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Proving once again that I am a Lord of Time Mismanagement, [livejournal.com profile] firstofhiskind and my weird Doctor/Master hypothetical combination character, who's decided to go by the Magister, muck around some more.

I would like to note that, by the end of this chatlog, the Magister looks like Tim Roth and Spike looks like Edward Norton. I want to be on their TARDIS, seriously.

And I *will* get back to playing my standard Watch!Ten, I swear. He's emo about me getting distracted from his goofy hyperness.
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And then it was time for the Moctor to go meet his adopted-ex-vampiric-Time-Lord-son-thing-person, [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla's [livejournal.com profile] firstofhiskind. Which means we now have a Doctor-Master mesh talking to a Time-Lorded Spike from BtVS. I blame the internet. One can always blame the internet.

Also, my Moctor has no clue what to call himself. The Expert? The Mobius? Should he just give up and change his name to some obscure symbol? Decisions, decisions.

And have some Firefly references. Because a little meta is good for you.

I could just call you Grumpy Twat. )
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Chatplay being the Great Enabler, [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla and I mucked about more with the Moctor idea I came up with earlier, in which my Doctor discovers he's both the Doctor *and* the Master. This time, her canon!Ten ([livejournal.com profile] or_timelords) and my...whatever he is, poor man, he's probably very tired of me running theoreticals with him, confronted each other.

Who do you think you're *talking* to? D'you think there are two of us in here, left-brain, right-brain, the Odd Couple, flatmates? There's just *me.* Two sets of memories, one man. It's a royal cock-up, but that's how it is. )
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I have this thing, it seems, for coming up with theoreticals and "what ifs" and testing them out, especially if they involve exploring identity issues. This is a transcript of a little fiddling about [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic and I did in AIM, exploring an alternate idea for where my Doctor's drums may have come from (and also explaining what, exactly, happened to the Master in my Doctor's universe, a question I still haven't answered for myself, definitively).

I'm oddly fond of the scenario, even though it would be ridiculously complicated and disorienting to work out in RP, but...it's sticking with me. I may have to play with it, somehow. It explains a lot about the character, in my head. Though it brings up as many questions as it answers, and new holes to fill.



Jasper: ...I had this idea of AUing my own AU earlier, where my Doctor figures out he hears the drums because he actually *is* the Master, the Master having taken over the Doctor's body to survive the Time War (since in my fanon, the Doctor was the only one who'd be in any position to survive the War, since he's chosen to trigger the Eye of Harmony--ye olde 'eye of the storm' effect--and the Master'd learned about this ahead of time and decided he wanted to survive, dammit, because that's what he does). And he had to really be convincingly the Doctor for the Council to go ahead with the plan, so he subsumed his personality as far as he could, set it up to assert itself gradually, later. Which it does, in pieces, with the drums and the sliding towards violence, and in dreams. But it integrates instead of taking over, which wasn't the plan, and so you've got this new person who's kind of both of them and kind of someone new. I may write fic about this, or just ramble in AIM! )
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If you'd like to see some of the oddness [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla and I have gotten up to in chatplay with her Spike and my Doctor, she has some transcripts up at her journal.

The first is two alternate takes on how Spike and my Doctor met--and how he got Time-Lorded.

The second is the Doctor being in denial about Spike being a Time Lord and then giving in and helping the poor guy sort out the inside of his head. And, aw, look, they're family! The Doctor Does Not Want.
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Oh, what the hell. We write these things in AIM, we might as well post 'em up for posterity.

Continuing on from the massive still-ongoing thread of doom in which [livejournal.com profile] or_timelords' canon!Ten wakes up in watch!Ten's TARDIS one day and decides to stay and help his other out, this is a theoretical follow-up to the thread.

It involves moonshine and singing and, of course, ANGST. We loves our angst.

How much does a polar bear weigh? )
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Okay, this was a ridiculous Epic of Theoretical Projection chatplayed by [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic and I, in which we explored what might happen if my Doctor Chameleon-Arched the Master for his own good and then took Harry Saxon on as his companion. It is ENORMOUSLY LONG. My writing in it's not the best, but Harry Saxon and the Doctor have some ridiculously cute moments in here; I've edited the transcript to remove about 98% of both lsn-mun and I's AWs ;)

I'd love feedback; I think I still have a lot of work to do on spontaneous dialogue and physical specificity.

