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Alistair sighs.

It's been ... days. How long, he has no idea. But it's been days since Kurt quite literally tied him up to stop him looking for Gabriel. Or Savannah. And now Kurt seems to have gone missing, too. As well as Arabelle.

And all that's left is Alistair and ... sapient vegetables from Gabriel's garden, trained to take care of him in this humiliating incapacitated state. They'd been also trained not to untie him--he'd found that out when he'd asked the rutabagas as much. They'd all formed ranks, unto the last rutabaga, carrot, turnip, and cucumber, and barked out, infantry style that sir, no, sir, they were under orders not to untie him, sir!

And had then brought him water and some of their self-sacrificing brethren.

Alistair sighs and counts the days and wishes someone would come by the cottage.
It's a nice place, this station, if a bit overwhelming.

And everyone's gone, now. They've gone to pursue their own lives. Off teaching or going to school or doing who-knows-what in ... what was it, New York? I see Gabe and Savvy in the Nexus sometimes, but I haven't heard from Allen or Alice in a while, now. Kinda miss them. No idea what's happened to Dominic and Clair has ... vanished. Last I heard she was in a medlab somewhere, but without the web, I don't know where, and these Gallifreyans aren't very informative.

Yeah. The web's gone. Z's gone. Might as well face that. I can still hear Gabe, but that's it.

So now what? Go home? I don't think I can do that. It's like those movies, you know. Where someone ends up yanked out of their ordinary life and goes on some huge life-changing adventure and then ... returns to their own world at the end. The writers just expect the audience to believe they can just pick up the old life where they left off, maybe being "better people" or "more enlightened" or something, but still back to business as usual.

Doesn't work that way. I can't even think about going home. I'm sure someone here could find the exact place I left, but ... I can't do it. I can't go back to filing exhibits and life as usual knowing what I know. Besides, some other branch of the Shop might find out I'm not as dead as they think I am and the whole mess would just start all over again, only this time with no Z. So home's out of the question. And I can't stay here. I'm no Gallifreyan, and this place is giving me headaches. If it's not full of incomprehensibly old things, then everything resonates with numbers. The guy who owns the place, whatsisname, said it was because that's how it was built. Numbers that affect reality. Though he wasn't insulted when I said I needed to leave. Even started fretting about my sanity. Nice guy.

So now what?

Gabe invited me to stay in his home, near that school he part-time teaches at. Guess a place with access to fresh air'd be a nice change. I dunno, I think I'd feel like some kind of leech, but on the other hand, I don't think I can live alone any more. I've gotten too used to people around all the time. People nearby, people in my head.

Well, at any rate, time to pack all this stuff. Again.
Alistair wakes up from a nightmare, thrashing and flailing, and falls off the bed with a thump, startling the cat and causing her to dart out of the room.

Only it wasn't a nightmare was it?

He flails his way out of the sheets in a panic--bound, strangled--only to see his familiar surroundings. And he suddenly feels as though the last year and change of his life has been a dream.

The stars outside his window at ten am quashes that idea.

Which means it's real.

"Z... Z, oh god, Z.... What're we gonna do...?" He flails further, trying to find something other than his pajamas to put on, the dream fading already, and he stumbles out the door into the corridors of New Gallifrey, clad in pyjamas and slippers and a dressing gown.

"Gotta find someone..."

Apr. 13th, 2007

gblrgl.

Ow.

Gabe... ow. Just ... ow. No, really. Ow. You're full of ow. Ow and hurty and ow some more and a side order of flat.

d_m Prompt 10

Every once in a while, you see kids in the Nexus. As in little kids. A lot younger than Savannah. She's the youngest person I know, really. But sometimes you see little kids like the girl who escaped from the dark place, or the little boy with the plunger.

Sometimes it makes me think. I mean, I like kids, they're funny and cute and all, and I like the way everything's a wonderful thing to them. But then I wonder what it'd be like to have any of my own and I just can't see it. I mean, more than just finding somebody crazy enough to marry me and have kids with me. I don't know if I'd want to pass all this on, you know? I know albinism is a recessive trait and this soundwave thing was a freak occurrence, but maybe my power isn't. Gabriel's a mutant and so are his brother and his daughter. What would I end up passing on to any kid I might have, and what sort of trouble would that get him or her into? I don't think I could do that to any kid I might have. So maybe I shouldn't have any.

But that's so far off I can't even really think about it. Not like like the girls're breaking my door down, not with half the Nexus wanting to bomb the Shop flat.
He'd gone deep into the web, this time, becoming part of it, like Z. Z's watch was still held in his hand, fingers loosely curled around it, but from Alistair himself there was no sound, no movement. His vitals had dropped significantly and he lay as one dead.

OOC

Ish a lil Ali! Eee hee!

Mar. 23rd, 2006

Sometimes there were days when there just wasn't anything else to do but paw through a box or a drawer or a closet and see what one could find. Everything Alistair owned had a story, whether it was his or not, and sometimes it presented the perfect way to way to burn a slow afternoon. He'd fish something out and sit back, running his fingers over it, letting it show him what it would, like someone going through a collection of photos they'd looked at repeatedly or books they've read to bits or movies they'd seen a dozen times. Sometimes they seened new to him, as it'd been a long time since he'd read the object in question and he'd forgotten most of what it held.

Such was the case with the watch he found packed away in a little bag at the back of a drawer full of random office implements. He pulled it out of the bag and rolled it in his hand, wondering why he'd hidden it away like that. It was a perfectly good watch. It even still worked. But as he peered into its history, the answer hit him like a slap.

He'd been wearing this watch when he was taken.

Curious, he let himself sink further into the memory, mentally staring like one reading a graphic account of something shocking....
Tropical locales never held the same interest for Alistair as they did for other people. He and the sun weren't on the best terms, after all, and tourist traps held no interest for him. Too muddled by all the people. Thus, they weren't much different to any other place, in his opinion.

Except for one thing.

He had the window open, and was lying on his rumpled, unmade bed, snuggled into the mound of blankets and pillows, listening to the sound of the ocean and breathing the scent on the air. The air conditioning was off and the room was warm and sultry. He could just barely smell the sea and the flowers through his healing nose. He may or may not be asleep.
I found someone in the Nexus the other day. A little girl, clad only in some kind of a tunic with a t-shirt over it. She looked to be maybe five or six years old, but the three times that I saw her, people were trying to teach her how to speak. Her attempts were little better than baby babble, but she was an inquisitive thing. Treasured the toys she had with her--a doll, a stuffed octopus, and a small origami crane. I don't know where she's from, but unfortunately I have something of a clue.

I accidentally read a memory from her clothing. A dark place, damp, full of the sound of children crying, plenty of drinking water but nothing to eat but roots--maybe it was underground. Complete darkness and strange furred creatures who seemed to be in charge of the group of them. The smells of an enclosed, untended space--a room or a cage, I couldn't tell because everything was black.

She'd escaped from that place, maybe. I don't know.

I wonder if she'll be there the next time I go back....

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Alistair Munro

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