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The Doctor
27 December 2007 @ 03:56 am
My mun personally felt this would be narcissistic (oh come now, as though that word could ever be applied to me) of me, but I feel I should point everyone towards this community: Fourth Doctor Worship & Unabashed Adoration.

I've long touted the wonder of technological mediums, and having happened upon this laudable gathering place, I feel even more vindicated; how wonderful that the Internet has allowed such obviously intelligent, charming people to come together in communal love for me. Evidently, I am a much-beloved incarnation. I can't help but agree.

I also couldn't help but notice there is no such community devoted to my third incarnation.

My mun appears to have been the last person posting there recently, which I feel is a great travesty, but as she seems to be working on a video dedicated to me, I am temporarily sated.

Carry on, everyone.
The Doctor
26 December 2007 @ 12:52 am
The mun would like to thank the mun behind mme_imperiatrix for the Doctor's gift. And the Doctor is suitably surprised, but also thankful. As well he should be.
The Doctor
22 December 2007 @ 02:03 am


Thank you dearly for the postcard; despite my oft-uttered verbalizations to the contrary, I do appreciate news of Gallifrey from time to time. One must be apprised of goings-on, even if one chooses to remain as far away as possible.

I recently bumped into this chap, Darth Vader. It's rather involved, explaining his origins and existence and other such trivialities, but suffice it to say that the human perception of his fictionality is utter bunkum. And one must ever keep an open mind when traveling, so I will further assure you that Vade (as I call him -- the extra syllable is really unnecessary, and removing the 'r' seems to add a greater degree of softness to his otherwise gruff exterior) is rather an amiable sort. Mind you, it took a few days before I could speak to him without threat of impending death, but that's hardly enough to deter me. I suggested to him that he could perhaps benefit from a bit of quality time in the form of solitude, so he's taken to literature from Earth. Remind me to introduce you to the series when I pop 'round again.

All right, I must away now -- we're attempting a bit of tea.

The Doctor
The Doctor
20 December 2007 @ 03:04 am
A journey's end, a wounded soul.

The Doctor leaned against the cold metal, gripping it thoughtfully as he dug his free hand into his pocket. The little girl before him was pouting, and, though he wouldn't admit it, she looked oddly adorable as her hands tried to stretch out of the sleeves engulfing her hands.

"Perhaps I should have gone down a size," he mused, removing his other hand from his pocket and spreading his fingers around the metal. Glancing up, he added, "Quite like equipment native to the playgrounds human children frequent. Oh, it's been an awfully long time since I've been on a slide, must amend that. That's where we should have gone, little duck -- a jungle gym, the very best Earth has to offer."

She was still pouting, but a hint of a smile broke on her face, despite her best efforts to hide it.

"Take me?" She questioned.

The Doctor had begun to swing gently, kicking his legs up from the ground and allowing the gently forced motion of his torso to propel him back and forth; however, at her query, he slowed just a moment before continuing.

"Some other time," his stout voice declared, his pursed lips leaving no room for negotiation.

Natalie bit her lip curiously, rubbing her hands together. "Doctor, do I hafta go?"

At that, the Doctor set his feet to the ground again, brushing his hands down his sweater vest.

"Come now, you make it sound as though you're being sent to the Terrekkian mud farms to work their interminable seasons harvesting all manner of vapid foodstuffs unfit for even the least discerning food foragers' palate."

Natalie frowned, cocking her head to the side, the trademark sign that he'd lost her in his verbosity. Dropping his arms, the Doctor walked over to her and bent down so they were at eye level.

"Natalie, it is one of the first, and harshest, truths of life that we must all do certain things we might desperately want not to. We must be brave. And, you know? You're fairly teeming with courage, you are."

Her doe eyes, which had been so mournful, were briefly alight with his encouragement. "I am?"

"Practically, you're an absolute dab with a slingshot, though strength is far more than one's ability to properly execute draconian weaponry. It comforts me to know you can look after yourself, but beyond that, you're the staunchest sort of friend. Loyal and fierce. Kind." The Doctor spread his palm across the bottom of her throat, where her alien heart was positioned. "And your heart, Natalie, the very best I've seen."

