Application for imperial_saga

[continuum_of_drs]

Player Name: Yume
Contact Info: AIM: IIMDYinker YIM: yumegari_2 PLURK: memorylikeasieve
Other Characters Played: Shen. But he's dead now.

Character Name: The Doctor. Specifically the Tenth. aka Theta Sigma, aka John Smith, aka Ka Faraq Gatri, aka The Oncoming Storm, aka The Lonely God, aka The Sainted Physician, aka Destroyer of Worlds, et cetera, et cetera. Has also been known to answer to 'Bloke With The Scarf!' 'Oi! Spaceman!' and even 'Hey, you!'
Canon: Dr. Who

Canon Background: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ka_Faraq_Gatri (be warned, this is practically a book.)

AU Background: ... I think if I tried to AU the Doctor the universe would go all multiple torus-shaped and then implode only to explode out the back of a banana.

Personality: Okay, I'm gonna try to keep this brief and to avoid all the famous quotes about his personality and motivations. Ahem.

The Doctor's personality is easy to see and next to impossible to understand. His degree of approachability varies from one incarnation to the next, as does his sense of humour, his level of pessimism/optimism, his relations with others, even his speech patterns. We will, therefore, focus on the incarnation being used (Tenth), and try to focus on the constants, of which there are three that could be considered readily discernible: intelligence, bravery, and compassion.

Ten's personality is, in short, the sort of mercurial one hasn't seen since Hartnell and, to a lesser extent, Davison. His emotional compass is caught in a magnetic storm at all times, swinging wildly from euphoric to enraged to guilt-ridden. He never does emotions halfway and he has the energy level to back it up. For the most part he is cheerful, irreverent, has a tendency to blather whatever is on his mind and is a bit thoughtless regarding the more superficial emotions of others. However, that personality is a mask and a not-perfectly-fitted one at times. His eyes are ancient and he has lost a part of his soul with the destruction of Gallifrey. His cheer feels a bit brittle and forced at times. When he's happy he's bouncing off the walls. When he is angry he's bringing those walls down and he gets so, so very angry.

Intelligence is quite obvious in that the Doctor uses his mind to solve any problem he comes across. He thinks his way out of trouble, often at a lightning fast pace. Intellect, reason, and detachment are highly valued qualities on Gallifrey, which he has been brought up around and strives to maintain (though detachment is rather difficult for him at times, hence the reason he's out do-goodering in the first place). Because he thinks up solutions that are often five steps ahead of everyone else, he is often impatient and downright tetchy with other people who, more often than not, are left in his cognitive dust. His preference for brains over brawn also explains why he abhors violence and guns in particular.

However, this intellectual speed and the detachment he does achieve means he leaves others behind, disregards their opinions, and cannot understand why they have faith in him.

His abhorrence of violence is not to say he runs from a challenge--rather, his bravery is clearly evident in his tendency to regularly traipse into places where proverbial angels (Weeping or not) fear to tread. He will face down the tyrannical leader, the mad gunman, or the rampaging beast because someone has to do it and that someone might as well be him, otherwise why is he there? This tendency to stymie the plans of every Tom, Dick, and Davros he comes across has, of course, earned him some rather terrifying epithets, not the least of which being "Destroyer of Worlds." He's the person monsters have nightmares about.

That said, this bravery is often a pretty name for recklessness. He tromps in with little to no sense of self-preservation and, worse, little sense of preservation of those around him. Wherever he goes, innocents die. Sometimes his companions die. And sometimes even he dies.

However, he doesn't do these things for glory or power or even personal fulfilment. He does it because there are defenceless races out there, oppressed civilisations, and beings in danger. He does it because the underdogs and the downtrodden need someone to stand up to the people and creatures who are, er, downtreading them. Because he knows how to save these civilisations from the Daleks or the Sontarans or the Master or the roving singularity or the collapse of reality and he's the only one with the hearts to care about doing these things over and over and over and over. If he didn't, 'remiss' wouldn't even begin to cover it. He wouldn't be able to live with himself, either figuratively or literally, if he ever stood by and did nothing. This, of course, tosses him into repeated dilemmas wherein he regularly has to choose the needs of the many over the needs of the few, even if that few includes his travelling companions or people he's trying to extract from collapsing space stations or even himself.

