Sweeter than the First Time [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

Hello, dreamers of Manhattan. The Rift knows that things have been kind of rough, lately. The last dream didn't go as well as it had hoped. Consider this an apology of sorts, and a hearkening back to the good times you've shared.

It's a grand old (and potentially familiar) cabin house that the dreamers will find themselves wandering. The furniture is plentiful and comfortable, the floors are strewn with cushions and blankets, and there are cheerful fires burning in the grates. It seems a little odd that the house still manages to be on the chilly side despite looking so warm, yet it is.

Oh, well. You'll just have to find another dreamer or two and spoon up and fall asleep like little baby cats get cozy. It shouldn't be difficult; most of the dreamers (excepting those with strong telepathic defenses or deeply ingrained cuddle-averse personalities) will find themselves feeling friendlier than usual, along with an almost overwhelming desire to snuggle up to someone. How convenient that the house seems designed for that very purpose!

And if some of the cushions are Hello Kitty themed, well, that's just coincidence.


[OOC: Standard dream party rules apply. Characters will be affected by the dream-whammy to whatever degree makes the most sense for them, and will remember or forget the events of the dream at the player's discretion. Backtag into infinity.]

Comments

[lottawork]

"The Doctor -" He turns around fully, books abandoned, expression caught somewhere amidst outrage and confused suspicion. "He hasn't given me the impression of being someone that would be let to do anything. Why, what are you, his consultant?"

The words are his own blinding idiocy reflected back at him, and Rush's eyes snap shut again the instant he says it. He recoils, partially out of preemptive regret - the Doctor wouldn't have a consultant, would he, and offending him or any of his affiliates would be counterproductive at best - and whips off the glasses that are little more than manifestations in a distinctly uncomfortable dream environment, needling knuckles into his brow.

[theoldgirl]

Ah yes, immediately fractious and insulting. How completely expected and therefore unimpressive. This would certainly be enough to incur her ire, if she hadn't already suffered plenty of offense from him. His grievous error still gets rewarded with a sharp quirk of an eyebrow, though.

"Hardly. I am his ship," she replies crisply, perfectly assured of an appropriately intimidated response. If there's one good thing to say of him, it's that he seems surprisingly respectful of technologically superior ships. "So, virtually the only being capable of letting the Doctor do anything, as you might recall."

[lottawork]

The regret immediately calcifies into something far less determinable, far less tenable, and far more perturbing.

"You're his -" Again, Rush is reduced to partial, clipped turns of phrase, broken down by his ridiculous, moronic assumption that the Doctor would have a consultant. Stressed and overworked as his brain may be, perpetually, there's no fucking excuse for a conclusion as illogical as that.

"You're the TARDIS." Obviously. Obviously. What in the name of the vast, multidimensional, beautiful fuck had he been thinking. "Of course. Of course. You would, you would require some sort of, of manifestation." A consciousness would require comprehensible form in this manner of space. Fuck.

At what point do apologies become redundant? Rush has long since reached it, whatever indefinable point that may be, and as it is he simply stands, eyes shut in perfect, vexed, self-directed despair and frustration, arms limp at his sides.

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS weathers his vexed outburst stoically, noting that his remorse takes on a distinct flavor of resentment directed at himself. Well, good, he should feel like he made a fool of himself.

"I do not require it," she corrects him sternly. "Using a humanoid form is simply a form of entertainment for me, both here and in the waking plane. My nature is wholly telepathic." And apologies are never redundant.

[lottawork]

"Of course," he says faintly, becoming rapidly aware that at some point he must have found it necessary to place a hand on one of the shelves for a form of support. He hastily pulls it back to face her fully.

A humanoid form. Excellent. Good. Never fucking mind that Rush is statistically unlikely to interact with this form well given his previous interactions with humans and humanoid forms, and the thought is wholly distressing. If there is one being in this entire limited island of a universe he would favor above all else -

"No, no, I meant," he's practically incoherent, eyes still shut as he clamors to rectify his error, pointlessly, because his error does not land quite easily in the realm of that which is rectifiable. "In this context. In the context of dreams and or the waking world, I, we, we would not be able to properly conceive of you due to the," how do his lungs feel so constricted and deoxygnated in a dream space? "the limited nature of the human brain. Compared to your nature, we simply could not - process it."

Expressions of regret while one's eyes are closed are not likely to have the desired effect, so he makes the immense effort to open them and meet her eyes and not flinch under the glare of her disapproval, and he succeeds on the first count but fails spectacularly in achieving the latter. He wilts. Visibly.

[theoldgirl]

As his distress noticeably intensifies, the TARDIS starts to realize that this is getting a little out of hand. She'd only meant to instill an appropriate amount of respect, not self-loathing and anxiety at all. What, is he afraid of her? Does he think she is going to punish him? She loathes the thought, and frowns at the sight of him sinking in on himself. It's no longer a frown of displeasure, but one of unease, of some confusion and perhaps even slight concern.

