meh.

[commemeorate]

the ROAD TRIP meme

• Comment with your character.
  
• Write preferences, if you got them.
  
• Write one place your character would really love to travel to.
  
• Respond to other people.
  

Prompts:

1. Go to MapCrunch and hit go. That's where you are. Is that where you want to go?
   
2. Your vehicle just broke down. What now?
   
3. You're trying to get aboard that one vehicle, but the owner apparently needs some convincing to give you a ride. Paying for a ticket or just hitchhiking? Your call.
   
4. You're stowing away in someone else's vehicle and hope you won't get caught. But you just were.
   
5. You're at a rest stop or roadside tourist attraction. You meet the most interesting people at these places, don't you?
   
6. You're seeing flashing lights in your rear view mirror or the closest equivalent thereof. Looks like someone ran a red light or was driving faster than the speed limit. What now?

Comments

you did this. i blame you.

[mistressery]

[About the dark suspicion Taneleer would've formed with more information: Missy has thought of keeping him against his will. Had those whims and followed them right through to the practical considerations of whether it would be possible, and how long for. That's what he gets for being enjoyable company when he knows damn well how few compunctions she has. She's not a good girl yet. It does annoy her, on some level, knowing that he's free to end their association whenever he'd like. The more available he is to her, the better. She can relegate such thoughts to fantasy and inaction, but she can't prevent the thoughts entirely. Should she hide this from him? Would he not find it the least bit flattering? Of course she wants to keep him! He's like a desert, vast and desolate. Like an ocean, forceful at the shore yet tranquil in depths. He's not a nothing, not to someone who can sense the years on him. He's so much. And doesn't he want her too? He did estimate her value in the 90th percentile. Now that she knows how selective he can be, she wouldn't mind being optioned for his menagerie. She's fed up with prisons, and yet she'd be offended if he never even considered her. In the name of companionship, she must resist and he must resist, but isn't it nice to be thought of?

In fact, she did have a plan for their next destination, but the plan was made before she knew it would be the last stop of the trip. This new significance makes her plan seem paltry and unsuitable. If this is to be an ending, she'd like something more theatrical. Unfortunately, the pleasure she might have taken in his agreeing to 'one more' is short-lived.

Missy paces an orbital path around the central console. She reclaims her gloves on the first pass, shutting her eyes for a while in the middle of Taneleer's calm hypothesis. No need to look where she's going in this most visited room of her own machine. A tremor starts in her shoulders and then spreads throughout her whole body. This quaking is indeterminate at first, but some breathy noise soon catches up and proves that she's laughing.]

Is that what you think we've been doing? Resisting temptation? No, no. No. Collector, you give me too much credit. I told you it was a rule. I never said the rule was mine, or that I could break it if I wanted. I can't. I can't visit the Gallifrey of my formative years. That was another casualty of the Time War. If we could go home, to the home it was, our enemies could have done the same.

[Their homeworld has a where at the moment. It has a location, which is more than they're always able to say for it, but she wouldn't trifle with the when. At best they could only visit it in whatever passes for its present day, which is counterintuitively billions of years in the future. Gallifrey in contemporaneous form has nothing to offer her. It's an age-old story. They can go anywhere in time and space, except to the intimate first chapter when they were most like people. They can't return to the halcyon days of their planet. If they could go back so easily to their pastures of red grass, she wouldn't feel this ache and this longing. She'd have no incentive then to debase herself, to let herself be taught and punished.

She isn't thrilled by the prospect of living a thousand years, or longer, under the tacit condition that the Doctor's way is right and the Master's way is wrong. She doesn't like it for herself. She's gone against her own nature and every screaming instinct she has, out of sheer desperation to reclaim one iota of what they've lost. What would be the point of turning good, if she could just go back? The Doctor is her home, that's his leverage. And maybe she's his too, and that's hers. It's also possible that the mad bitch is lying about this to get her companion to stick to the rules they'd originally set. She does lie, often, but how likely is it now? Based on what the Collector's heard of them, would the Time Lords leave the apparent height of their civilisation unprotected against temporal incursions?

In a state reminiscent of Taneleer Tivan himself, who seldom pairs his words and gestures with an appropriate facial expression, Missy's face is unnaturally neutral and frozen down to the smallest muscle. By this point, she's also crying, and those things don't mix at all. It looks unconvincing. It looks disconnected, an impassive face with suddenly wet cheeks. There don't seem to be feelings involved. It's just the ice of her eyes thawing. The Time Lady herself treats these tears dispassionately, as a technical fault. Her current incarnation has an overzealous lacrimal apparatus. She waves a hand indicatively and pats herself down, searching for a handkerchief.]

Can't believe it's going again, like a burst pipe. What is that about?

