taxonomites | Entries tagged with { the doctor (eleventh)

iminmynightie.livejournal.com

Amy bustled around the kitchen, humming along as Elvis sang on the radio. She was just finishing off the canapés for the party she and her dear husband were throwing for their neighbors. Since the two had finally settled on a house, it seemed only proper to open the doors and show it off. She couldn't wait to hear what the other wives thought of her curtains and throw pillows.

John had to be turned out of the kitchen numerous times, because he was determined to help her cook. Silly man. Didn't he know the man's place was behind the bar, cocktail shaker in hand? That was just where she had sent him, to mix up a few drinks. Amy's stepdaughter, Jenny, had helped Amy with the cooking all day long, but was now upstairs finishing up getting ready. Amy herself had already changed for the party, and was wearing a vivid green dress that complimented her red hair.

Pushing open the swinging kitchen door with her rear end, Amy sauntered down the hall and into the den, humming along and joining John at the bar.

"Here, try one, and tell me what you think?" She held out a canapé for him to bite. Their guests would start arriving any minute and she wanted them to have good food as soon as they entered.

[OOC: All characters welcome! Your character doesn't just have to live in Shelley to be invited. Amy, the Doctor, and Jenny will be thread hopping around this post. Oh, and John Smith is the Doctor's alias during this event. ;)]

hamsterbait.livejournal.com

The house was new and unused and, although Time Lords didn't need much sleep, the Doctor had selected a bedroom at random. It was that bedroom that Martha Jones - fully dressed and sprawled out on bed that she'd never seen in her life - woke up in, but, really, the fact that she'd been taken from her flat was the least of her worries.

Her chest hurt.

No. It didn't hurt, as such, but the sensation of two hearts beating in one chest was enough to unsettle someone who'd grown up with one.

Slowly, tentatively, she put a hand on her chest and got to her feet.

Was this how the Doctor felt every day? She could feel time - everything that had been and could be and would be and ...

"Oh my god," she breathed, dropping her hand back to her side and stumbling over to a mirror on the far side of the room. She didn't just feel like the Doctor. She was the Doctor! She was in his body.

Although she couldn't begin to imagine what a person hoped to gain from switching their bodies, Martha wouldn't put anything past the hamsters. Or past the Master, for that matter. As far as they were concerned, their imprisonment was just a great big game.

She needed to find the Doctor.

There was no sign of the tablet on the bedside table - knowing him, he'd left it in the kitchen while making himself a midnight cup of tea - so she had no choice but to head off down the hallway.

"Amy?" she called, "Amy, are you here?"

The Doctor could be a difficult man to find. It'd be a lot easier if she had help from someone they both trusted.

would-be-doctor.livejournal.com

Martha's image appears on the screen. Her hair's down, and she's dressed in a nightie that may or may not seem a bit unusual for her, but at least it appears she has had the good sense to pop a lab coat on over it. For all the good that will do.

Also, you'd think if she had the time to brush her hair she could have, you know-- gotten dressed properly. But clothing choices aside, this is definitely Our Martha Jones. Right?

"Good morning, everyone. Don't worry, I'm still Martha Jones... Doctor Martha Jones. I guess the hamsters didn't feel like messing with me this time. Lucky me! It means I've got a clear enough head to try and fix you lot." She seems almost pleased with this, though, rather than disgruntled. God knows why.

"If everyone stays calm I'm sure this will all be over soon. In the meantime, I'd like if those who did wake up as someone else could drop in at the clinic. Being able to examine the effects of this might make it easier to stop it from happening again. And we could always learn more about our furry little friends."

And then she smiles hopefully.

"Doctor? If you're out there somewhere, I could really use your help."

[ooc: For those who missed the memo, the Master is in Martha's body. For anyone interested in stopping by for either horrors or just general awkwardness!]

Current Music: radiohead- a wolf at the door

ergaleomancer.livejournal.com

It's the grand opening of Theta's shop, which she rather arrogantly likes to think will be a big deal. The doors open promptly at 10AM and Theta settles behind the counter with a notebook and pencil, sketching out plans for the next thing to build. She's working on a teapot, if anyone would like to look at her designs. She also has a cup of tea with her, and a tea pot balanced rather precariously on a metal stand over a candle.

