Sexy approaches carefully, sinking down next to the Doctor on the damp pavement. It’s...more than a little worrisome that she can’t place where they are in the timeline. She’s seen that look on his face - that terrible, terrible look - only a handful of times, but none of them seem to match up with the here and now. What could have happened, and how does she not remember? Sexy’s head swims with too much information as she tries to recall, but maybe that’s it - maybe her head is just too small to hold it all, at the moment.
“Oh dear,” Sexy murmurs quietly, mostly to herself, and she reaches out both with her hand and her mind. Her hand curls around his suit sleeve, the gentlest brush of her fingers, but her mind probes calmly, with all the recognizable warmth of home, despite the mildly zany jumble she happens to be in, without enough space to spread her matrices. My beautiful, burning thief. What are you doing?
Whether or not he chooses to hear her, she’s at least trying. Her mind, in the box, is not usually so clear - clear enough to form words, that is, but more impressions, emotions. She is a living thing, but she was never designed to talk. He’s the one who runs around, shouting and living and being, and she’s the one who flies and shelters and touches the stars.
“Oh, when you get like this...I just don’t know what to do sometimes.” Sexy tugs on his sleeve a little, cocking her head to the side. No, when she was in her proper place, she’d do something like...crash land. She’d find somewhere to go, to be, to distract him long enough not to let the brooding creep in. Timelords were never meant to be alone, least of all the one who chose the moniker of “Doctor”.
no subject
“Oh dear,” Sexy murmurs quietly, mostly to herself, and she reaches out both with her hand and her mind. Her hand curls around his suit sleeve, the gentlest brush of her fingers, but her mind probes calmly, with all the recognizable warmth of home, despite the mildly zany jumble she happens to be in, without enough space to spread her matrices. My beautiful, burning thief. What are you doing?
Whether or not he chooses to hear her, she’s at least trying. Her mind, in the box, is not usually so clear - clear enough to form words, that is, but more impressions, emotions. She is a living thing, but she was never designed to talk. He’s the one who runs around, shouting and living and being, and she’s the one who flies and shelters and touches the stars.
“Oh, when you get like this...I just don’t know what to do sometimes.” Sexy tugs on his sleeve a little, cocking her head to the side. No, when she was in her proper place, she’d do something like...crash land. She’d find somewhere to go, to be, to distract him long enough not to let the brooding creep in. Timelords were never meant to be alone, least of all the one who chose the moniker of “Doctor”.