You've reached the Doctor! It's your dime. Pick it up, and all the day you'll have good luck!

OOC PREFERENCES:
•CONTACT METHOD: Email: glazedmacguffin at glazedmacguffin dot com
Plurk: macguffinplurk
•THREAD-JACKING: I'm fine with it.
•FOURTH WALLING / CANON PUNCTURE: His season of Doctor Who canon punctured itself in Rememberence of the Daleks. Also the Gods of Ragnarok created the Land of Fiction. So go ahead.
•BACKTAGGING: I am with him, and I tend to give them out slowly too. I have difficulty focussing on other characters when I'm tagging with him and vice versa, so I tend to tag with him in spurts. If anyone has a problem with this, please please tell me.
•AVOIDED TOPICS: I avoid topics less with him because he is in a better mindset to not get angry over them. So if something sounds iffy I'll just come to you on it.

IC CHARACTERISTICS:
•PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: The Doctor is only 5'6'' (168 cm) tall and looks to be of Celtic ancestry (though alien, so he's not), and about 175 lbs (79.4 kg). His hair is brown and curly, and he wears a panama fedora with the brim rolled up and an handkerchief tied around it for the hatband. Contrary to the icons, he's frequently around the Barge in his dark suit and his brocade vest rather than his knit one. He wears a pair of oxford spectator shoes with brown trim against white, brown plaid slacks, and a dark brown blazer with a red paisley scarf that's a different shade of paisley than his hatband. Occasionally he also wears a beige suit with a smiley face button and a regular panama fedora. He has a thick Scottish accent and probably smells like his latest science expirement or the infirmary most of the time. To those sensitive enough, there'd be an undercurrent of something sweet.
•DEMEANOR: He's oafish and grins a lot.
•ABILITIES: Besides psychic abilities, regeneration, and hardiness that doesn't include fortitude- he can juggle and perform slight of hand. He can also play the spoons. He's a technical genius first and foremost, and can cobble together all kinds of devices.
•MEDICAL INFORMATION: His body temperature is lower internally than that of humans. He has two hearts and a very particular alien physiology. He is vaccinated against the Time Lord flu. He has a deadly aspirin allergy.
•OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS: He hates guns and will argue adamantly against them, as well as most forms of violence.

IC PERMISSIONS:
•MENTAL: Probably not. He usually has some pretty strong barriers up.
•MIMICRY: Yes. He won't like it but they can.
•VIOLENCE: Yes. And he will probably drop like a fly.
•MAGIC: Yes. He'll be upset since he has a bad history with magic. But they can.
•DEBATE: Absolutely. He enjoys it.
•OTHER / NOTES: None at the moment.

[Private to Jesse | Audio]

I hope you've considered who you might visit first. I would personally recommend your brother.

Because now you're in a position to act on it.

( Private to Friends and Private to Dr. McCoy )

[He can't take his eye off his inmate for too long because that is a very seriously volatile conversation. But he needs to quickly say something.]

This is the Doctor. And if you're out there, and you've travelled with me...

Take care of yourself. Make a better future. I'm going to be somewhere in it, sometime.

[Whether he gets responses or not, this is at least said.]

[Private to Claire | Audio]

Would you mind if we had a word? [It's not a hostile question. He's just worried about Jesse, and his tone is very mild. He knows that Claire was somehow involved in Richie's murder, but judging from the type of things Richie is capable of he's not sure of how. He's not really concerned about that, though. He's more preoccupied with helping find healthy outlets for Jesse's frustration...

And also to find out if she's been able to put up with his temper lately.]

[Public | Audio]

[He's trying to be as calm as possible. But what led to what went wrong was needless violence- and again, there's needless violence. The truth is, he doesn't want to admit the dreams came from him because he knows that it will make matters worse. He really wishes that he could write it off as a flood, but it went on entirely too long.] I apologize for the delay in addressing the matter. I was busy dealing with the object [object] responsible for the shared dreams, and then I was needed in the infirmary.

It was an accident, not a calculated strike. It's gone now. You can rest easier.

[He hopes.] That's all the information I'm at liberty to give. Dick passed on the necessary information pertaining to the other events that have transpired.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm still very tired.

[Private to Jesse | Audio]*

We need to have a discussion now that our minds have cleared.

*OOC: Triggers of drug use and sexual assault discussed in thread between Jesse and Doctor.

[Public | Audio]

[The Doctor faces the camera of his journal towards himself with a determined, serious expression. He holds up one finger.]

I've got quite a bit on my mind, and I'd prefer not to lose my temper... however-

[He turns it away, to show his TARDIS painted pink.]

I know the old girl wouldn't choose to do this to herself! Who's responsible?! Someone must be, because usually I can simply move into the vortex with her and when she returns her appearance is restored from whatever graffiti and defacement has occurred. This has been positively impossible to remove.