[This is a rhetorical question. It would be unwise to answer. She's quickly coming to the conclusion that her dear Collector never meant to suggest revisiting her past in the first place. He was expressing his understanding of how it could be done and sprinkling in 'you' for good measure, all the while with someone and someplace else in mind. A conclusion which reflects somewhat poorly on him, but does allow her to dismiss her own reaction and get on with the task at hand. He might not appreciate the blunt offer that follows. It is far, far too unconscionably simple in light of what it might mean for him.]

Am I taking you to Cygnus X-1?

I accept full responsibility for my actions.

[knowhereman]

[Has Taneleer Tivan thought about collecting Missy? The more complex question to ask would be if there isn't a person, creature, place, or thing he hadn't thought of obtaining. She is one of two more visible specimens of an incredibly elusive species, making her utterly valuable. And, obviously, with this traveling-thing, he's had ample opportunities to catch the Time Lady. What's stopped him from attempting? Simple logistics. Ever since the massive destruction of his Knowhere Collection, Taneleer Tivan has been a little more discerning. Mostly via favoring things that wouldn't completely destroy sizable portions of his Collection. He might be able to catch Missy, certainly, but as of this time (haha), he doubts that he could have a means of permanently keeping her. To accomplish that, a containment unit for Missy would have to be totally isolated out of time and from the earshot of a certain overpowered Quack. That and, well, he's enjoyed her company well enough and is fairly convinced that she could take care of herself. It's not as if Taneleer Tivan scoops up every last-of-their-kind and sequesters them into his Collection (see Gamora, Groot, the Grandmaster, etc.). The point of conservation efforts are to protect and provide for creatures that have no other means of doing so themselves. Now, if the Master seemed to put herself completely and totally in a position that would risk the survival of her kind, Taneleer Tivan would have to set up a nice container for her and find some way of convincing her Quack that it had to be for the best (as that last bit seems rather unlikely, Tivan would, instead lure him to a fake holding area, greet him with hard-light constructs, prepare a super-long speech, lull and distract the Doctor, and, then, probably attempt to explode the place with Old Bushy Brows in it).

Ah, but--Missy doesn't seem to be taking his departure all too well. (What with the shaking, the laughing, and the affects.) Why? He's not terribly certain. His form is certainly easy on the eyes. His voice is pretty calming to listen to. And he definitely can't be the worst company. But, if she'd wanted company, she has her Doctor. (Unless this is one of those periods when she makes herself scarce, after growing rather sick of him, in which case Taneleer would guess that he's something of the rebound or the replacement goldfish, especially after his realization that he had quite a bit in common with the old bastard.) And then, she had to explain why they hadn't gone to the Gallifrey of Old.

Of course. How did he forget that her people are overpowered pricks? Sensible pricks, but pricks nonetheless. This sort of thing tends to nurture a sort of self-loathing that compensates itself with a rebellious streak in people, the kind that prefers acts of self-destruction to sensible keeping up status quos. It's the sort of thing that a businessman like Tivan knows well and has his brands throughout the galaxy capitalize on. 'Hey, you wanna tell your old man to suck it,' says one of his shoe brands, in more or less words, 'drop 100U on our footwear.' 'Hey, do you feel disenfranchised by your place in society,' sings the overrated/overproduced musical act he'd bought in several different flavors and reinvented several more times, 'express your individuality by joining millions to buy our shirts or sing along with the songs on our albums.' 'Hey,' says the brand of trendy cigarette--alright, the point is probably understood by now. The point is, shitty parenting and/or society encourages people to create themselves, often by destroying themselves. This sort of phenomena is terribly common, regardless of species.

Although Tivan is an overpowered prick in a different way, perhaps, he thinks, Missy sees him as an opportunity to reinvent herself to someone who both knows and doesn't know her. A vacation home, perhaps, before needing to head back to her Doctor and go back to being who she regularly is.

And then--the crying happens. Oh no. Oh no. A person like Taneleer Tivan, who has probably seen far too many outbursts like this, still doesn't recall what exactly to do. Words of sympathy? Traditional, but hollow (especially from a beast like him that hadn't cried in centuries). A command to stop crying? Not a smart thing to do in somebody else's time-machine. Without looking away, the man steps forward, joins her circuitous path, and starts digging around his own pockets, before finding a monogrammed cloth of his own. Somewhat fumbling, the man stops a little ways nearer, holding out this offering and tapping on her shoulder.

Is this what companions are meant to do, then? Act as plumbers, to patch up leaky time-travelers? (No, he doesn't even pretend to know the answer to her question or offer up a guess.)

He'll keep holding out for her until she takes the damned thing, even after feeling like he ought to sit upon hearing that question of hers.] I--[He blinks, his typically cold expressions, for once, giving way. There is...something rarely seen in those blinks of his. A creature, whose very movements appear to hint to some hours spent over-rehearsing bits, in pursuit of naturality and utterly failing to meet such a target, tends to blink at incredibly expected places and in beats that do little or nothing to impede whatever it is that he has to say (and whatever he has to say tends be rather important as well).