The shop itself is a Victorian era styled shop front, with a door leading into the back. All manner of clocks are hung or standing in the shop, and there is a case with pocket watches and necklaces made of spare and broken bits of gears. A display stand on top of the counter shows off many watch chains, most of them with decorative gears hanging off of them, though several plain. Notably there are more things made of gold than of silver, and some things even have brass accents on them.

aworldenchanted

Tara sat at a café in Wilde, not far from Tamper and Trick, warming her hands with a chai latte. There was a bit of a chill in the air, but the sun was peeking through the clouds, and with a jacket, being out was nice enough.

She thought about the sun. With the influx of new visitors recently, she'd been thinking more about how Taxon worked, about how this strange half-life could be settled into. How easy it as for her to slip into work at Tamper and Trick, which wasn't quite the Magic Box, dates with Willow, who was a few months away from being her Willow, and living in Castle Summers, which was familiar to her friends, but not to her. How easy it became to ignore the Extras, to weather a glitch, to take it for granted.

She thought about people who'd gone and come back. The Doctor. Stefan. The Master. She wondered if she'd been before, and just forgotten. If Xander might come back, slate wiped clean. It didn't fit, exactly, with the zoo theory, but it didn't fit with the little glimpses they'd had of the 'real Taxon' either. Then again, if it was a glitch as she'd suspected, their captors had just turned Piper into a monster, so none of her working theories were right just yet.

She thought about the people she missed. Hercules. Rose. Sam. Giles. Ethan. Tara had to believe that the were home. Safe. Happy. She wanted to believe that so very badly.

It was her birthday. The first one she shouldn't have been alive to have. And that knowledge made it a little bittersweet.

She sipped her latte, and took a few moments. Then she'd head to the shop. Happy birthday to her.

[Open to new friends as well as old. Come say hi.]

ergaleomancer.livejournal.com

Theta awoke from what she could have sworn was falling asleep at her workbench. But she awoke standing, and that was inordinately disorienting. Nonetheless, she tried to steady herself, looking around the place and at the details of what there was around her. This was...this place looked nothing like anything she'd ever seen before, though it did bear similarities to of all things a train station. But why was she here? Who had brought her? And why now? She shuddered to think of it. No, better to think of this as a dream, some fantasy brought on by too much tea and not enough food and too long working on her clockworking. What a strange place this was, and stranger still to dream of it.

Her eyes fell on the pedestal and she took the tablet, running her eyes over it. Simple, intuitive design, easy to follow the idea of how it was used and was meant to be used... She started pushing buttons, and the screen soon informed her that it was recording. ...Recording?

Theta broadcasts her image--she is a young woman, no more than her early twenties. She is dressed in unusual clothing, the most notable pieces being a lime green cravat, a brown leather top hat, and a pair of unusual glasses with swinging magnifiers flipped out of her way but no less a permanent part of the frames. She holds the tablet in one hand, her other holding firmly to a cane which she leans heavily on. After a moment's confused thinking, she began to speak. "Recording? That is to say this little device is -recording- what I have to say? To what end do you record me, little device? For what purpose do you record it? All the world's a stage, are you to be my pocket sized audience? Or is there yet further reason for your creation that I have yet to unlock?"

She turns the device over in her hand, then returns it to its 'correct' position. "You're a very poorly made clockwork if you can't at least tell me that..."

ialwayscomeback.livejournal.com

[ooc: Backdated to after this]

While the Doctor might have thought that in some ways it would be better if Amy hadn't been brought to Taxon as well, he had to admit that he was happy to have her company again.

Even if that company meant he was being dragged around the city to look at various buildings while the two of them bickered about which would be suitable. He'd almost regret passing on the information that housing was apparently free here, if he weren't secretly having fun nosing about the various buildings trying to find one they both liked. Part of the problem was that, with apparently no limits beyond what was available and untaken, not to mention the eclectic mix of buildings available in the city, there was a lot to choose from.

"I dunno," he said, eyeing one of the places doubtfully. "It's a bit... yellow, isn't it?"

iminmynightie.livejournal.com

Amy appeared on the platform and jumped, letting out an "AUGH!" Hadn't she just been in the TARDIS? How did she end up here? She looked all around the stark room, seeing a pedestal in the corner, and then noticed the thin book in her hand. Turning it to read the cover, she murmured out loud, "The Legend of Pandora's Box?" She flipped it open, sure that it was the book from her bedroom back home. How did it get here? Or perhaps a better question was, how did she get here? And what was this weird bracelet on her wrist?

She'd been in plenty of strange situations in the past, and plenty of those separated her from her friend and her husband, so she wasn't as freaked out as she could have been. The Doctor was always able to find her, to save her, and so she was confident that he would do the same now.