NOTE: I'll probably be hiatusing, at least from AIM chatplay, for a week or so here. This log took a ludicrous amount of time, and, yeah, I think I should give myself some space after that. But, well, I think it's also worth reading?

And it's true. God, it's true, what he says. The deja vu and the drums and that strange, comfortable familiarity with the Doctor. It's all true. He swallows. 'Who am I?' )
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So, the journal's not been updating much recently.

Why? Because my brain has been et by long threads of conflict and mind-melding caused by that most devious of memes, the "in bed" meme.

Funny things happen when you wake up in your best enemy's bed or when your drum-free other self wakes up in yours and Freaks the Hell Out, in a rather understated way.

Anyway, so the Master/Doctor in-bed thread with [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic has drawn to a close, with the Master locking the Doctor up for safekeeping.

A new thread's been going like gangbusters, with [livejournal.com profile] or_timelords canon!Ten, who woke up in my Ten's bed and decided he wants to stick around and try to help my Ten with his percussion problem. Different 'verse from the M/D thread, clearly. Both Doctors, so far, have managed to do some fairly silly things and totally start off on the wrong foot with each other, which amuses their muns.

And, in chatplay, [livejournal.com profile] or_timelords and I projected a possible scenario in which her Ten discovers he's had the potential for the drums all along, locked away in his memories of the Year That Wasn't and a whole lot of emotional/mental scarring and identity-crisising and mind-fuckery results.

I love mind-fuckery, really I do. Hoorah, telepathy and telepathic connections to TARDIS!
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If you'd like to follow along as [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic and I see what happens when you trap a Doctor with the drums on the Master's TARDIS, come on over and spectate!

There'll be Peeps? Angst and corruption and Peeps?
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'Verse: Personal canon—any 'verse, really. I'm sure he does this in his multiverse!verse, too.
Words: 798
Prompts: None, just me—and watching Castrovalva. This was a 30-mins., no real rewriting, I just want to write something, I haven't in ages piece. So rather stream-of-consciousness and undisciplined.





You retreat.

You often do, these days. It used to be all running, and saving, and the worlds around you, the universe, a blur of sights and sounds and new experiences and friends by your side.

It used to be wonder and each moment new and nothing constant except the beauty and the terror and the new faces you would see in a crowd, the eyes met across a room, the adventures. The invitations. The stowaways and the tagalongs, and the human beings you loved the moment you saw them and loved until the moment they left and love still and will always love.

Even though you destroyed their future.

Even though you ended what they become.

Because you chose. Because something in you said, yes, you loved them, but the universe mattered more. The final death of the destroyers mattered more than the possible life of those you loved.

So you retreat.

You come here.

They made repairs for you, when you came back, the renegade returning, to volunteer for the Time War. They didn't have to summon you. You knew. You knew that War would need you, and you knew there was nowhere to run. For the first time.

The TARDIS runs better now than it ever did, though it maintains those idiosyncracies you love, the round-and-round-she-goes-where-she-stops-nobody-knows unpredictability of her travel. She doesn't have to. She does it because she loves you.

You don't know what to do with that. You don't know where to put that, how to accept that gift.

It doesn't matter. Because she gave it to you anyway. Your life, your body, your freedom, your mind. She remembered them all for you and put them back together and you are her labor of love and you cannot give that back. This gift that keeps on giving.

And taking.

The Zero Room. That's where you retreat to. )
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It's Christmas! Or close to Christmas! And given the terrible record he has with Christmases, the Doctor has decided to spend this Christmas in the TARDIS, right outside of the normal stream of time and space. This also ought to help Astrid get over her fear of Christmas, kind of ease her into the whole "you don't always die on the holidays" thing.

HOWEVER! Before he can zip the TARDIS out beyond time and space for a very merry unChristmas, it must be properly decorated. With EVERYTHING. Lights, and tinsel, and more lights, and more tinsel, and a tree, and holly, and boughs, and presents, and stockings, and nutcrackers, and there will be so much DECKING. The TARDIS will be DECKED OUT. Like woah.

And it's always more fun to decorate with friends. It makes things go quicker, and you can play in all the boxes and the wrapping paper and argue over where the ornaments should go.