His compassion does not extend as far as it used to, and he has trouble stopping. At times he is a force of nature, uncaring and unheeding. He turns a deaf ear to the pleas of his enemies and that invariably ends up terrifying his friends and allies. He doesn't know how to comfort people and becomes hurt when his attempts to do so meet with failure. And he is just as deaf to the pleas of his companions when he feels what he is doing is right.

Good is rarely the same as nice. Good is terrifying. Uncompromising. It'll burn you if you get too close to it as surely as evil will.

Combat Style: In a word, improvised. Sure, he's learnt Venusian Aikido and probably a few other martial arts along the way, knows his way around swords, and will pick up a gun if it's absolutely the last resort, but he prefers not to fight at all if he can avoid it. He's found his sonic screwdriver can short out most technological weaponry and his innate ability to distract his opponents takes care of the rest.

Kingdom or Faction: Unaligned for now. He'll likely join forces with whoever's philosophy meshes best with his own soon enough.

Primary Role: Peripatetic Righter of Wrongs?

Soldier or Siege Company: N/A. He avoids military involvement like a plague that has another plague.

Tarot Cards: What's past present and future to a Time Lord? Let's not start that. He has a tendency to really screw up tarot readings by his very existence. But for the purposes of the game he's going to have: Past--The Fool. Present--The Sun. Future--The Hanged Man. (Goes without saying, really.)

Title: ...Hasn't he got enough of those already? Though some well-connected folks may have heard of him before and either come up with their own title for him or know of him by even just 'The Doctor,' or know of him as an example of the Time Lords, which are usually the stuff of legends.

Artifacts: Awgawd. The TARDIS. I have no idea what you folks want to do with it. It's been grounded, has vanished, has been rendered inaccessible in a variety of ways, and has even been exploded. It is perfectly capable of creating plots simply by existing. The TARDIS is sapient to a degree (which varies depending on who you ask) and is essentially pure mathematics made solid, powered by an energy source people can, would, and HAVE killed for whether Gallifrey existed at the time or not. People with magical abilities can probably hear it coming three dimensions away the way it bends, folds, spindles, and mutilates reality.

Also, the sonic screwdriver bears mentioning simply because it's become the deus ex machina that people tried to stop it being in the mid-80s. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonic_screwdriver I... would rather not deprive him of it unless instructed to do so. It won't be quite so much of a cheat in this setting because it's less effective against solid-state devices and is completely useless against wood.

Setting Considerations: I have no idea what that would even entail so I'm going to say none.

Notes: He is going to blow through Dagaria like a chaotic wind, turn everything sideways, rearrange the furniture, bring someone's government crashing down around their ears and then vanish again. Because that's what the Doctor does. With the player's permission, a government or dynasty or cult will likely fall.

Sample Post:

http://testrun-box.dreamwidth.org/31902.html

----

There are places where space and time form perfect little knots. Some call them fixed events, others call them Nexus Points, still others have no translatable name for them. But they occur and sometimes the Doctor ends up in one of them for whatever reason. Space forms a little well and time coalesces around it and brings whatever is needed with it.

The TARDIS appears with none of the usual reality-tearing fanfare with which it is usually accompanied. It fades into view, the grinding and wheezing of temporal engines a mere whisper. When the sound stops and the light atop the Police Box goes out, the small area grows still. The door opens with a tiny creak. A thin, wild-haired man in a suit and longcoat and ridiculous Converses steps out, his entire mein wary. Cautious. Eyes all over the landscape, ears straining for even the slightest hint of sound.

