![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
templeremus posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
who_contestTitle: Dimensionally Transcendental
Genre: Missing Scene/Character Study
Word Count: 550
Characters: The Thirteenth Doctor, Ryan Sinclair
Rating: G
Summary: Ryan gets a little lost, and learns a little more.
Sometimes, Ryan had the distinct impression that the TARDIS was playing tricks on him.
Just when he thought he'd got the hang of the place, the corridors would rearrange themselves. New doors would materialise in cul-de-sacs, or a flight of stairs would gain an extra turn. Through trial and error, he and Yaz had worked out a nearly reliable method of navigating these shifts. You held the person or thing you wanted in your mind, kept one hand on the nearest wall and moved as fast as you could without running.
Which was how Ryan walked in on the Doctor, building a maze out of books.
His first thought was that there'd been some kind of earthquake. Every bookcase had been turned on its side, the contents stacked into towers maybe twenty volumes high. Some of the titles were in English; others had lettering that didn't look like words at all, intricate, writhing spirals laid on top of one another.
Ryan had had an anxiety dream a bit like this, when he was little. Only that dream hadn't had a mad, rainbow-clad best mate in it.
"Library shelves are all tall and musty," said the Doctor. The top of her head had appeared from behind a book-stack in the far corner. "Too many books out of reach. Who's got time to be climbing ladders all day?"
"Mm. Not a fan either, to be honest." Ryan held his breath to step over a small hillock of encyclopaedias. "Seriously, though, you think this is gonna help?"
"Hard to say," the Doctor shrugged. There was dust in her hair, turning it grey-gold, and a faint mosaic of footprints where she'd trodden. "Call it a work in progress. Did you want something, Ryan?"
"Oh - yeah. Uh, there's a light on the console won't stop flashing. No-one's freaking out, or anything, but. Graham's getting kind of restless."
She squinted over at him, in the half-distracted way that he was beginning to realise meant that she was thinking. "What colour?"
Ryan blinked. "The light? Sort of- purple. Why, is that bad?"
"No, no, nothing to worry about," said the Doctor, just a little too fast for Ryan's liking. "Almost nothing. Uh- give us a mo."
She vanished, and a few seconds later a neighbouring book-tower collapsed with a crash. He was about to go in after her when she drew up alongside him, a hardback under one arm.
Ryan pointed at it. "That the manual?"
"This? Nah, can't be doing with manuals. It's for the handbrake." The expression on his face must have spoken for itself, because she added: "It keeps slipping. This ought to hold it down. Right then, best get a shift on."
Most of the people Ryan knew - even the ones he liked - had a way of looking at him, a look of kindliness mixed with pity that made his skin crawl. Graham had worn it sometimes, and even Yaz, on particularly tough days. The Doctor never had. The bit of him that made people see him as different, whatever that was, somehow failed to register. Everything was different here; everything was big and bright and ridiculous, and it made him feel more alive than he could remember being in - well, ever.
"Lead the way, Ryan Sinclair," said the Doctor, and he did.
Just when he thought he'd got the hang of the place, the corridors would rearrange themselves. New doors would materialise in cul-de-sacs, or a flight of stairs would gain an extra turn. Through trial and error, he and Yaz had worked out a nearly reliable method of navigating these shifts. You held the person or thing you wanted in your mind, kept one hand on the nearest wall and moved as fast as you could without running.
Which was how Ryan walked in on the Doctor, building a maze out of books.
His first thought was that there'd been some kind of earthquake. Every bookcase had been turned on its side, the contents stacked into towers maybe twenty volumes high. Some of the titles were in English; others had lettering that didn't look like words at all, intricate, writhing spirals laid on top of one another.
Ryan had had an anxiety dream a bit like this, when he was little. Only that dream hadn't had a mad, rainbow-clad best mate in it.
"Library shelves are all tall and musty," said the Doctor. The top of her head had appeared from behind a book-stack in the far corner. "Too many books out of reach. Who's got time to be climbing ladders all day?"
"Mm. Not a fan either, to be honest." Ryan held his breath to step over a small hillock of encyclopaedias. "Seriously, though, you think this is gonna help?"
"Hard to say," the Doctor shrugged. There was dust in her hair, turning it grey-gold, and a faint mosaic of footprints where she'd trodden. "Call it a work in progress. Did you want something, Ryan?"
"Oh - yeah. Uh, there's a light on the console won't stop flashing. No-one's freaking out, or anything, but. Graham's getting kind of restless."
She squinted over at him, in the half-distracted way that he was beginning to realise meant that she was thinking. "What colour?"
Ryan blinked. "The light? Sort of- purple. Why, is that bad?"
"No, no, nothing to worry about," said the Doctor, just a little too fast for Ryan's liking. "Almost nothing. Uh- give us a mo."
She vanished, and a few seconds later a neighbouring book-tower collapsed with a crash. He was about to go in after her when she drew up alongside him, a hardback under one arm.
Ryan pointed at it. "That the manual?"
"This? Nah, can't be doing with manuals. It's for the handbrake." The expression on his face must have spoken for itself, because she added: "It keeps slipping. This ought to hold it down. Right then, best get a shift on."
Most of the people Ryan knew - even the ones he liked - had a way of looking at him, a look of kindliness mixed with pity that made his skin crawl. Graham had worn it sometimes, and even Yaz, on particularly tough days. The Doctor never had. The bit of him that made people see him as different, whatever that was, somehow failed to register. Everything was different here; everything was big and bright and ridiculous, and it made him feel more alive than he could remember being in - well, ever.
"Lead the way, Ryan Sinclair," said the Doctor, and he did.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-10 04:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-05-10 06:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-06-02 07:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-06-02 07:43 am (UTC)