Stepping off the platform on which she stood, she called out, "Doctor?" before coming up to a pedestal with some sort of mobile on it. Picking it up caused the door behind her to open, and she quickly spun around, the strange little device still in her hand. Amy moved forward cautiously, sticking her head out the door.

"Doctor! Rory! Oi, anybody there?" She clicked her tongue and stepped out into the hall. "Well this is just great." She picked a direction and headed down the hall, clutching her book and the device as the door slid shut behind her. Pausing to look down at the object in her hand, she wondered if it really was some kind of mobile, and if so, if she could use it to find the Doctor.

She slid the screen down over the keyboard and held it up to her ear, listening. "Can anybody hear me on this thing? Hellllllloooooo." She waited a moment for a response and, when none came, she sighed and held it out to look at the screen. Seeing a button with a picture of a house on it, she assumed it was the home key and so she pressed it. It brought up a map with a colored dot in the middle, labeled, 'Amy Pond.' "Great," she replied with a sigh, "now I know where I am. I'm... in some building in some strange place and I'm a dot on a map. So very helpful, that."

Dropping hand and tablet to her side she decided she would just have to explore, and see if anyone could tell her where she was.

icanhaslogic.livejournal.com

This was a room he had never seen before, and hardly where Spock had been expecting to turn up when he had stepped onto the transporter pad. It hadn't been all that long since the crew had formed itself around the incorrigible bravado of James Tiberius Kirk, but there was that element of trust among all of them that only a massively traumatizing and life-threatening encounter could create.

This just rang too close to sloppy work done far too quickly. Hardly what he had come to expect and surprising enough that he spoke to someone not there without remembering that he wouldn't be heard if he didn't say it into a communicator.

"I believe you may have missed, Mr. Scott." It was only after he had spoken the words that he realized that the lack of communication devices would make it impossible to speak to those on board the Enterprise, and yet, when he searched for his, it came up missing (he had been certain that he had put it on his belt next to the phaser that was also gone. It was supposed to be standard equipment after all).

The next logical thing, then, was some kind of practical joke, though he had assumed that the crew members would know better than to try it on him as he would not give them the reaction that these kinds of things always seemed to call for. He arched one angular eyebrow over his alien eyes and spoke again to invisible people that might well have been listening from behind the strange metal walls.

"This is no time to make a vain attempt at humor." This mission was supposed to be important and they were wasting time-

-but there was no response. Hardly unexpected, though still almost-frustrating in that way that only a Vulcan could understand- emotional and not all at once.

"I am afraid that I fail to understand the joke." Hadn't he mentioned that these kinds of things escaped his understanding once before? Illogical and unnecessary, all of it. These things served no purpose, and yet humans seemed entirely fascinated by them. It was rapidly becoming apparent, though, that this was no prank, and that perhaps there was no Enterprise nearby to hear him- even if he had his communicator with him.

All he could do, then, was explore this strange room that he had ended up in. Metal. Nothing he had ever seen before, and his scientist's hands itched to be holding his tricorder and find out what it was. What this was.

He took a few steps and nearly tripped over an object at his feet- his lyre, strange thing to have in the room with him. It served no purpose now and he had left it behind in his rooms. It would have been illogical to bring it with him. Still, he cared for it as much as he could care for an item, and he bent down to retrieve the fragile, stringed thing from the floor where it was certainly unsafe.

"This is entirely illogical. Cease these actions immediately and return me to the planet's surface."

A last ditch effort, perhaps. The feel of wood beneath his fingers as he cradled his instrument gently in his hands made it fairly certain that this was no prank. In which case, his first priority was survival in whatever place this was. And that meant leaving this room.

Though the means to accomplish that were hardly apparent.

timedaughter

The ingredients are all measured very precisely and placed carefully in individual bowls on the counter. They're arranged in the order they're meant to be used. Jenny wears a very serious expression, obviously quite intent on the task at hand, concentration unmatched.

The closest bowl holds two eggs. She picks them up and frowns at them. Setting one aside briefly, she visibly steels herself before neatly cracking one egg on the side of the mixing bowl. Delighted that it seems to have worked without making a mess, she carefully separates the crack and allows the egg to drop into the bowl. The shell goes into the wastebasket -- set conveniently next to her leg -- before she repeats the process with the other egg.

Next comes milk, salt, and then pepper, each small amount in their own bowl and each mixed in thoroughly with an egg beater. Once satisfied, Jenny nods to herself, lifts the bowl, and makes her way over to the pan already sitting heated on the stove. She takes the last ingredient bowl, which contains a dab of butter, takes a deep breath and drops it into the pan as if she expects it to explode. When it doesn't, she smiles, watches it melt, and then carefully pours the egg mixture into the pan.

