectionate, she raises an eyebrow and adds, "I see I must still put up with that."

Yes, this is definitely a lot more pointed than when she didn't have a face to frown with, just a homey feeling of disapproval in the back of his mind. And when she was a fairly stationary thing that he could leave the vicinity of easily when he needs to do something really stupid. Though, this outcropping at least has less control over his environment, so it's half a dozen of one, six of the other, he supposes.

"Yes, I suppose you must," he sighs, though there's some degree of self-deprecation to it, and no small amount of relief. He feels like he's passed a test, keyed in a code and been recognised, though curiously he still feels like he must be some kind of impostor in her eyes. And will again, properly, he wants to say, but his reassurances have continuously fallen flat and he doesn't quite dare. "Good thing I decided to have a nap then, isn't it."

She can't help shaking her head at his agreement, though now more fondly exasperated than annoyed. But she's still so high-strung that she sobers immediately when she considers just how good a thing their meeting here may or may not be, given the dangers involved. "I very much hope so," she says uncertainly, afraid for his safety but wanting to have faith that he will finally save her.

A little belatedly, she picks up on his relief and his odd hesitation, realizes he's still just as unsure and almost anxious in the face of their unnatural unfamiliarity as she is. It's so troubling and frustrating, she wants to buck and shake it off, or push through it somehow. She looks up into his new old eyes, studies him, trying to suss out what he needs, and finds that that had been more of a question than he had made it sound. He actually isn't sure if she is glad for their meeting, and she can't even blame him, with how distressed and reserved she's being. It's not right, and she wants to do at least this for him, so she brushes gentle gratitude against his mind despite their distance. As an afterthought, she takes one of his hands to squeeze and adds, "Thank you," with a small, hopefully encouraging smile.

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Encampment Under the Sea [Open to All]

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