Journey, Night; Doctor Who; PG13
Aug. 19th, 2007 04:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: Journey
Status: Complete
Genre: Character Sketch, Drama, Angst
Rating: PG13
Warnings: possible dark themes later, discussion of birth/life/death in terms of species
Characters: Nine, the Seer, the Seer's assistants (names to be given later)
Notes: A little bit of something while I'm still wrestling with another story that's got a bit more plot, and more familiar characters than just the Doctor.
Inspiration and lyrics from Loreena McKennitt's "Night Ride Across the Caucasus".
Night
There are visions, there are memories
There are echoes of thundering hooves
His eyes are pale, cloudy with cateracts, staring blindly out into the darkness of the room. A darkness that comforts the two who care for him, blinded by the light of day as much as he had been blinded by a horror of which he rarely spoke.
"I wish to speak with the Seer." The few who come to this little room hidden in the city's warren of alleys always ask for the same thing. To speak to the man who can see beyond the here and now, into a person's soul, into their fate.
"There is no Seer here. Nothing but an old man and his children." Their response is likewise measured and memorized. It is a rare moment indeed that they would be wrong, and so they keep to their routine, and protect him as much as care for him.
Some nights, when the city is quiet around them, and the stars shine brightly in the sky, the man speaks to them, telling them of what he sees. Of spinning planets far away, of people who look nothing like those around them, of creatures and plants they never see except through his words.
"Burning. The sky is burning, the people are dying. Death coming to those who never lived, a planet destroyed that never was."
The nights when he speaks of the planet that never was are the ones they fear. He shivers, and rocks, and mourns for those he speaks of. For a people who are gone, and at the same time, have never been. And in the morning, when light filters dimly into his room, that horror has laid another mark upon him, scars he will bear until his death.
There are fires, there is laughter
There's the sound of a thousand voices
All around him, he can hear the sound of life, the chatter and buzz of a city. There, a house spilling light and people out into the street, strains of music and celebration accompanying them. A naming day for a new child, from what he can hear of the words. He walks a little faster, shoving the memories that it brings up away.
The street beyond is quieter, the neighbors all at the party. No one will try to sleep with free food and company on offer. Company. He takes the next side street, trying to lose himself as much as he can, for a few hours. There is no company for him, not like these people enjoy. Never again. No one left to truly understand.
That he should have died with everyone else crosses his mind, and he presses one hand against a mud-brick wall for a moment, leaning his weight on that one point. He'd fled, and he'd lived. He couldn't go back, has to live like this, alone, the last of his kind.
"We're all alone, in the end." The soft voice draws his attention to a shadowed figure in an archway. "Facing that final darkness, that last journey. There is no one there to help us, only our own fear and our own strength."
"Not like this." The Doctor pulls away from the wall, a small frown on his face as he tries to study the person in the dark. In the shadows that are clinging like garments or a second skin to... it.
The figure shifts, a head turning towards him. "Always like this. Some sooner than others, but in the end, all come to this."
"Who are you?"
"A being alone, you could say. Facing that final journey. Afraid, but not of the dark."
Next Part: Moon
Status: Complete
Genre: Character Sketch, Drama, Angst
Rating: PG13
Warnings: possible dark themes later, discussion of birth/life/death in terms of species
Characters: Nine, the Seer, the Seer's assistants (names to be given later)
Notes: A little bit of something while I'm still wrestling with another story that's got a bit more plot, and more familiar characters than just the Doctor.
Inspiration and lyrics from Loreena McKennitt's "Night Ride Across the Caucasus".
There are visions, there are memories
There are echoes of thundering hooves
His eyes are pale, cloudy with cateracts, staring blindly out into the darkness of the room. A darkness that comforts the two who care for him, blinded by the light of day as much as he had been blinded by a horror of which he rarely spoke.
"I wish to speak with the Seer." The few who come to this little room hidden in the city's warren of alleys always ask for the same thing. To speak to the man who can see beyond the here and now, into a person's soul, into their fate.
"There is no Seer here. Nothing but an old man and his children." Their response is likewise measured and memorized. It is a rare moment indeed that they would be wrong, and so they keep to their routine, and protect him as much as care for him.
Some nights, when the city is quiet around them, and the stars shine brightly in the sky, the man speaks to them, telling them of what he sees. Of spinning planets far away, of people who look nothing like those around them, of creatures and plants they never see except through his words.
"Burning. The sky is burning, the people are dying. Death coming to those who never lived, a planet destroyed that never was."
The nights when he speaks of the planet that never was are the ones they fear. He shivers, and rocks, and mourns for those he speaks of. For a people who are gone, and at the same time, have never been. And in the morning, when light filters dimly into his room, that horror has laid another mark upon him, scars he will bear until his death.
There's the sound of a thousand voices
All around him, he can hear the sound of life, the chatter and buzz of a city. There, a house spilling light and people out into the street, strains of music and celebration accompanying them. A naming day for a new child, from what he can hear of the words. He walks a little faster, shoving the memories that it brings up away.
The street beyond is quieter, the neighbors all at the party. No one will try to sleep with free food and company on offer. Company. He takes the next side street, trying to lose himself as much as he can, for a few hours. There is no company for him, not like these people enjoy. Never again. No one left to truly understand.
That he should have died with everyone else crosses his mind, and he presses one hand against a mud-brick wall for a moment, leaning his weight on that one point. He'd fled, and he'd lived. He couldn't go back, has to live like this, alone, the last of his kind.
"We're all alone, in the end." The soft voice draws his attention to a shadowed figure in an archway. "Facing that final darkness, that last journey. There is no one there to help us, only our own fear and our own strength."
"Not like this." The Doctor pulls away from the wall, a small frown on his face as he tries to study the person in the dark. In the shadows that are clinging like garments or a second skin to... it.
The figure shifts, a head turning towards him. "Always like this. Some sooner than others, but in the end, all come to this."
"Who are you?"
"A being alone, you could say. Facing that final journey. Afraid, but not of the dark."
Next Part: Moon