The creature that calls itself Taneleer Tivan is blinking unevenly, at a loss for words, having to confront that which he'd been skirting around asking outright.] I don't think it's wise, doing that. Or if your machine could go then and there. The furthest that a time machine can travel, logically, should be at the point of its inception and nothing further.

Correct--? [He doesn't know. Really, by his time-line, and if they head back when they'd agreed they would, he's really just been at this for five or ten minutes.] This machine would have to fall apart if we traveled to Cygnus X-1 as I knew it.

[mistressery]

[There's certain things she gives herself leave to do as a woman which she'd never have done as a man. This isn't one. She'd swear the crying is never voluntary and never deliberately indulged. It happens regardless. It starts and stops without any input from her. If she could stop on anyone's command, she'd stop on her own. No one, no matter how easy on the eyes, will ever be able to demand it of her. The Collector would only earn her ire by trying.

Missy stills at his tap to her shoulder, only then seeming to notice his new proximity. She blinks wetly, looking first at the handkerchief and then beyond it, to him.] Such a gentleman! [Through the tears, she favours him with a tiny upward quirk of one side of her mouth. Many of this version's expressions are slightly asymmetrical or otherwise off-kilter. It contributes greatly to that wicked stepmother vibe. In true Pygmalion fashion, the more she's treated like a lady, the more ladylike she becomes. Rather than going on searching for her own, she accepts his handkerchief and mops at her face, as dainty as she can be whilst still effective. It's the first time these waterworks have started around her immortal companion, but hardly a first in the broader sense. As a rule, Missy isn't offered sympathies or comfort. No one wants to risk being fooled by an obvious trap: the hypnotist doing anything out of the ordinary with her ludicrously piercing eyes. The Collector hasn't done any less than she's been afforded in the past. He might even form the impression that he's done more.] Thank you, Taneleer.

[They don't need to solve this outburst like a riddle. She really doesn't want to examine her own feelings. From past experience, it'll be over soon. She'll hold on to his handkerchief, perhaps to wash and return, perhaps to wash and keep. Either way, he's not getting it back now.

He's on the back foot. She's thrown him, and she knows so. It's possible she meant to do it. She was having a vulnerable moment and sought, perhaps subconsciously, to drag him down with her. The offer itself is genuine (she only makes him genuine offers), but she could have used some tact. She could've sat him down first.]

Incorrect. She isn't of a time when she's in a time. It gets bumpy at the very beginning of existence, but really, one does expect some turbulence on any long-haul flight. I wouldn't offer more than I thought I could deliver.

[Her piloting skill is not in question because she cried, she hopes. The sentient timeship may in fact be offended by the suggestion or the imagery of falling apart. Missy addresses the air around them:] If anyone's falling apart, it'll be your sister. You should see the state of her. Shocking. [That should smooth over any ego in the TARDIS which Taneleer might have thoughtlessly bruised. Her next responsibility is to him and his sensitivities, such as they are.]

I understand your reluctance to believe that such a thing might be possible. You said it yourself. There's a great temptation to go and see if things truly are as you remember them. What if they are? What if they're not? And having visited once, won't you be tempted to return habitually? Or tempted to stay, which you can't.

[knowhereman]

[But the thing about mysteries, about tears, about that sort of thing, a scientist can't make themselves turn away entirely from these things. They can turn off bits of their minds at points, yes, but machines like the mind will have to be turned on again eventually. There are those that are terribly practiced with their minds, those that have honed and disciplined their thought-patterns. With just the right amount of time and the right sort of studies, about anyone could master this sort of thing. Scientists thrive on curiosity and are a little less capable of this control, and, yet, with the right sort of practice, they can do it.

But given these circumstances, even that most learned, hypothetical sort wouldn't be remotely qualified to handle this.

Needless to say, Taneleer Tivan is terribly ill-equipped to handle any of this. His broad form heads closer to the console, about to place a hand on the console but not going through with it entirely. This is somebody else's property, after all, something for once, that the Collector absolutely doesn't covet or understand. It's a living thing. It's a terrifying thing.

And yet, as a Collector, he can't step away; he can't think of anything but this. It has enraptured his mind. Wholly and ruthlessly. Maybe more often than he'd been too pleased to admit. As a--an everything that he is, there's nothing more that he'd want than validation of all of this. Proof that everything had been as he'd remembered it.

And yet, it isn't like a sweet-tooth that commands to be placated and, upon having its wishes granted, it won't reward its junkie with a warm, fuzzy something. Feeling. Regret. Whatever you'd recognize it as. This sort of thing, if satisfied, Taneleer fears, could illicit something much worse in him.] You're torturing me. Or you're doing me a favor, [is what the man manages to get out.] Or you're--you're incapable of discerning which is which.

[This is harsh. Cruel. But, well, this has to be why these sorts of companion-things don't last, right? Things die or get like this.] I don't know if I want this. I do and I don't--but if--if I get this, I sense--I sense it could undo me, Missy.

It could unmake me. I need to not know. I don't know what it'll do to me if I know--