And still the unusual understanding of her nature, when he's prodded out of his unruliness. Perhaps that's a good place to start mitigating whatever it is that he is experiencing now. "Very true," she nods. "You exhibit a better grasp of me than most humans. I appreciate that." Not that it had stopped him from insulting her, but he seems to be quite aware of that misstep now. "Most beings aren't able to relate to me at all unless I interact with them in this form." And she will always find that disappointing at best, hurtful at worst.

[lottawork]

A modicum of the intermittent agitation dissolves from the pit of his chest cavity as she continues, seemingly done reproaching him for his behavioral offense. And what is more is she - appreciates him, a heretofore unpredicted outcome. Something this vast and unfathomable and, in comparison, him, pitifully human and hating it and wishing he could understand all that the TARDIS is but knowing he will never reach that point, limited by his own inferior biology.

"That's absurd," he breathes in veritable, sincere confusion. "But you're - what you are, it's - I believe I prefer you, in your true state."

[theoldgirl]

Speaking of unpredictable outcomes, that is not something she recalls ever having heard before. Most of them manage a better appreciation of her true form after interacting with her humanoid body, but she's quite sure none of them would ever prefer it over a face to speak to. Probably because they feel interaction with her structures is somehow less, too much of it occurring outside the scope of their senses and understanding. Rather sad, even to her, when it involves people she feels attached to.

All the more startling and oddly endearing a sentiment, especially coming from him, then, and her eyebrows rise in open surprise. "Why is that?" she asks, not unkindly. But she's had to deal with far too many people being so fascinated by her technology that they would try to take her apart or enslave her.

[lottawork]

For a moment he can only struggle to piece together the sentiment which he doesn't feel he can adequately express - the engulfing thrill of wonder upon entering the disarmingly unremarkable blue box that he'd expressed to no one but himself, internally, and then the reverent shock upon having it confirmed that she is alive, alive, and so beyond even what Destiny could have been.

"Because - you are." Rush blinks his eyes shut in a brief expression of his own self-directed vexation; what an utterly inane pronouncement. "Humans, people, they are - complicated in ways I will never understand. And you are, also, profoundly intricate in ways I have no doubt I will never be capable of understanding." The fleeting bitterness that accompanies the phrase disintegrates under the pressure of his own overpowering awe. "But the fact is that you exist and that is - there is something incredible in that in its own right."

[theoldgirl]

His explanation is, if possible, even more remarkable and oddly touching, a kind of reverence for what she is that she's never seen in a human before. He even seems to struggle with expressing himself in words almost as much as she does. This is a new and valued experience in her long life, and she smiles a small but genuine smile at him.

"The Doctor has much the same view on humanity, you know," she replies, not keeping the fondness out of her voice. "And I often fail to understand humans as well. There are some forms of understanding one may be barred from forever, but this does not discredit us. Nor does it make striving for it futile, as I think you know." So, if he'd like to comprehend her a little better, she's willing to help him as much as she can.

[lottawork]

"Perhaps not." Though the thought that the Doctor shares his aversion to humanity as a whole is an alarming if entirely logical notion. That's a stubborn needle digging itself into the hypocrisy of Rush's own reasoning, but he elects to disregard it. "Though in my experience I have not found many worth engaging." There are exceptions, of course. Asadi, certainly, though their recent disagreements have made future interaction an unstable point.

Despite the lingering anxiety stemming from the TARDIS's initial greeting and the dream's insistently tactile nature, one side of Rush's mouth pulls into the nearness of a smile. "There is something about sapient ships capable of traversing space-time that I find to be infinitely more intriguing."

[theoldgirl]

She wasn't referring to the aversion to humanity so much as what he said about finding her existence incredible and inspiring, but the aversion is actually rather accurate as well, at least currently. She has the feeling neither of them is particularly interested in discussing humanity right now, though. Engaging ones are certainly few and far between.

At his words, her smile takes on the faint edge of a smirk as well. "I could tell I wasn't a wholly new concept to you. Would you care to tell me a little about it?" Because at the time she hadn't bothered to delve any deeper than his surface thoughts, put off by his behavior no matter how intriguing his memories might be. And now, even if he prefers her true form, he might find a conversation with her more enjoyable than if she'd simply dig up what she is curious about.

[lottawork]

'Wholly telepathic' does imply, then, that she had a complete awareness of him once he entered as well, but of course. She would be aware of anything interacting with her systems, for she was the source of the rather frustrating twenty-minute exercises of a self-contained self-consistency paradox in the nested conditional. But the TARDIS embraces certain forms of nature, certain defiances of physics, she is not those forces incarnate - time and consistency and entropy are unforgiving and she is, mercifully, the opposite.

Rush smiles, more complete and earnest, encouraged by the TARDIS's welcome wish for conversation.

