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RP: Log: For laser_not_sonic
Sep. 18th, 2008 07:15 pmIt's a little planet, far away from any (current) major civilizations—Col IV, is its standard tag, on the charts.
The Doctor's parked his TARDIS in a vast field of grass—it grows to half knee-height, waving in a gentle breeze, each blade a different shade of blue. At odd intervals, rough domes of stone rise above the grass, tens of stories high, their surfaces rippled with old carvings worn down by the passage of millenia. They may once have been statues; they may once have been buildings—but now, they're only part of the landscape. Whatever race lived here, in the far past, it's long gone. Above, the sky shines clear and apple-green; the breeze is soft and pleasant and smells of the sea—even though there's no sea for miles and miles.
A few lawn chairs have been set up in the grass—the metal-frame-and-rubbery-plastic-lattice kind.
The Doctor's parked his TARDIS in a vast field of grass—it grows to half knee-height, waving in a gentle breeze, each blade a different shade of blue. At odd intervals, rough domes of stone rise above the grass, tens of stories high, their surfaces rippled with old carvings worn down by the passage of millenia. They may once have been statues; they may once have been buildings—but now, they're only part of the landscape. Whatever race lived here, in the far past, it's long gone. Above, the sky shines clear and apple-green; the breeze is soft and pleasant and smells of the sea—even though there's no sea for miles and miles.
A few lawn chairs have been set up in the grass—the metal-frame-and-rubbery-plastic-lattice kind.