She hums as she watches the eggs cook diligently, scraping the cooked parts from the bottom of the pan at regular intervals, in exact patterns. All this for scrambled eggs. You don't want to know how many times she read the recipe before attempting this. She has it memorized.

numbersnfigures.livejournal.com

It took about a week in the hotel for Spencer to realize that this wasn't a dream and that he wasn't going home. Hoping and praying were futile - something he well knew, but felt were his only options for a while. Spencer was depressed, spending most of the days lying in bed unable to turn his brain off. He occasionally picked up one of his mother's letters from out of the box and read it with tears in his eyes before tossing it back and trying to sleep. Sleep only produced dreams of metal hallways and Roman architecture and JJ, surprisingly enough. He missed her. He missed everyone.

On day 7, he woke and felt as though something had changed. His situation was the same, but something inside of him wasn't. It was a coming to terms, perhaps. He decided that he needed to move out of the hotel.

Spencer had walked around a bit before he found a place in the eastern portion of the city that seemed to suit him. The building was not unlike a tenement from the turn of the century with narrow stairs inside which led up to a small but cozy apartment. The furnishings were also old fashioned, dating to about the same time period. What made it feel like home was the wall of books located in the sitting room and the coffee maker in the kitchen. Yes, this was it.

He had set to work rearranging a few things, when a thought occurred to him. Switching on his tablet, he gazed out at whoever should deem to respond to him.

"Um... Hi... uh.. so.. I was wondering... I don't think any of you have use for a criminal profiler... but perhaps you have use of a scientist?"

He half-smiled at the screen.

skort

Kara's tablet turns on when she smacks it as she turns over in her sleep. From the looks of it, it's not a particularly good dream. In fact, judging by the choked off yell as she sits up, it was down-right nasty. She looks at nothing in particular, her expression shocked like nothing else. "What... What the hell was that?" she murmurs quietly.

Without thinking, she brings her knees to her chest, curling her arms around them as she mutters to herself quietly in Kryptonian, trying to figure out what just happened. Her breathing is coming a little quickly as realization dawns on her and her expression slowly turns to something akin to horror.

"Oh, Rao..." Cue more angered murmuring in Kryptonian before Kara just buries her face in her knees.

The feed times out.

[ ooc | canon update! also. forward dated a few hours to like. 4 AM Wednesday. ]

biverbam.livejournal.com

_|_|_ _|_|_ | |765 essentially different positions. 26,830 possible games.

[ooc: TIC-TAC-TOE! I fully endorse and encourage any and all shenanigans this may inspire. ~~Also, the code to get courier new font is <tt>(you can c/p what's up there and fill it in, or whatever was in the last tag and then fill in your move)</tt>.~~

Better code I took from Starrah (ilu) <div style="display: inline; font-family: Courier New;">goes a little something like this</div>]

tailblade.livejournal.com

In an empty bathroom in the Sanctuary, Aximili stands on a tiled floor, taking up most of the space. His tail is held close to his body so as not to risk hurting the strange human with the bowtie.

He is eager to attempt this experiment and uncover some of the mysteries of Taxon. He is also glad to have someone, even a strange human with a bowtie, as back-up.

«I am now employed at the zoo. I exchange my labor for currency, which is then stored in my bracelet. Currency is useful.» He pauses. «At the zoo, there is a small aquarium with tiny fish that prefer warm water with very low salinity. I have acquired a suitable morph for this task. Are you also ready?»

numbersnfigures.livejournal.com

"… So you see, because this unsub doesn't exhibit antisocial behavior, then there's no way that he could possibly have committed this crime, because this is clearly the work of-"

Dr. Spencer Reid was so engrossed in what he was saying that it took him a good 10 seconds to realize that he was no longer standing in the bullpen at the FBI quarters with his team. The new surroundings surprised him so much that he jumped and stepped backwards, nearly tripping over a box at his feet.

"What in the-?"

This was a dream. It had to be. Maybe he hadn't actually been at work at all and that was also a dream. This was just a new dream. Yes, that's it. Still, this felt startlingly real. His leg hurt where the box had dug into him.

Spencer surveyed the room, made entirely of metal. Glancing up, he noticed a strange looking metal machine attached to the ceiling above him.

"Is this- did I get beamed into this place? Am I having a dream about Space Trekking?"

