Journey, Moon; Doctor Who; PG13
Sep. 3rd, 2007 04:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: Journey
Previous Part: Night
Characters: The Doctor (Nine), the Seer, Brother, Sister
Warnings: Dark themes
Moon
In the velvet of the darkness
By the silhouette of silent trees
The two moons overhead pool soft-edged shadows at the Doctor's feet as he steps out onto the roof. The person who's led the way here sits next to the wall at the edge, face turned towards the Doctor, hidden by the deep shadows that cling to it.
"The whole city can be seen from here, Doctor." The figure raises a hand, gesturing out over the wall it leans against. "In all its primitive splendor. People living, loving, dying. All of them alone, surrounded by family."
"You said that already." The Doctor crosses his arms, a scowl creasing his face for a moment.
"I know. But you didn't listen." A hint of dissapointment creeps into the voice. "You're very good at that, not listening to others. You too often think that they're lacking in one fashion or another."
The Doctor opens his mouth to reply, and then closes it again, his brow furrowing in thought. "You know more than you should."
A sigh from the shadowy figure, and it shifts, standing, its back to the Doctor. "I know what I need to know, nothing more, and nothing less. I know that the dark isn't as fearful as the light of a burning world. I know that you grieve for sending so many on that final journey, when you didn't have the courage to stay and face it yourself."
The Doctor freezes at the words, fury and fear mingling, his hearts beating faster with the surge of adreneline the emotions bring on. "How?" He knows where he is, knows when he is, knows that these people don't have the means to know what this being does.
"What I am, what I see, all I know." A shrug of the shoulders. "I'm not supposed to exist. But neither are you. Myth and mistake, you and I."
They are watching, they are waiting
They are witnessing life's mysteries
The sounds of the city have faded slightly, those who live here asleep in their tiny rooms, or never returning, huddled in a pile in an alley elsewhere for the cleaners to find in the morning. Only one place harbors movement, two figures leaning close as they whisper, watching another who doesn't move.
They worry that he's dying, and they preen brittle feathers that rest against the thin skin of his scalp, trace scars across fragile skin around eyes that do not see, and a mouth that is silent tonight. Warm still, and the steady beat of a heart old before it was young, breaths puffing across skin younger than that which had seen fewer years.
"He merely sleeps." The brother stubbornly clings to the hope that the frail figure will wake up, and stay with them another day. He carefully shifts the man so he will be more comfortable in his sleep. "He is tired."
"He will not wake up. He is dying." The sister looks older than her years for a moment, dark eyes resting on the face that should look younger than her own, and yet looks so old. "He is beyond us, and will not return."
"You can't know that. You're not like him." Brother sits back on his heels, watching the man helplessly, sorrow flattening feathers like rain.
Sister says nothing, watching the man in his bed, the man who will not wake again. She does not need to be like the one dying to know that she is watching the beginning of a journey she still fears to take.
Next Part: Sun
Previous Part: Night
Characters: The Doctor (Nine), the Seer, Brother, Sister
Warnings: Dark themes
In the velvet of the darkness
By the silhouette of silent trees
The two moons overhead pool soft-edged shadows at the Doctor's feet as he steps out onto the roof. The person who's led the way here sits next to the wall at the edge, face turned towards the Doctor, hidden by the deep shadows that cling to it.
"The whole city can be seen from here, Doctor." The figure raises a hand, gesturing out over the wall it leans against. "In all its primitive splendor. People living, loving, dying. All of them alone, surrounded by family."
"You said that already." The Doctor crosses his arms, a scowl creasing his face for a moment.
"I know. But you didn't listen." A hint of dissapointment creeps into the voice. "You're very good at that, not listening to others. You too often think that they're lacking in one fashion or another."
The Doctor opens his mouth to reply, and then closes it again, his brow furrowing in thought. "You know more than you should."
A sigh from the shadowy figure, and it shifts, standing, its back to the Doctor. "I know what I need to know, nothing more, and nothing less. I know that the dark isn't as fearful as the light of a burning world. I know that you grieve for sending so many on that final journey, when you didn't have the courage to stay and face it yourself."
The Doctor freezes at the words, fury and fear mingling, his hearts beating faster with the surge of adreneline the emotions bring on. "How?" He knows where he is, knows when he is, knows that these people don't have the means to know what this being does.
"What I am, what I see, all I know." A shrug of the shoulders. "I'm not supposed to exist. But neither are you. Myth and mistake, you and I."
They are witnessing life's mysteries
The sounds of the city have faded slightly, those who live here asleep in their tiny rooms, or never returning, huddled in a pile in an alley elsewhere for the cleaners to find in the morning. Only one place harbors movement, two figures leaning close as they whisper, watching another who doesn't move.
They worry that he's dying, and they preen brittle feathers that rest against the thin skin of his scalp, trace scars across fragile skin around eyes that do not see, and a mouth that is silent tonight. Warm still, and the steady beat of a heart old before it was young, breaths puffing across skin younger than that which had seen fewer years.
"He merely sleeps." The brother stubbornly clings to the hope that the frail figure will wake up, and stay with them another day. He carefully shifts the man so he will be more comfortable in his sleep. "He is tired."
"He will not wake up. He is dying." The sister looks older than her years for a moment, dark eyes resting on the face that should look younger than her own, and yet looks so old. "He is beyond us, and will not return."
"You can't know that. You're not like him." Brother sits back on his heels, watching the man helplessly, sorrow flattening feathers like rain.
Sister says nothing, watching the man in his bed, the man who will not wake again. She does not need to be like the one dying to know that she is watching the beginning of a journey she still fears to take.
Next Part: Sun
no subject
Date: 2007-09-04 03:38 am (UTC)I've most of the next part, and it's making me more confused as to what the heck is going on, and what the muse is trying to accomplish. Other than confusing the heck out of me, and exploring some interesting themes...