rude_not_ginger | for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

Morgana tries to discern exactly where the voice might be coming from -- but it was so much simpler out in the street. She hears her name again, louder, more insistent, and it ignoring its summons takes a great deal of her willpower.

The one thing that helps -- the absolute certainty that she's being played.

"Down there." She points down a corridor. Her annoyance at these games whatever it is is playing is evident in her voice. "It wants my attention. I do not think we should give it such."

"Your attention but not mine," the Doctor agrees. "It must've seen you separate from me back on the street, figures you'll do it again. It wants us not working together."

He nods up the stairs. "Let's not give it what it wants, eh?"

"That was only for a moment, Doctor," Morgana protests, but, if pressed, she would agree with him. It is not that she does not think his theory is correct, more that she hates the idea that whatever it is thinks she's the easier target.

Moving a slight bit farther away from him, for a second, she shakes her skirt, trying to get off the thick, deep crimson liquid. It is far more awkward to wander around with one's skirts almost sticking to one's ankles.

"If it wants to separate us, no running down stairs," she corrects herself, "or up stairs until we know exactly what is waiting for us."

He loosens his tie. The thick liquid's covered his entire suit and trousers, and seems to have stained his hands a strange crimson color. It's off-putting, and he wonders what it is. Some strange water? Something to mark where they've been?

"No way to find out what's up there if we don't go up," he says. "And we can't go down or out. Not until we know where the rest of the city's got to."

There's a trail of the liquid on the floor showing exactly where the pair have been. Morgana's hands look like she's been butchering something after a hunt, but the Doctor -- after going under, he is quite red. She notices a mark on his face, a slight bit darker, where she put her hand. For some reason, this is almost amusing and she bites her lower lip to keep from smirking. It is not appropriate to find anything humourous.

Still holding her skirts, she has to agree -- down, out, and around the corridor are not possible. Thus the only preposition they have left is up. Since the Doctor went first last time, it is only fair that Morgana lead the way this time.

It is important to note she does not ask permission to lead -- nor would she think to. She simply starts heading up the stairs.

He puts a hand on her arm.

"You don't know what's up there, Morgana, I should go first."

Morgana's look to the Doctor is diametrically opposite to the one of relief and concern, and lack of propriety he had earlier on the stairs.

This is all about him being a man and insisting she need to be kept safe. It's one thing Morgana has difficulty tolerating, "When you went first, you were nearly killed. Perhaps I will have better luck."

With that, she pulls away from him, and continues up the stairs.

"Yeah, but if I die, Morgana, I don't actually die. You'll be dead. Forever dead, and you're my responsibility..."

He can, and probably will, go at length about this, but he's still going to follow her. Hopefully to pull her out of the way should something terrible happen.

And something terrible always happens in situations like this.

She looks at him when he speaks, but the responsibility comment is too much. "You are not my guardian." Ways in which Morgana does not want to think about the Doctor: as a guardian tops the list.

She gets to the top of the stairs, only to be confronted by a very angry king, wielding a very large sword. All he says is one word, witch.

That sound, unlike the earlier, unearthly scream, is Morgana. To anyone else in the room, there would be nothing there.

The Doctor doesn't see anything in front of her, but Morgana's scream propels him into action. He grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her back away from whatever's assaulting her.

Unfortunately, he misjudges his footing and feels himself losing his stepping. He glances down and sees that the steps are sliding up and inwards, creating a smooth ramp. Without any footing, he falls backwards, gripping onto Morgana in an effort to make himself a cushion for the fall.

One second, Morgana is wishing, more than anything, she had a dagger, but the next, she finds herself in a heap, on the floor, on what was a staircase, moments earlier.

They've skidded to a halt about halfway down and it takes a moment for Morgana to realize two things. "That was not real. He is not here."

The second is that she's holding on to the lapels of the Doctor's jacket for dear life, with her head on his chest. She sits up and assesses him. "Are you all right?"

Despite her concern, now would not be a good time to remind her that she walked right into that.

"Yeah, think I might've banged my knee a bit, but nothing that'll keep me down," he says. He looks up the stairs, then back down them. Whatever was up there was frightening enough to cause Morgana to scream, and that's something he's never really heard from her, not without a nightmare attached to it.

"Regular funhouse we've got here. Monsters and phantoms and retracting stairs, oh my."

"Phantoms, that is all." Morgana looks back up the stairs, and sees nothing. She feels foolish. "And phantoms are really nothing." She's convincing herself.

Now that the stairs have settled into a ramp, Morgana makes her way to her feet. It's steep, but she's never been unsure of foot, so holds her balance, holding out her hand to help the Doctor up.

"Whatever is up there, they do not want us there." That is, of course, assuming that there is a they.