As exciting of a possibility as that was, this did not look like their ship. Spencer looked down at the box at his feet and realized immediately what was inside of it. Picking up one of the envelopes, he tore out the letter inside and scanned the page. "My dear Spencer…" There they were; every single letter from his mother piled neatly in a cardboard box at his feet. Why on earth was this in his dream?

While he glanced over the letter, he noticed the strange bracelet on his right wrist. He panicked a bit when he realized that he couldn't move it.

"O-okay, I don't think I like this…"

Spencer usually wore his watch over his shirt sleeve because he disliked the feel of metal on his skin. This bracelet, however, didn't bother him. It was almost like it was a part of him, and that made him panic even more.

"It's just… this is just a dream Spencer… just a succession of images and sound that my brain is creating as a part of REM sleep…"

Finally, he noticed what looked like a cell phone sitting on a pedestal about 3 feet from him. Approaching it, he gazed down at what appeared to be a colored map on the screen. This phone was exquisite; quite possibly the most advanced phone he'd ever seen.

"H-hello?" Spencer picked up the device and was startled as part of the wall across the room moved away, revealing a doorway.

Current Mood: confused

ialwayscomeback.livejournal.com

[ooc: Backdated to be after this, feel free to ask the Doctor wtf he is doing or poke/laugh at/check on the Master.]

When the tablet flickered on it was obvious that something was amiss. The Doctor and the Master were both in the frame, though the tablet itself seemed to be in the hands of a third, unseen person who hadn’t realised it was active, as there was quite a bit of floor in the shot as well. Both Time Lords were close together, their foreheads touching, and it was apparent that the Doctor had been part of the way through saying something when the tablet was activated.

“—sorry.”

Then the Master screamed like someone in agony, reeling back from the Doctor like he’d been burned, arms flailing wildly as though he was trying to fend off an invisible attack. The building they were in shuddered and whoever was holding the tablet dropped it, throwing the image into a disarray of walls, floor, and ceiling before it stopped, showing the Doctor. He rose slowly, his face an almost cold and distant mask as the Master continued to sob and scream, shouting the word ‘no’ more than once among the other sounds of his distress.

The room shuddered again and the Doctor was moving, picking up the tablet – his hand filling the screen for a moment – and running from the room, leaving the Master behind. Though the screams could still be heard as he raced through the building, the tablet broadcasting a confusing jumble of running feet, half-seen glimpses of ornate furniture and architecture, and the Doctor’s face.

It was difficult to tell, but there was something else strange in the way the building shook, doors banging open and closed like the place was home to a very upset poltergeist , and at least once the Doctor ducked as an unseen object flew across the room towards him.

A shot of a door loomed out of nowhere and there was a bang as he burst through it, yelping in pain as a flying object caught the side of his head. The sound of the Master’s tortured yelling finally stopping as the gloom of the building gave way to too-bright sunlight. The Doctor must have tripped then, as the sky suddenly became red grass, then sky, then grass, over and over as he rolled a distance and finally stopped, the tablet showing his slightly-bruised profile as he lay sprawled on his back staring at the sky and breathing hard.

tailblade.livejournal.com

From the ground, something is growing. It's not a plant. It's a flea. A flea the size of a dog, and getting bigger. And now it has jaws full of very sharp teeth.

This can't be good.

The flea's multifaceted eyes crumple into small, reptilian yellow. The antennae retract. Scales rush over its ever-expanding body. When the process finishes, there stands one of the most fearsome predators ever to walk the Earth: Tyrannosaurus rex.

It's twelve and a half meters long from snout to tail. It weighs 68 metric tons. Its teeth are 30 centimeters long. And it's hungry.

«Now would be an excellent time for tranquilizer guns!»

syncopath

[ooc: backdated to before Ax's glitch but after the Doctor goes to see the Master for the first time. Log will span several days of ~~torture~~ FUN]

The Master whistled as he walked down the long hallway toward the 'guestroom' he'd set up for the Doctor, twirling his newly rebuilt laser screwdriver between his fingers. It was fortunate the Doctor had turned up when he did, really; the Master had tried just about everything attempting to recreate his little baby via the hatches. Used up all of his credits, and even then gritted his teeth through those increasingly annoying electric shocks to make more until he was certain he was going to damage his hand. Every time the thing had gone slightly wrong, somehow-- the aim was off, or one of the settings was compromised. Or it didn't fire at all. Rebuilding from scratch seemed to be the only option.