"You can see it?"

The Doctor smiled widely, and his grin was of sunshine so wanting in the grey skies overhead. With his pointer finger, he dabbed at her forehead, her nose, chin, heart, and then her stomach as he tickled her gently and briefly.

"It's the best sort of heart because it lives outside of you, and that's very rare. Promise me you won't ever change that."

"Promise," she was suddenly serious, her tiny hand hidden by wool mock-saluting him.

The Doctor nodded and stood upright. Not a great distance from them, a man appeared. He was dressed in haphazard tweed, and removed his newsboy cap from his head, twisting it between his fingers. He seemed to recognize his daughter, but was cognizant of the fact that the girl didn't quite know him, and further didn't know how to approach him just yet.

"There's your father," the Doctor inclined his head. "Off you go."

Natalie shook her head in vehement protest. Her arms stretched up for the Doctor, begging him to capitulate and lift her up, as he'd done so rarely before. But he hesitated this time.

"You must go, Natalie. Haven't you missed him?"

She was silent, spreading her fingers out now, refusing to be ignored. At last, the Doctor relented, sighing exaggeratedly to himself. This is very obviously why I never travel with children.

"Well, I must say, you quite resemble a human child right now: recalcitrant, impudent, petulant, and manipulative. Qualities that are not, in the least, admirable," his tone was slightly teasing however, belying any irritation.

Natalie wrapped her arms about his neck, tucking her head to his shoulder. She was so oddly quiet, and it had never been in her nature (that he knew) to be taciturn, so it was very curious to him. He supposed it was natural, though; a deplorable amount of tragedies had befallen her in such a brief span of time, and after having traveled with the Doctor for a bit, she was being wrenched away from that brief semblance of normalcy to return to her father.

Placing one large hand on the back of her head and spreading his fingers across her hair, the Doctor dug around in his voluminous pockets for something as he said, "I'm sorry."

"For wha'?" She finally queried.

For the things you will endure.

"I forgot to give you sweets -- such things are essential to any sendoff. Now, I'm planning a holiday on Earth soon anyway, so...I believe I can spare my entire supply. You must understand how terribly difficult that is for me, you know how much I love these things. But...I can't have you leaving without Jelly Babies, it simply won't do. Keep them safe, and don't offer them to just anyone."

Natalie took the bag, almost reverently, and nodded with ancient wisdom. She dug around for a specific color, handing the Doctor an orange one. "Your fav'rite, Doctor."

A rather odd warmth he might have identified as tenderness suddenly diffused through him.

"Thank you," he took the sweet from her. "Now, tell me. Why do you resist returning to your father?"

Natalie tucked the white bag into the large pocket of her overgrown sweater.

"I love daddy, an' I missed him..."

"Yes..." The Doctor prodded, gently.

Natalie threw her arms around the Doctor's neck again and dug her curls against his cheek.

"But if I go...you'll be alone."

"Oh, little duck," he chuckled warmly, even as an inexplicable tightness formed in his chest. "You would do that for me?"

She pulled away to look at him, nodding wordlessly.

"Well, that's very kind of you, which hardly surprises me. But let me assure you that I shall be perfectly fine."


"One shouldn't know how. It will unfold in time, as all things do. We must enjoy the going as much as the end."

She seemed to consider this for a moment, and accepted it reluctantly. As they neared her father, Natalie posed another, quite important question.

"Can you come back to see me?"

The Doctor set her gently to the ground and smiled as happily as he ever had.

"I can," he answered, quite literally. "Neither of us shall forget the other, and we have memories to help us go where we must. You'll understand that someday."

I shall miss you dearly, he couldn't seem to say.

"Now, you mustn't forget me, all right?"

"I won't! You won't either, right?"

"Absolutely not," he responded, quite serious. As her father took her hand and led her away, the Doctor said quietly to himself, "I never forget anyone."

That's the trouble.
The Doctor
05 December 2007 @ 02:56 pm

We All Adore a Doctor.