His darting gaze lands on what appeared to be nothing more than a table with two chairs facing it on either side. In one of the chairs sits a being. Humanoid. Female. Hairless, skin black as midnight, eyes glowing white, energy pouring off her richly berobed form that did and did not exist, a glowing light sink, invisible rhodopsin waves. She waits patiently, watching him.

The Doctor always seems to know what has to be done. Slowly, he walks over to the table and the woman and sits on the other chair.

"Doctor," she says with a nod, her smile mysterious and her voice low and warm.

"Why've you brought me here?" is all he says.

"Ever to the point, aren't you? I will tell you, but first I must ask you these questions." He opens his mouth to ask why and she raises a finger to hush him. "It is simply how this thing is done." He falls silent, watching.

The being reaches into her robes and produces a deck of cards. Closing her glowing eyes, she selects ten cards and lays them facedown on the table, one by one. "Probability is ever in flux around you, Doctor, even more so than with other Time Lords," she observes as she does this. "An ordinary deck, and a ordinary user would never be able to make a reading for you. But, as you can see, neither I nor my cards are ordinary. Look closely, Time Lord."

He peers at the card backs and, indeed, they have the same circular and curvilinear pattern of Gallifreyan writing on them. His eyes flick back up to hers, their gazes meeting. "Where did you get those?"

"I cannot tell you," she answers softly. "You know I cannot."

"Fine." He sits up, tugging on his suit jacket to straighten it. "Let's get this done. Allons-y!"

The being smiles again and turns over the first card. On it is an image of a white-haired old man walking into a glowing column. Under the image is written 00--THE FOOL. "Let us speak in hypotheticals. You are about to embark upon a grand journey. What do you carry in your satchel?" The image changes, to that of the same old man, now opening the door of a Police Box. Always the beginning.

"Oh, I've got lots of stuff I could take with me on a journey," he answers. "Got my brainy specs and my jelly babies and my psychic paper--very useful, psychic paper, love the psychic paper--and, of course, this," he reaches into his jacket and retrieves a long, thin device like a torch, flipping it in the air and catching it. "Sonic screwdriver! Never leave the TARDIS without it. But I get the feeling you aren't asking about things, are you? Not objects but something else. Deeper. More basic. So I'd have to say 'my mind.' Don't need all the rest of this stuff if I've got that, do I?"

"Very astute," the being answers. Reaching out again, she turns over the next card. It bears the image of a dark-haired woman in Roman garb floating suspended against the stars. Under the image are the words 05-THE HEIROPHANT. His brows furrow at the image and the unknown being looks piercingly at him. "What is god to you, Time Lord?" she asks.

He frowns. He knew what religious faith meant to Katarina, to so many others, but he could never accept such a view. "A myth," he says. "Something that gives other people hope."

"But not you?" The image changes to that of an intricate circular emblem, half yin-yang, half Celtic knot.

"Seen too many gods turn out to be regular old beings with too much power," he answers. "Even ours."

"But not you?" she asks again, the image changing again to a graven image of the TARDIS.

"Right, moving on," the Doctor interrupts.

"As you say," she answers. Turning over the third card reveals an image of a petite, dark-haired girl with elfin features, her arms around a very ordinary-looking young man. She gazes sadly into the distance while he looks down lovingly at her. Behind them lies a ruined city. Beneath the image is written 06-THE LOVERS.

The Doctor stares at the image, chokes on something that sounds like 'Susan,' and looks away, taking a deep breath.

"And what is love to you?" the being asks, gazing searchingly at him. The image changes to that of a wiry woman in skins grasping the hand of a young man in a red-and-white uniform as though to hold him there. Then it changes to slim woman of indeterminate age, with luxurious brown hair.

"A choice," he answers. "It's always a choice. I choose to let them go." He shifts uncomfortably, unable to meet the being's gaze.

