taxonomites | twelve | location: streets of taxon |

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twelve | location: streets of taxon |

The Doctor has to start working eventually. And while nobody hates the idea of working quite like the Doctor hates working, he hates the idea of being back in prison even more than that.

So, behold the Doctor, carrying things from a replication unit to the square where he's working on his next project. At present, the things he's creating are three-foot pieces of metal. He's spitting out a few at a time, and then moving them to a large pile where he has more already stacked up.

There's also a series of papers he's had made up sitting not far off from the stacks of sheet metal. They read: MISSING: ONE SONIC SCREWDRIVER. HONESTLY, NOW, STEALING ISN'T RIGHT AT ALL, IS IT?

Oh, he's also got a plate of pink-frosted cupcakes. A Time Lord's gotta eat, y'all.

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"Proper nutrition is vital," the Doctor says, though that doesn't at all answer any questions the other man might have.

As if to prove this, he takes a big bite of one cupcake, and gives him a Very Serious nod. Because the Doctor is a Very Serious person.

Spade chuckles. He recognizes goofiness is a smokescreen, nine times of ten, but that doesn't mean he can't be amused. It's not as if letting his guard down was in the cards anyway.

"Guess you won't escape very effectively if you faint," he concedes.

"Absolutely not," the Doctor agrees. He puts the half-eaten cupcake down and picks up another piece of sheet metal.

"So! I'm guessing Earth for you, then? America, sounds like California?" The guess-where-you're-from game is one of his favorite.

"Not bad. If you don't get my age or weight, do I still get the stuffed animal?" Spade, for his part, is trying to guess what the sheet metal is for.

"If I had one, mate, you'd definitely be the first to have 'em," the Doctor says, grinning over at him.

"San Fransisco," he allows. "I'm Samuel Spade."

"The Doctor," he replies with a nod. "Nice to meet you, Samuel Spade. Can I call you Samuel?"

"Hell, go gangbusters and call me Sam, if you like."

"Ooooh, we've got some vernacular there," the Doctor says as his translation circuit scrambles a bit around that word. "Gangbusters. Mid 1930s, then?" A beat. "Sam."

He grins a little. "Next party trick, in a place like this. Bet it impresses the daylights out of dames over cocktails."

"I also do this thing where I tell them which constellations are up in the sky," the Doctor confesses with a smirk. "Always gets 'em, that one. But! You're the first from the mid 20th century I've met here. All sorts of timelines about, I've been trying to pick up a pattern, but I haven't yet."

He nods. "Most people from Earth seem to be from the future, for me. But it'll be hard to pick up a pattern when you don't know what the kidnappers want."

"Mmmm," the Doctor nods. "Well, you all are from my past, anyway. But! The point is, there has to be some rhyme or reason to it. Some thing that amuses them beyond simply humoring themselves, though I've got the distinct impression that's a good deal of it."

"You think we're the nightly serials for them?" He considers this. "It'd make sense. Especially the theory that people get pulled here in pairs or groups, often as not."

"That, I think, has to do with trying to make us happy," the Doctor says. "You think about it. First person you've met, seems like they're completely in-sych with you. Like, with me, I ran into Tara. She's exactly the sort of person I'd have made friends with. Down to her hair color." Which is actually very important, if you're the Doctor. "And she's got her friends here. All in order to make us happy. The flat you'll pick out, it'll be just what you want in a flat. Like they plucked it right from your mind."

He chuckles. "Well. My first acquaintance was charming enough, but hardly something to stop the presses over. Guess they figured I didn't need anything but my office, then." Which, to be fair, is almost true, if not quite. "Can't help but feeling I don't make for much in the way of entertainment, myself."

"You'd be surprised," the Doctor replies, turning back to his cupcake. He takes another bite. "After all, all on me own, I'm not all that interesting, either. Put me into a place I can't get out of, though..."

A pause. "What am I talking about? I'm always interesting!"

"Seems like you did make quite a stir," he concedes, though his voice doesn't convey much emotion about it one way or the other.

"I was only trying to help," the Doctor says, immediately defensive. "People are too complacent here. Too happy with the life of a guinea pig."

He shrugs. "Some people, likely. Maybe you should have waited til they had to work for a living. But. Your new way involves sheets of metal and cupcakes, so it seems you've made some improvements."

"And surprises," the Doctor says, possibly ominously. "Always surprises."

"Hm. Ain't terribly fond of surprises myself, but I imagine the population at large is pretty jumpy about them. Considering."

"Well, this shouldn't kill anyone," the Doctor says. Of course, his last attempt shouldn't have killed anyone, too.

"Significantly more foulproof."

"Guess that's reassuring." He's still looking over the Doctor's materials, casually. "So. You afraid I'm snitching for the hamsters, then?"

"Would you blame me if I was?" the Doctor asks. He gets the feeling this Samuel Spade is about as sharp as his namesake. Which, he supposes, is a good thing in this place.

twelve | location: streets of taxon |

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