Enter a word for your own slogan:

Generated by the Advertising Slogan Generator, for all your slogan needs. Get more Doctor slogans.

I appreciate the sentiment.
The Doctor
28 November 2007 @ 07:12 pm
Ask him something. Have a lengthy conversation. Glare, throw fruit (he hates papaya in this incarnation, though), randomly hug him (he might be surprised, but he'll like it).

Any community, any universe, any time. The choice is yours. :D

ooc: Tags for the previous one still being tagged.
The Doctor
27 November 2007 @ 05:52 pm
The Doctor never second-guesses himself. He's always right, his decisions are always sound and well-thought out and pragmatic. But...it's possible there's a small part of him wondering just how this particular trip will turn out, given the companion.

Nevertheless, he's nothing if not ebullient, and so, he unlocks the TARDIS with untempered glee, feeling like a proud papa whenever he displays his ship to someone new.

"Well, what do you think?"
The Doctor
25 November 2007 @ 01:08 am
Write two letters to two different people. In one, threaten. In the other, apologize.

Dear Dr. EvilCollapse )

Dear RomanaCollapse )
Tags: ,
The Doctor
23 November 2007 @ 01:58 am
Ask the Doctor a question. Anything. Have fun, or be serious, whatever strikes your fancy.
The Doctor
22 November 2007 @ 01:22 pm
Write a letter to your muse. Tell them all of the reasons that you are thankful that they are yours. Give them some advice/suggestions for things that you want them to do. Be firm, but show love. Remind them who is in charge.

Dear Doctor,

It's been four months today since I debuted you anywhere, and I believe that calls for a modicum of reflection. You'll forgive me, I think, if I'm slightly reticent to begin with. As you might have realized by now, Doctor, you and I are not so disparate in personality at times.

Many months ago, there existed a young woman who was deplorably lonely, to the point she thought herself a ghost. She tried, so often, to pull herself out of this state of mind on her own. But you know, Doctor, she's never been adept at doing such things without a little help. This girl, of course, is me. I have a wealth of inner strength that, at times, eludes me. Back in February, this would have been one of those times.

But...I found you, Doctor.

Or you found me.

I'd like to think it's a bit of both.

I had watched a bit of the new series of Doctor Who, but latched onto the classic series with dangerous abandon.

You were my first, Doctor. And you never forget your first. Nor can you shed the indelible mark such a person has made on your life. You exist so fervently for me. I find myself emulating you in many ways, sometimes to my own chagrin at times.

Doctor, we are two eminently lonely people at times, but you know what? We find a way, somehow, don't we? Because we have each other. We are both unhinged, with a skewed perspective on life that I believe allows us to see existence, and people, with greater depth. We dream, Doctor, oh, do we dream. We hope, even when we're turning our nose up at this thing called hope. Doctor, I must confess you are sometimes far more optimistic than I, but this is why I love you. I draw strength from you, and I hope, at times, you can take something from me.

You are warm, friendly, excitable, absolutely mad in the best way, and the sort of person I would be proud to call a best friend. As it is, I'm proud to call you my muse.

I'm proud to call you my Doctor. For you are mine.

We've had an occasionally tumultuous road, Doctor, largely of our doing -- we do sabotage ourselves at times, let's not kid. But we are ever learning, we are growing, we are aware of the beauty and power within ourselves.

Let's talk briefly about your...less than savory traits: you're arrogant, daft, frustratingly obstinate, and sometimes far too reticent for your own good. It's all right to reach out and hug someone, Doctor. It's not too human, it's a natural thing. You make friends easily, but you become too concerned with getting attached. Life is pain, Doctor. You are going to suffer, no matter what, you might as well make the most of it while you can. So loosen up a bit, you daft git, all right? I'll work on you yet.

You've enabled me to meet some wonderful people, with equally wonderful muses, and I hope we continue to do that, as well as further foster the friendships we have made.

You've taught me, Doctor, that I am not just one tiny human plucked down somewhere on Earth -- that I am a part of the universe as well, and that makes me feel loved by every star. And in this way, I am never alone.

All my love,