"That is what you believe, Doctor," the being whispers. She turns over the next card, which shows an image of a group of sombre-looking humanoids in rich robes and elabourate collars. Time Lords. Beneath the image is written 11-JUSTICE. "Let us return to the hypothetical, old friend. You are presiding over a murder trial where both suspects claim innocence. What do you do?"

"I don't preside over trials," he answers solidly. "That's not what I do. I don't quibble the way evidence is presented or what legal code this or that falls under. If there's been a murder, I find out who did it and I bring them to justice myself." The image shifts as he talks, from a stout man bound in chains and falling forever to a middle-aged woman tumbling into a singularity to a little girl with a red balloon trapped in a mirror to a young man frozen in time as a scarecrow.

"Judge, jury, and executioner, as the saying goes," the being observes calmly.

"If that's what has to be done, then, yes," he answers, gazing steadily at her, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "I can't afford to let governments and police and armies take care of it any more. They don't know how. I do."

"A belief you've had for centuries, I should think," the being murmurs. She turns over the next card and the Doctor stares at it for several beats. It bears the image of a planet of indiscriminate colour inside the iridescent soap-bubble field of a transduction barrier. It's the barrier that gives away the name of the planet. Gallifrey. He stares at it long and hard. Under the image is written 10-WHEEL OF FORTUNE. "Staying in the hypothetical, you are given the opportunity to bet everything you have for great fortune, should you win you will be granted the wealth of kings but should you lose you will lose everything. What do you do?"

There's a pause before he answers. "I take the chance." His gaze never leaves the card, whose image fades slowly from Gallifrey to a brown-grey world he recognises as Skaro, to the blue and white sphere easily identified as Earth. "Every time. I always take the chance."

"You would not be the Doctor if you did not," the being concedes. Another card is turned over, another image shown and the Doctor's blood boils momentarily at even just an image: The tapered cylindrical body, the eyestalk, the plunger-shaped manipulator, the gun. A Dalek. Opposite the creature stands a young blonde-haired woman in very casual clothing and heavy makeup, an image that only makes him sad as well as angry. Rose. She has a hand out, palm facing the Dalek, and its eyestalk and weapon are lowered. Beneath the image is written 08-STRENGTH.

"What do you do in the face of great adversity, Time Lord?" the being asks, watching him closely.

"I do what I've always done," he answers confidently. "I win." He looks up before having to see the image change.

"Not quite what you used to say," the woman shakes her head. "But more fitting, perhaps."

The next card she turns over holds an image of the Doctor himself, again, in another of his earlier incarnations. A floppy-haired man of indeterminate age and clad in Victorian clothing hangs suspended upside down by one ankle, dangling from a point off the border of the image and hanging in front of what is clearly the console of his TARDIS at the time--an explosion of the imagination of H. G. Wells. His eighth self hangs calmly, expression serene, eyes closed. Beneath the image the words 12-THE HANGED MAN look like an inevitability. "Tell me, then, Doctor, for what cause are you willing to sacrifice yourself?"

"What sort of a question is that?" he asks indignantly, his gaze leaping from the card to the being.

"A very important one."

"What cause am I willing to sacrifice myself for? Look at my past, see what that tells you!" The image on the card changes rapidly, now displaying his many regenerations, his many deaths from old age, execution, radiation poisoning, a fatal fall, a deadly toxin, a crushed skull, bullet wounds, an explosion, and unfiltered exposure to the Vortex. "I've done it over and over and will keep doing it as long as I can! I do it to keep the universe safe!"

He falls silent, breathing heavily, and the being simply gazes calmly at him, waiting for him to finish. After a few beats he sits down again.

"And you have given the answer I sought--the truth." She turns over the next one and he stares confusedly at the image, ever in flux. It changes from the slim girl to a man in the suit and school tie of a teacher to a mature woman with dark hair and conservative clothing and through a succession of young men and women, some in paramilitary uniform, the woman in skins from earlier, a robot dog, more young men and women both human and non, in clothing from many eras, a muscular teenaged girl whose image was never consistent even for a second, one of the uniformed men, older now, the slim dark-haired woman, also older, and more. So many people and he knows them all. Knows how and why they left him or he left them. Beneath that ever-changing image is written 13-DEATH.

