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Jan. 29th, 2008 05:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
continuum_of_drs((Continued, somewhat, from http://community.livejournal.com/prime_education/79389.html ))
Finding this Alex Mason fellow in the Nexus had been the easy part, and even then it wasn't exactly a piece of cake. The entire multiverse had had to be sifted through, after all, and even the unique mental signature of a dreamwalker hadn't narrowed the search down terribly well. The Doctor had found several varying individuals and two versions of the same Endless before he'd found the young man in question.
The trace had finally led the Doctor to an alleyway in some reality or other that vaguely resembled Earth, an amalgam of 19-century appearance and 25th-century technology. The date, 17th April, 2487.
Alexander Mason, formerly of Arkham, Massachusetts, was a slight, underfed-looking individual, clad in what used to be a somewhat long suit jacket, button-down shirt, tee-shirt, and nondescript trousers; trainers, knit gloves with the fingers worn off and a long crocheted scarf completing the ensemble. Whatever the clothing had started life as, it now bore too much dust, mud, and scuffing to be very recognisable. One lens of his wire-rim spectacles was visibly scratched and bore a small crack. His dark hair was overgrown into a shaggy mess. He lay asleep, curled inside a chalk circle on either side of whose borders various Elder Signs had been scrawled. He held a PINpoint in his left hand, and his right was awkwardly bound in a very tight sling.
The Doctor debated simply picking the young fellow up off the concrete and carrying him back to the TARDIS--it was only a few yards away, after all. But the Elder Signs were most likely there for a reason and he wasn't going to risk anything popping out of the aether if what was said in Mason's letter was accurate. So he reached out and nudged the bedraggled figure. No response. Nudged him again. Still no response. A little worried, he reached down and placed a finger against Mason's neck, feeling for a pulse. He'd just managed to find it when the young fellow stirred, made a soft, unintelligible sound, and then startled awake.
"Hullo," the Doctor said. "I'm the Doctor."
"Haba--wha?" Was Mason's witty reply. "You're what? What Doctor?" As he struggled with words, he pushed himself to his feet, a little unsteadily.
"The Doctor. Well, a Doctor. But that isn't important, right now. What is important is that I know of the man you seek--Randolph Carter."
Mason stared. "Y-you're ... from the Nexus?"
"As of late. Come with me and I'll explain."
"How do I know this ... isn't a trick? Can't mug me, I don't ... have ... any money...." Mason leaned against the wall, fumbling with his PINpoint and wheezing.
"You don't know," the Doctor answered, remaining still and calm. He fixed the other with an unwavering gaze. He wasn't much of a telepath, but he had a knack he'd developed in this form to unobtrusively pull little streams of thought toward believing him. All they had to do was look at that steady, grey gaze. "But I don't look like a mugger or a killer, do I? I look like someone who's got something to tell you. You can leave and I won't stop you, but if you do, you'll never find out what it was."
There was a tiny pause as their eyes locked. Mason twitchily dropped the PINpoint into his pocket. "What d'you want to tell me?"
The Doctor led him back to the TARDIS. Boy needed to sit down before he fell down, after all. And while he brought Mason a cup of hot tea, he explained as much as needed explained--How the Doctor knew Carter, how they could go about trying to find him, and how Mason could feel certain that the TARDIS was a safe place. Completely removed from spacetime as it was, he could sleep undisturbed there.
Though it wasn't surprising in the slightest that the room Mason settled into was quickly decorated with Elder Signs in black biro.
However, once washed and clad in something clean, Mason was antsy to begin the search. It wasn't going to be an easy search or a simple one. But there was no time like the relative present to begin it.
Finding this Alex Mason fellow in the Nexus had been the easy part, and even then it wasn't exactly a piece of cake. The entire multiverse had had to be sifted through, after all, and even the unique mental signature of a dreamwalker hadn't narrowed the search down terribly well. The Doctor had found several varying individuals and two versions of the same Endless before he'd found the young man in question.
The trace had finally led the Doctor to an alleyway in some reality or other that vaguely resembled Earth, an amalgam of 19-century appearance and 25th-century technology. The date, 17th April, 2487.
Alexander Mason, formerly of Arkham, Massachusetts, was a slight, underfed-looking individual, clad in what used to be a somewhat long suit jacket, button-down shirt, tee-shirt, and nondescript trousers; trainers, knit gloves with the fingers worn off and a long crocheted scarf completing the ensemble. Whatever the clothing had started life as, it now bore too much dust, mud, and scuffing to be very recognisable. One lens of his wire-rim spectacles was visibly scratched and bore a small crack. His dark hair was overgrown into a shaggy mess. He lay asleep, curled inside a chalk circle on either side of whose borders various Elder Signs had been scrawled. He held a PINpoint in his left hand, and his right was awkwardly bound in a very tight sling.
The Doctor debated simply picking the young fellow up off the concrete and carrying him back to the TARDIS--it was only a few yards away, after all. But the Elder Signs were most likely there for a reason and he wasn't going to risk anything popping out of the aether if what was said in Mason's letter was accurate. So he reached out and nudged the bedraggled figure. No response. Nudged him again. Still no response. A little worried, he reached down and placed a finger against Mason's neck, feeling for a pulse. He'd just managed to find it when the young fellow stirred, made a soft, unintelligible sound, and then startled awake.
"Hullo," the Doctor said. "I'm the Doctor."
"Haba--wha?" Was Mason's witty reply. "You're what? What Doctor?" As he struggled with words, he pushed himself to his feet, a little unsteadily.
"The Doctor. Well, a Doctor. But that isn't important, right now. What is important is that I know of the man you seek--Randolph Carter."
Mason stared. "Y-you're ... from the Nexus?"
"As of late. Come with me and I'll explain."
"How do I know this ... isn't a trick? Can't mug me, I don't ... have ... any money...." Mason leaned against the wall, fumbling with his PINpoint and wheezing.
"You don't know," the Doctor answered, remaining still and calm. He fixed the other with an unwavering gaze. He wasn't much of a telepath, but he had a knack he'd developed in this form to unobtrusively pull little streams of thought toward believing him. All they had to do was look at that steady, grey gaze. "But I don't look like a mugger or a killer, do I? I look like someone who's got something to tell you. You can leave and I won't stop you, but if you do, you'll never find out what it was."
There was a tiny pause as their eyes locked. Mason twitchily dropped the PINpoint into his pocket. "What d'you want to tell me?"
The Doctor led him back to the TARDIS. Boy needed to sit down before he fell down, after all. And while he brought Mason a cup of hot tea, he explained as much as needed explained--How the Doctor knew Carter, how they could go about trying to find him, and how Mason could feel certain that the TARDIS was a safe place. Completely removed from spacetime as it was, he could sleep undisturbed there.
Though it wasn't surprising in the slightest that the room Mason settled into was quickly decorated with Elder Signs in black biro.
However, once washed and clad in something clean, Mason was antsy to begin the search. It wasn't going to be an easy search or a simple one. But there was no time like the relative present to begin it.