[Public]

I brought up a bit ago that there was a distinct lack of good stories to be told here. I've been attempting to summon good ones myself, but it is difficult.

There is one definite source of pleasant thoughts with me. There was a young man here with a number of problems, but I think also with a great deal of potential. The last words that I spoke to him, I did so while he was slumbering and never had a chance to say them aloud. I deeply regret that. He was in a Barge coma at the time. Many of my favourable experiences on board involved him, though at the same time, many of the harmful and horrifying ones that others experienced also involved him.

But he gave me hope, hope that some people such as the ones that caused my universe infinite grief could improve. I saw him improve. He didn't graduate, he was cast out soon after he woke from that coma. But the potential? It was there.

It may do us all well to remember that someone that causes harm to their friends, their people, their world... They can eventually realize they're also capable of bringing someone infinite happiness. A sense of contentment that few out there get to experience. You don't need to be perfect to do that, to command love and loyalty. To make someone be appreciated. You need not even graduate. Just recall the people that bring you pleasure are far more worth your time and investment than people you dislike; it's a great expenditure on people that you would care not be around, anyway.

[Private to Castiel]

I need to discuss your inmate with you. He was murdered prior to you retaining him, and it doesn't speak well to a man with insecurities in the justice system if people don't represent him fairly. I'm also guilty, as I was just recently informed that my inmate was one of the individuals implicated in the act.

So, I was wondering if I might speak with him, [and oh god, he knows it'll be a creepy, creepy place, and Richie's memories might be unreliable and rewritten to suit his fantasies, but he must be sure] and if I have permission from you and him possibly look at what he saw.



*OOC: Tonight will be the first night of the dream plot. It'll probably only go on until the 10th, but that should be plenty of time without it getting too stale.

[Private to Ariadne | Voice]

I would like to secure my inmate a work position in the art room, if you're willing to discuss it with me. [He sounds exhausted, and he is seriously considering also making him work in the kitchen until he proves that he stays clean for a little while.]

( Spam for Arkady and Spam for Jesse )



OOC: 1. Response to this. 2. A follow up to this thread.

[Public | Audio]

I've noticed that with all the bickering among us, we've often made pronouncements about the differences between who we are and everyone else aboard the ship. The capacity for mystical powers, psychic ability, physical excellence, or technical skill. Some of this is given by our genetics, through training and dedication, through love and support, through anguish and mad accident.

And yet despite these declarations. Someone standing a universe away can be remarkably like you in thought and presence, and someone who grew up in your own home can be as strikingly separate as an alien creature stepping out of its pod to introduce itself for the first time. It's a mystery of the tallest order.

As many of you might know, I ran away from my own home when I was far younger. I stole a TARDIS and left. I was caught, did my time, paid my dues, had her taken and returned. Since then I have lived moving about for what feels like more of my life than I've spent settled in one location. This is the longest I've spent stationary in a long time, and even then I'm still moving. I've often wondered if those people, the ones that grew up in our houses, share our genetics, the ones we occasionally see a glimmer of our shared selves in their faces are as much a part of us as those people a universe away that we know immediately with a few shared words and a look of utter understanding.

I've quite a bit to think about.

( Private to Jesse | Spam for Arkady )

[Public]

[He turns on his audio, and there's a click. And he almost makes a post. Almost. But he can't think of what to say, so it goes away just as soon as it started.]

[Open Spam]

[And after that failure, he leaves his room to go the short distance back to the infirmary to check on people. He needs to make sure Jesse is recovering, and try not to think about what it is he did or didn't do. Or even what happened to his accent. He doesn't even know why that's one of the things he's having trouble coming back from. Or why his body suddenly feels even more like an uncertain fit.

Having something to do and someone to look out for will help.]

[Private to Jesse]

[He's trying not to be exhausted with everything. He's never been fond of death in any form or fashion. So he's tinkering and clanging, and in the background there's the light sounds of tinkering and the painful awareness that he's now the only one of himself around on the ship. He's not actually slept during port and since port. Since he's been working in the infirmary. But he's a Time Lord so that's more okay than it would be for most people]

Mr. Pinkman, where would you like to meet?

[Private to Friends, Family, and Companions]

It's ridiculous to ask if you're all right. I would be amazed if anyone who wondered into that place was [and he sincerely wishes he hadn't seen places like it, places that would kill you for being sad] but I must know.

[Public]

[Guess who's not wearing his question mark sweater? Just guess. The Doctor has tidied himself up (as much as he can) and turns on the camera to his journal and looks a little delighted.

And a little sheepish.]

Ahhhh.

[He presses his lips together.

Shifts his gaze.

Turns off the camera again, because that's not going as planned. No no, he has to pace a little bit. And ponder, and pace and wonder precisely how to approach her. You would think the last time that he was brainwashed into liking someone, ironically a warrior woman named Angvia, would have taught him this was a little strange. Nope, no Mel here to slap some sense into him.