"What do you want people to remember about you after you are gone, Doctor?" the being asks. He doesn't answer for several beats, his fingers brushing over the card.

"... I don't know. I don't think about it unless they tell me." Voices whisper in his memory. They tell him he's brilliant and terrifying, that they have faith in him, that they owe him so much, that they know he never expects or even wants fame or gratitude but that he has it anyway. They tell him that he frightens them, or that travelling with him is more than they can handle, and they tell him how excited they are, and how stunned by the beauty and horror of the galaxy they are and that they want to go home and that they'd give up anything for the chance to see the universe. They tell him they love him, they hate him, they miss him, they never want to see him again, they'll always remember him, they'll kill him on sight, that he's in their dreams and in their nightmares. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Just... move on to the next one."

"I warn, you, I do not feel that these will be any easier to bear," she starts.

"Do it!"

Wordlessly, she turns over the next card, her glowing gaze never leaving his. It holds the image of a planet breaking up, disappearing into a singularity, torn apart by time itself. The card bears the words, 16-THE TOWER. His breath catches.

"Everything you love and held dear has been taken from you in the blink of an eye, Time Lord. What do you do?" The image flickers, and in his mind he can hear screams.

"..."

"What do you do, Doctor?" The sound-mangling noise of TARDISes attempting to escape.

"..."

"What do you do?"

The awful, awful silence afterward, nothing but the beating of his own hearts to tell him he hasn't died with them....

"I FIGHT!" He's on his feet again. "I FIGHT AND I KEEP ON FIGHTING BECAUSE THEY'RE STILL OUT THERE! THEY'RE STILL OUT THERE EVEN THOUGH MY PEOPLE ARE DEAD!"

The Daleks shall be LORDS OF TIME...

"And I won't stop until they're gone. Until the Universe is free."

"You fight?" the being asks. "You tear across the universe like a great storm, unheeding of what lies in your way?"

"I do."

She turns over the tenth card. He looks down at it. Dead amphibioids lie on a sterile white floor, a gas cloud hovering over them. Withered sapient plants blow into oblivion on a chance wind. A sun explodes. A fleet is obliterated in a chain of detonations. A spider-like being is engulfed in flame and water, mouth open in a silent scream, a burned and twisted cyborg vanishes in falling rubble. 20-JUDGEMENT is written below this image.

"Who deserves to pass judgement upon you," she asks. "And who do you deserve to judge?"

The Time Lord Victorious is WRONG!

I NAME YOU DESTROYER OF WORLDS!

'The Doctor,' the one who makes everything better!

"Certainly not you," he leans down to her eye level, where she remains unmoved. "Who are you? TELL ME!"

"You know who I am, Time's Champion," she answers quietly. He goes very still.

There's a flicker of movement and they both look down to see an eleventh card on the table.

"You didn't put that there," he says.

"I did not need to," she answers. She slowly turns it over. There's an image of the Doctor as he is now, walking out of the TARDIS, purpose evident in his stride and expression. Under it is written 21-THE WORLD.

"So tell me. At the end of the journey, what remains in your satchel?"

He pauses only a beat before answering. "The same thing I started with. My mind. Me. It's all I've started with and all I'll end with," he answers grimly.

"Just so," the being answers and the cards vanish. "You go to face a new kind of challenge, Doctor. I have every faith that you will succeed."

And with that, the table vanishes, the chairs vanish and the woman, Time Herself, vanishes. The Doctor stands in the little knot of space and time for several moments longer, thoughts awhirl. He shifts, then reaches into his pocket wherein he finds a strangely perfect crystal and three Tarot cards.

He looks back at the TARDIS, then again at where this strange scene had taken place.

Then he walks right back into the ship and it vanishes. Time and space quietly untie their little knot.