"Yeah, if ever there was a reason to go forward, I think that's it," the Doctor replies. He hooks one foot into the side of the wall to brace himself and begins tugging himself up the ramp.

"We need to figure out what they're doing. What don't they want us to find."

And, as an afterthought, he turns back to Morgana.

"Are you sure you're okay with going forward? You can wait back at the TARDIS, if you want.

For that suggestion -- the girl go wait while the man goes to play hero, the Doctor gets a fairly dirty look. It's something akin to anything-you-can-do.

"Doctor, if you can forgive my earlier reaction," underneath the tone of confidence, is a warning not to ask, "I think it would be wiser if we do not separate."

Morgana has a perfectly logical reason for this, "In case assistance is needed."

Not that things ever go horrifically wrong around the Doctor, like almost dying not too long ago.

And because she's been wishing for it, "Next time, I will not take your advice and bring my dagger."

Wait, did she just imply the possibility of a next time?

The Doctor will, of course, give her a big, stupid grin.

"So you'd like there to be a next time, then?" he asks. And since he's not one to deny someone adventure, he doesn't mention the idea of her going back again.

At the top of the slope, he turns and reaches an arm out to help her up.

If Morgana knew what a Freudian slip is, right now, she would detest Freud. His big, dopey grin is making her feel like she's walked right into something, but she's not entirely sure what that is. Then again, she is still unaccustomed to being that agreeable with the Doctor. Perhaps, she just does not know how.

"You still owe me a trip to the Western Sea." Clearly, that is what she meant but a trip to the Western Sea also means a return home, permanently.

She frowns for a moment before taking his proffered hand.

"Well, of course. But which west? That's the question."

He pulls her up easily, and then hops to his feet to look around. It's another long, dark corridor.

"Now, what's so bad up here they want to scare us off, eh?"

She gives him a pointed look. "There is only one west," and in Morgana's reality, that is absolutely true.

The Doctor may sound nonchalant about what is up here, and really, that should give Morgana pause, but it does not. Instead, she's looking around to see if her phantom is still there. The corridor and the foyer are empty, to her relief.

"We selected the wrong building to seek shelter in from the sirens," now she's just being sarcastic.

"No, I think we selected the right one, that's why whoever's doing this is so insistent that we stay out," the Doctor replies. He takes a cautious step forward, then another.

A light goes on somewhere, illuminating the hallway in a dark, unpleasant red glow.

"Ominous," he says, though his voice is far more excited than it is afraid.

The Doctor's few steps forward makes Morgana feel almost cowardly for holding back for a moment. That is not a fair assessment, as she is, clearly, far more cautious than he is, but that not mean bravery is an issue.

The red light, on the other hand is ominous, but Morgana lacks the excitement the Doctor feels. Although, there is the smallest tinge of curiousity.

She would also like to try something first before the pair of them might be lured into another trap, like the one in the lower portions of the building. Stepping forward, Morgana reaches to grab the Doctor's hand, as it is the easiest way to gain his attention, and, hopefully, keep him in place.

"Hello?" It's a question, but a forceful one. "If anyone is there, show yourself." That's her very best lady of the palace voice.

Her hand takes his, and he stops. He feels more confident, knowing she's right there, though he isn't as confident in her attempt to talk to whoever might be doing this.

The light, however, gets very slightly brighter towards the farthest door on at the end of the corridor.

"Maybe that's our response," he says, quietly. "Shall we?"

Looking at the Doctor when he speaks, somewhere, in the wry part of Morgana's brain that rarely shuts off, is the thought that whatever is there, cannot be as frightening to look at as the pair of them, with the dark red sludge from below drying a deep burgundy.

"Perhaps it is, so we must," Morgana looks behind her and still sees nothing, and the only thing ahead of her is the light. The absolute nature of her speech is to convince herself, as much as anything else. "If this place should be teeming with people, we must find out where they have been taken."

Of course 'taken' is only an assumption, she hopes.

The Doctor isn't sure 'taken' is the right word, though he isn't about to admit that, to Morgana or himself.

"Probably scared away from the things happening here," he says, though his voice allows that he doesn't properly believe it. "Wouldn't you, if a big pile of steam that's not from your world suddenly appears in the middle of the city, along with basements full of monsters and sliding staircases? Well, unless you're a Londoner, I suppose. They never learn."

Raising her eyebrows, she sighs, hoping he is right. Fleeing from whatever is happening might mean no one is hurt. On the other hand, "Why would you flee your home, with no attempt to defend it?" They may have seen steam, a monster, and a plume of smoke, but nothing that screams damage, at least nothing severe enough to abandon the city.

Well, they certainly are not going to learn anything staying put. "Come, we are putting off the inevitable." With that, Morgana takes a step forward, releasing the Doctor's hand.

for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

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