Oh well, time doesn't wait for presents! He should hop to it if he's going to lure in his lady fair with his gentlemanly wiles.

Camera back on!]

Would you like a bite to eat? Cup of tea? Cup of coffee? Cup of beer? Cup of water? Perhaps not in cups maybe in some other beverage container of your preference? Not everyone likes cups.

[No! His settings!] Oh this is public! Not meant for- [He coughs into his hand] -everyone. Excuse me.

[He changes the settings.]

[Private to Angua]

Ah, that was meant for you. If you're not entirely busy? [Please don't be busy.]

[Public]

[The Doctor is pointedly going to ignore the sex sounding things going on.]

Dallas Winston, by the by, has departed the Barge. [And likely went back to being a ghost, according to what he heard last. He's been gone for a while, he just hasn't wanted to talk about it. He never likes talking about people leaving.] He was a good lad.

Mark Hoffman mentioned... a lack of good stories to be told. I'd like to hear a few if you have them. They needn't be about an occupation. Just good stories. Or good experiences, if you're willing to share.

[Warden Filter]

Will someone please keep an eye on Jim Profit? He's threatening to murder people if he doesn't have someone brainwash him. I suspect it has to do with Mr. Nygma's departure and unfortunately the gentleman knows how to push all my buttons to incite the worst reaction possible.

He said quite specifically he would attempt to seek out Narvin's assistance after my own. If he discovers my brother retains his psychic abilities he might pursue him after me. But I have absolutely no doubt this man needs supervision.

Barge comas had always slightly unsettled the Doctor. Not that he mentioned it to anyone else, but they reminded him so much of a healing coma he could never quite shake the impression that there was some dire mental trauma undergoing repair in the mind of the victim as they slumbered. At least they inevitably looked peaceful through their respite, and despite his rage Rex was no exception.

A third check in an hour wasn't strictly necessary, but Rex was there, and he was there, and the infirmary wasn't all that busy so he thought he might as well. He pulled the curtain aside to look in on his hospital bed again, to run the scanner over him. That should have been sufficient enough to satisfy his concerns.

But they weren't. This time he sat the scanner down on the coarse hospital sheets and pulled up a chair for a seat.

"She's leaving soon, Martha," he said quietly. "Dr. McCoy will be taking over for her in charge of the infirmary. I'm actually quite glad it wasn't me, because I've always resented positions of authority." He regarded Rex quietly. His face was so boyish, peaceful when he was like that. Quite unlike the troubled young man he was when he was waking. "I don't mind it so much as I have in other regenerations." His tone grew more quiet. After all, the infirmary was mostly still. There wasn't much noise to cover his somewhat pointless monologue, just a need to speak and hear himself talk and openly acknowledge that he did want to talk.

"I referred to my position as former Lord President of the High Council with pride. Keeper of the Laws of Rassilon- keeper of the laws of that man..." He closed his eyes, bit his lip up between his teeth. "I've run for office on more than one occasion, commanded armies, claimed authority over establishments. No, I shy from leadership far less than I used to. But I still don't necessarily trust myself with it."

He cleared his throat, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. The TARDIS had returned it to him relatively recently. He'd went quite a long time without it. "When you graduated, I was going to give you a tool kit, and take you on adventures. I was going to show you the cosmos. I thought- I thought of all the things I was doing for you, I was truly helping. I never stopped to consider all that running that I did, in my efforts to be a positive influence- that I'd do quite the opposite. That I might show you somewhere along the line that it's all well and good to run, no matter who you leave behind so long as it appears to be necessary. I've done entirely too much of that."

When he drew a breath, it was shakier than he liked. He put away the sonic screwdriver, and quietly recalled his conversation with Narvin. And with that, he took off his hat (the sad, weather thing) and plucked out a gold-petaled flower. Six of them all around. A simple little blossom, as poignant as a rose. It was the same flower that he plucked from his brother's body- a flower native to Gallifrey.

He placed the Flower of Rememberance on the stand beside of Rex's bed.

"I don't believe... I'll mind being alone whenever it's time for you to go, now that I've had some consideration. It will be painful, and difficult. I've run from what a terrible creature that I know I can be- two steps from a god, one from a monster -more times than I can count. To hold you responsible would be hypocritical of me. It's not even my job to."

The Doctor stood, leaned over Rex's bed, and pressed his forehead to his. Just for a moment. Didn't bother to look for the dreams inside of it, and if they existed he'd leave them in the privacy of them. Once he'd pulled back, a light tip of the nose punctuated the gesture.

His hearts ached, and the space between them felt hollow. But somehow it was a little better. It was better having said what he said, and he pulled the curtain to leave. There was too much hate in the world to bear yet another grudge, especially toward people that had the capacity to fill him with joy. Once was enough.