"In my native brane, I worked for a government program with access to a network of intragalactic wormholes." Ridged with the faint layer of disgust; Rush has little to say, in general, to government programs and their institutional pyramids of bureaucratic self-righteous corruption. It was an association of convenience, and because of the beautiful nine-chevron cypher that they needed someone to open to them, someone who would throw themselves without regard for mental well-being at the problem repeatedly until it yielded. "Our understanding of space and time and spacetime was less than complete - all we knew was what we traveled through the stars to assemble a basic understanding of, and even then our resources were limited and our comprehension - flawed." A small frown burrows behind dream-constructed square frames, the smile slipping. "We were only human."

[theoldgirl]

His recollection is genuinely fascinating, a glimpse into another universe different from her own. When his smile diminishes, hers grows warmer and she takes a few steps closer, wanting to express her interest.

"Very human," she comments kindly. "Your curiosity and drive for exploration seem to be a constant in most universes I have seen." When she considers this, she can very nearly understand the Doctor's particular fondness for them. "And during your travels you came across sentient ships? And their pilots?" she prods, eager to get to the part she might be able to relate to.

[lottawork]

"Of a sort." Her questions and the irritating interference of the dream's nature have begun to relax him further, but Rush finds that in this context he minds significantly less. "There was a race in our universe, a species known as the Ancients. Their technology was sentient, or selective to a point. Only those with specific genetic makeup could access it."

Not Rush. Not he who was frustratingly, conventionally human and plain and completely unremarkable save for the capabilities of his head, that which a race from years upon years ago would neither know of, nor care.

"But there was also - a ship." Lost, now, to whatever interdimensional forces shred matter that exists between branes. "Destiny. We - I believed - it was sentient. It had consciousness, preferences, it could distinguish between the members of its crew and it could access their neural topography, including my own. But it was - lost. It did not make the transfer from my universe to this one." The Rift may have torn it apart, or sent it to another brane entirely. But it matters so little in comparison to her, to the TARDIS. Something so advanced. Something so beyond what he or anyone in his universe has ever seen.

[theoldgirl]

Rush's description of the other ship is immensely fascinating and quite surprising, to have something so familiar exist in another universe. Could these Ancients be his reality's Time Lords, their ships something like her kind? His explanation assures that she feels just enough of a potential kinship to be dismayed at the news of its fate.

"That is dreadful," she says, her look of keen interest replaced by one of sorrow. "I would have very much liked to meet it. We seem to have had a lot in common." Though, as eager as she is for true company, she wouldn't have wished this universe on it either. "I barely survived the transfer, myself," she admits glumly. To say nothing of her catastrophic escape attempt.

[lottawork]

Rush himself can't restrain his mourning for the ship's loss, all that Destiny was and promised to have been, even if the Rift's cosmic breach had been its ultimate destination.

A startling, absurd urge creeps up to brush at the TARDIS's arm in some motion meant to be consoling, or reassuring, or supportive, or some manner of intuitive dream-catalyzed bullshit that the TARDIS would no doubt not appreciate coming from him despite their tentative interpersonal bonding. Rush crosses his arms, pulling his shoulders up against the permeating cold, brow creased in an unusual display of sincere sympathy.

"It damaged you." The conclusion is distressing, to say in the least, and for a wild moment Rush suppresses a vicious spike of anger at the thing that would dare, that temperamental, incomprehensible aberration in space-time that defies all their attempts at logic and understanding, for confining something like the TARDIS that should, by all other reasoning, be unconfinable.

Rush grinds the knuckles of a agitated closed fist over his upper lip, silently furious.

"Fuck."

anyone still up for wooing sentient time-space ships

[theoldgirl]

His grief and even anger on her behalf is, like so much of this, unexpected but appreciated. Humans aren't capable of understanding how much she suffers under the rift and this universe's intrinsically jarring nature, and their sympathy can offer no real comfort. But their sincere concern and acknowledgement of her distress are still something rare, after centuries of most companions only caring when her troubles or malfunctions inconvenienced them.

"Significantly, yes," she confirms, feeling it somehow important for him to understand that however impressive he thinks she is now, this is only a fraction of her usual splendor and capabilities. And, perhaps, that the ship he was so fond of had little chance against the rift, regardless of how formidable it may have been in his universe or how much he may have tried to help it. "The Doctor repaired me as much as he could and helped adjust my systems to the many vexing limits this universe's fundamental structures impose upon me. We manage, as we always have." And that is a true comfort, if not as much as it really should be, but perhaps it can temper Rush's concern for her as well.

always <3

[lottawork]

All the same, the notion that anything this important should be trapped here, and then suffer for it incenses Rush to the point where the relaxed nature of the dream and their conversation can't fully counteract his agitation or outrage on her behalf.

"You shouldn't be forced to manage," he answers, scowling. The Rift is evident capable of restraining even something as powerful as this - impressive as the TARDIS is, however much she surpasses the technology Rush is more accustomed to, the Rift has still managed to needle its disruptive influence within and effectively trap her.

"When I initially arrived, the Rift had my attention." The smile he offers is thin and pitiless and entirely bereft of humor. "Now it has my displeasure." Which is, in and of itself, a far more effective and readily applicable emotion. Simply studying the thing won't be sufficient. Rush intends to damage it in turn.