SO! There's a Christmas decorating party in Ten's TARDIS and everyone's invited! Anyone he knows, anyone who he hasn't properly yet met but might wish to make his acquaintance or the acquaintance of anyone else who might show up, whatever. It'll be assumed he's parked it somewhere with some kind of mild Anti-Violence Field, so there'll be no chance of sabotaging the TARDIS or hurting anyone too badly while in it. Unless of course fun plot happens, what with Masters and Brendan and such-like and then, hey, Christmas violence and season's greetings!

Threadjacking and hopping is go, unless folks lock threads; and threads can take place at different times, so characters can come back to the party more than once. AND. Folks can thread in any combination, even without Watch!Ten being involved. It's a party, the doors are open, mingling will happen, and he's a terrible, terrible host who may be in a back room snogging Astrid trying something clever with Christmas lights and Hallmark electric ornaments that might repair the Chameleon Circuit. Maybe. Possibly. Not.

Feliz Navidad! Mi TARDIS es su TARDIS! )
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'Verse: Personal canon, I think. A bit of self-retconning.
Words: 1,163
Prompts: Lessee. Well, now that I know more about canon and am over my initial Mad Enthusiasm of New Musedom (well, a bit, at least), I've pondered going back and smoothing out my muse's AU backstory. Particularly the way he gets out of the watch, making it something less violent and potentially OOC and less complicated. What with everyone kind of mourning the upcoming loss of Ten, I thought I'd write...the opposite of loss. In a way. Also, I owe a lot to reading [livejournal.com profile] brigadiertardis's characterization of the TARDIS, in this fic. So shout-out there!

So, what's needed to read this? In my AU, the Doctor had no companions when he used the Chameleon Arch to hide from the Family of Blood. He left his human half in 1913, to live and die normally, and threw his Time Lord watch half out into space and time, locked away in the TARDIS. This is how he became himself again, after.




She was patient. She had always been patient, with him. Patient when he left, patient as he had his adventures, as he met and brought back and left and lost his many friends; patient as he made a mess of her circuits and a mess of her rooms; patient as he remade himself, over and over again. Patient as she learned the quirks and needs of each of his new faces, each of his personalities, the little things that would never be the same again and the great beautiful certainties that always held steady, that made him her Doctor, her partner, her family, her symbiote, her self.

Home, his humans said, is where your heart is—and hers was with him and his with hers, a fourth heart beating along with their shared three. They lived within each other and were each other, and she was always patient, because he was her and she was him, but now…

Now she had waited for so long, and she was losing her mind. Had lost it, when he locked himself away from her. )
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'Verse: Personal canon.
Words: 992.
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] badcompany_muse, "Vengeance." Yes, this is where that went in my head. With all of the Doctor's potential for Oncoming Stormness, he ends up...doing this.



Sally waved to the Doctor, as he swung out of the movie-rental shop and came sauntering across the parking lot toward her and the TARDIS. He’d parked rather far out—most of the free spaces had been for the handicapped, and he’d insisted that he wasn’t, thank you, no matter what Sally might say about his piloting skills—so she had time to judge his mood by his body language, as he waved back, ducked past a car reversing out of its spot, bounced over to her, hands in pockets, grinning, with that walk he had, like the tarmac was ever so slightly rubber or Time Lords ever so slightly gravity-resistant.

She didn’t need the TARDIS to translate. That body language read: OH, yes, I was up to something, and it went well. Very well, and I’m impressed with myself now, and the universe should share that. My impression. Impressiveness. The degree to which I have left an impressive impression on myself.

Well, maybe the TARDIS didn’t need to translate so much as run grammar-check. )

Fic: FX

Sep. 21st, 2008 01:07 am
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'Verse: Personal canon.
Words: 903.
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] oncoming_storms, 59.3, "Caught in an embarrassing situation"—as well as a conversation with [livejournal.com profile] not_from_mars


“Doctor.”

“Mm?” The Doctor didn’t look up from the TARDIS’ scanner—ever since LoA had succeeded in breaking into her, back on Earth, he’d treated her with greater care, checking her condition between adventures. This particular adventure, she’d taken quite a beating—power reserves drained; masses of connections disconnected and buffers debuffed; and the Oct-III Metatemporal Heisenberg Particle Counter blown right offline. That’d need replacing. Where to find a new one? “Twenty-second century? No, nope, still uncertain about their particles. Fifty-third? Hm…”

“Doctor.” )

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