mlle meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mllememe) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2022-08-08 12:19 pm
mllememe) wrote in bakerstreet2022-08-08 12:19 pm
Entry tags:
sws.
TELL A STORY IN SIX WORDS
1. Post your top level with a six word story prompt. Making up your own is fine as well.
2. Other people respond, write a starter, get a thread going somehow.
3. ???
4. Profit!
Original meme from here.
no subject
"What the hell was that?" Her voice is shaking now and she stands up, leaning in close to him with her hands flat on the table. Most people would stand to run away from the fear of not knowing what's happened. She wants to know more.
"Who are you? Who are you really?"
It's obvious he isn't a regular man. Regular men have never made her see things behind closed eyes that shouldn't even be possible.
[ ooc: ahhhhhh thank you friend! that means a lot. ]
no subject
“May I?”
He gently stood and carefully drew out the sonic and before she could protest, scanned her anyway, the green light revealing how truly dilated her eyes had become. He passed it briefly back again just to be sure, snapped it shut and checked the readings, musing aloud, more for himself than anything.
“…slight temporal and spacial distortion but it’s low-level telepathy, you’re not even aware you’re doing it.” He frowned. “It’s not a projection, it’s a…” A hand danced to find the word. “…reflection. An echo.”
He realised despite this, he hadn’t been paying attention to her and finally looked at her again—
Don’t engage, don’t tell her your name, that’s how it starts.
“And to answer your questions: yes. Yes I am.”
He smiled, and the voice inside his head rolled its eyes as the Doctor, against all his better judgement, found himself engaging again.
no subject
"How much was a right about? I've never been right about things like this, not in a real way! How did I do that? Are you doing it to me? What does that mean, 'an echo?'
Her questions are rapid-fire, not letting him get a word in edgewise until she finally stops, waiting and looking up at him with warm, brown eyes that don't carry a single hint of malice.
no subject
He thoughtfully tapped the screwdriver against his chin before slipping it back into his tweed pocket.
“Okay, let’s start from the beginning. What’s your name?”
no subject
"Clara. Clara Oswald," she tells him, loosely crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to seem casual.
"And you're called the Doctor? Doctor who? Doctor of what?"
no subject
“Clara. Nice name. You don’t meet many Claras these days.” (Years later, the irony was not lost on him.)
He studied her heart-shaped face for a moment, then, “And just the Doctor. The Doctor of everything—except puppetry. But give me time. And a puppet.”
He wasn’t sure if he was attempting to lighten the mood to reassure her, impress her or simply because he needed to buy himself some time to think.
Perhaps it was all three.
He pushed past it and slapped his hands together, rubbing them enthusiastically, “Right then, Clara Oswald,” (he was secretly delighted by how much fun her name was to say and cleverly hid this by smiling his biggest smile,) “I think we need a bit of fresh air—fancy a stroll along the prom, prom, prom?” (He did an even worse job at hiding how much fun that was to say.)
[OOC - perhaps a bit of a weird share, but when I’m writing or reading tags I like to play a bit of Murray Gold in the background so it feels like part of an episode, and I TOTALLY think Oswin’s theme suits this echo of Clara more than her classic theme.]
no subject
"You might be the strangest person I've ever met." But that's a yes as races to begin locking up, skirts swishing around her as she does. Grabbing the keys, she all but pushes him out of the shop and locks the door. Then, once she's ready to go, Clara faces him again.
"There. Now I'm ready."
[ ooc: not weird at all! i love listening to OSTs and I can see that for SURE! also, I have covid so I'm slower than usual, blurgh. ]
no subject
Clara whizzed and bustled and pinballed around the little shop in her element; locking things, closing drawers and grabbing keys, whilst he did a frankly sterling job of helping by letting himself be ushered out the door.
Outside, the sun had almost finished setting beneath the horizon of sand and sea as it threw daggers of dying orange light through the wooden lattices of the North Pier. The Doctor briefly met Clara’s face, matched her smile and then turned and took in a hearty intake of breath.
“Ahh, classic Blackpool sea air! Doesn’t matter if it’s 1901 or 2021, it always smells the same!”
He turned to her again, “So, what’s it to be? Fish ‘n’ chips or sandcastle building first?” A pause, before he added, not entirely in jest, “Unless sandcastles haven’t been invented yet…?”
[OOC - oh mate! That’s absolutely rubbish - my wife and I got it at the beginning of the year and it was horrible! Drink lots of water and don’t worry about replying if you’re not 100%… Doctor’s orders.]
no subject
"How do you know what the air smells like in 2021? And of course it would smell the same, what else would it smell like?"
Air is air, isn't it? She's smart, adventurous, and spunky, but she's been taking care of herself for over a decade already, and she's only 25. As much as she's wanted to learn, as much as she's devoured the books she can get her hands on, she still hasn't seen or done anything outside of Blackpool since she was thirteen.
Clara would never turn down a meal, but she isn't sure if he means to pay or not so she tries to remember how much coin she has.
"Been a long day. Food first, if you don't mind." Her hunger wins out, she'll figure the rest out later.
no subject
With a grin, he rakishly straightened his bow tie and set off confidently in one direction before about-turning and confidently setting off in the opposite direction. He hoped Clara hadn’t noticed and was at his side. Presuming she was, he continued talking.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Scarborough in 1978? Helluva stench! Mind you, Torquay smells lovely at this time of year—no wonder Agatha stayed there for so long.”
He stopped suddenly and turned to face her—assuming she was even there—and his voice was graver now.
“So, the tarot reading in the shop… what do you think it was? I have theories but you know your own head better than anyone and you’re clever, Clara Oswald. Cleverer than I think you’re letting on.”
no subject
"Agatha who?"
But then the Doctor's in her face and she nearly stumbles back, eying him suspiciously again. But there's a flicker of genuine alarm when she thinks back to the reading.
"I told you I don't know, nothing like that's ever happened before. It was like images in my head I didn't ask for." And she'd like to get it out because not all of it is happy.
no subject
“No wait. Images in your head?” He frowned his most frowniest frown. “What kind of images?”
He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer…
[Sorry it’s so short, it felt a bit like needless padding when I tried to write more.]
no subject