It hadn't taken long for him to get it working properly, once he'd gotten the limiting components from the Doctor's sonic version. Save the TARDIS, which he had a feeling he'd not get easy access to for a very long time considering the frosty tart in charge of it, these components did not appear to be available in Taxon without the hatch's interference.

Now the Doctor's screwdriver was in pieces, some of which were scattered on the floor of his workspace, and some of which were in his hand. The Master smiled as he flung open the door, letting some light into the otherwise dark room. He wasn't particularly worried about escapes at the moment. The House would know to restrain the Doctor for these little visits.

"No windows," he remarked, though he was smiling. "Oh dear. You must have made it particularly cross with you." The Master snapped his fingers, the room flooding instantly with light. "Better?"

Current Music: sarah blasko- the garden's end

ialwayscomeback.livejournal.com

No sooner had the TARDIS come to a stop than the Doctor was throwing open the doors and dashing outside with a cheerful shout of "Come along, Ponds!", eager to see where they’d arrived this time. That was one of the fun things about connecting up the old randomiser every so often. Enter a few basic guidelines to avoid places that might end up with them all collapsing from something unfortunately terminal the moment the stepped outside or into the middle of a war zone (he’d been shot exiting the TARDIS once before, thank you very much, and had no desire to repeat the experience), then let the TARDIS do the rest. Guaranteed mystery the moment they opened the doors.

It was a little unfortunate then that it looked like 'mystery' in this case was...

"A white room with a sort of... thing on a pedestal. Not really what I'd call exciting but maybe there's something more out there. Like a ship or a space station or a..."

He trailed off, alerted by the silence even before he turned around to find no sign of the TARDIS or his companions. Just himself on a raised platform in an empty room in a place he wasn't familiar with. There was also something strange hanging overhead, and the Doctor frowned at it, his mind racing to fill in the blanks in what he knew.

"Some sort of teleporter maybe... I’ve been kidnapped?" The idea wasn't impossible, he knew for certain, since it had happened a few times before. But it had been a while since anyone had tried. "I suppose whoever’s behind this must be feeling pretty satisfied with themselves right now?"

His wrist felt odd, he realised. Well, he’d realised it earlier, in a vague sort of way, but it was only now that it persisted in feeling odd that he scratched at it and found what seemed to be a metal bracelet fused to his skin. "Did you go and tag me?" he asked the room incredulously. "Who goes around fusing jewellery onto people? ‘Oh, I know, he’d look so much better with a silver bracelet grafted to his skin’?"

The room remained silent, so obviously whoever had brought him here didn't feel like turning up to do the gloating bit. Which left him with the thing on the pedestal, the thing in the ceiling, and a door that proved to be locked when he tried opening it.

"If that's how you want to play it," he muttered, his hand delving into his pocket to produce his sonic screwdriver. It warbled reassuringly as he waved it in quick, apparently random patterns over the walls and door, but quickly escalated to a high-pitched shriek not unlike something in pain the moment he ventured too close to that thing hanging from the ceiling. Whatever it was didn’t want to be scanned in a hurry.

"Let's see what we've got then," the Doctor commented, extending the end of the sonic screwdriver with a practised flick of his wrist. Unfortunately, the answer turned out to be ‘not much of anything’, which really only left the device sitting on the pedestal. Snapping the sonic closed again and returning it to his pocket, the Time Lord wandered over to it curiously, taking his time looking it over before reaching out and picking it up. Whatever it was, it was active and had been recording and uploading information to somewhere the entire time.

"Hello," the Doctor said, shifting his hands on the tablet to get a better look at it. "Been having a good look at me, have you? Let’s see... text, holo seems to be active... visual, voice... Oh, maps! Yes, let’s start with that then. Always a handy thing to have, a map." His finger hovered over the icon for a moment as he paused in thought, his brow furrowing. "Not that I normally use them. But I’ve heard they’re handy if you get lost easily and don’t like the fun of finding your way back on your own. Personally I always think that’s the best bit, seeing where getting lost takes you, but I suppose some people might—Oh?"

Cutting himself off suddenly, the Doctor’s eyebrows shot up as the map loaded, revealing this to be a decent sized city apparently named Taxon. But the really interesting and surprising part was how the map displayed people’s names next to some of the glowing dots on the map. Or, more accurately, the surprising part was what some of those names were. "Martha Jones? Charlotte Pollard? Fitz Kreiner? That’s... No. It can’t be. It’s just not possible..."

For a moment there was the barest flicker of uncertainty in his face, before it was quickly hidden again and the Doctor addressed whatever unseen audience he had. "I think I need some answers."