rude_not_ginger | for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

"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.

"You and I have seen the impossible, Morgana. We're not afraid of it. The people here are peaceful, they've probably never seen anything like this."

A pause.

"Well, apart from undead creatures with green lasers coming out of their eyes during the winter, you know, I don't know. We'll need to find out."

And with that, he stays immediately behind her as she steps ahead.

While she does not look at him, she cannot help but comment. "If undead creatures that can kill the residents for one entire season, are not enough to make them leave, why they now?"

Morgana has an odd notion about the corridor; it is like the inside of the Doctor's head, and although this door is indicating entry, any of the others might provide something equally interesting.

But she's also learned that what is interesting does not always mean relevant, so she looks only to the one door, and opens it.

Instantly, there is a flash, like a powerful bolt of lightning, and that causes her to cover her eyes.

"Well, maybe not, but they usually seek refuge on---"

The light hits him right in the eyes, but he manages to leap forward and slam shut the door. Bright spots obscure his vision a moment.

"Some sort of a trap, I think," he says. "Are you all right? Did you look into it?"

Blinking her eyes, Morgana is both frustrated, and, temporarily, almost blinded by the bright spots. The flash was so bright, when her vision begins to clear, it looks like only half of the Doctor is there. "Directly into it, unfortunately." She blinks again.

"We keep going where we we are shown, like livestock being rounded up for slaughter." She pauses, hoping that her comment is only an over-dramatic simile. "They wanted us separated on the street. They wanted us to take shelter inside. They wanted us at this door. I do not want to do what they want anymore."

She squeezes her eyes tightly shut again, hoping to get rid of most of the blotches. Looking back at the Doctor, he is now 3/4 clear, which is enough for her to pick any door and try it -- which she does. She selects the one directly opposite to the trap, and opens.

"No, Morgana, don't---!"

He reaches out to try to stop her, but the door is already open by the time he gets there.

To his surprise, inside the door is a child's bedroom. Dolls line the table and a frilly lace bedspread covers the tiny bed. The walls are a light pink and are adorned with pretty pastel paintings of horses and dolls.

The entire room is coated in about an inch of snow. Despite the low ceiling, a steady stream of light snow continues to fall. The room is unbearably quiet.

Cautiously, the Doctor takes a step in, his trainers crunching in the snow.

Morgana is always going to pick a door the Doctor does not want her to. For a moment, she almost says that he said there were four or five more days until winter, but that would be ridiculous because it is snowing inside.

Morgana walks in right behind him, the snow immediately melting on her light summer shoes, making her feet wet and cold, and leaving small traces of the colour from the brackish liquid in her wake. She runs her finger across the top of a dresser, disturbing the snow as one would dust.

There is a distinct temperature difference in this room than in the corridor.

And Morgana says something that is becoming more and more common on this adventure. "Doctor, this snow is not purple either."

The room looks undisturbed, but it is a child's room nonetheless, so Morgana feels obligated to look for one. The first thing she does (with about 90% of her vision back) is crouch down and check under the bed.

"And it's inside," the Doctor says, restating the obvious. He pulls out the sonic and points it to the ceiling, but the readouts aren't clear enough for him to make any sort of judgment.

A tinny music begins to play and he spins around, but a tiny ballerina music box on the side table has opened without warning, and a little robotic ballerina does a dance on the center of it while a tune the Doctor doesn't recognize plays around her.

It's not often the Doctor is chilled to his bone, but this place downright scares him.

"I think we should leave this room," he says, taking a cautious step back.

There is something under the bed -- a small book, pink with a silver lock on it, that Morgana reaches for when the music box starts playing. She only knows what it is because she was shown one elsewhere.

She grabs onto the book, and then looks at the Doctor, she's only ever seen him look frightened once before, when she was uncertain if he was mad, so his fear now is even more disturbing.

The snow under her knees chills her, and when she stands, the reddish colour left on the floor from the stains on her gown makes it look like something was slaughtered.

"Doctor, what is it?" The decor is horrific -- granted, she is used to tapestries and stone, but she needs to establish what exactly is so wrong that causes him to look scared.

Edited 2010-06-19 21:18 (UTC)

"Can't you feel it?" he asks, pacing the room. "Not just the atmosphere, not just the snow, something is wrong in this room, something is wrong in this place."

He reaches out to the robotic ballerina, but as his hand nears it, the music box stops playing. He looks back to the dolls. Did their heads move to look towards him.

"I know evil, Morgana. It's in this place."

Taking in the pink frills, and girlishness of the room, Morgana can admit to feeling uncomfortable with the pristine nature of a room filled with snow, but the evil of which the Doctor speaks is escaping her.

That is, until she's certain the dolls moved and the music stops.

She takes a step closer to him, and thus, closer to the exit. "This was under the bed." She holds out the small pink book with the lock. She would be unfamiliar as to what it might be. "Everything else is out in the open, so why try to hide this?"

He looks at the book, then at her, surprised.

"What made you think to look under the bed?"

When he does not take the book, she fiddles with the lock. At first, Morgana debates using her might-be-a-screwdriver, but the lock is so flimsy, it gives ways, with a slight tug.

"This is a child's room. Did you not ever hide things, or even yourself under a bed as a child?" Morgana, for her time, was lucky enough to always have a bed, but knows that is not the case for everyone. "That is, unless you did not have a bed." Sometimes the realities of her rank make her sound a bit unintentionally pompous.

As she speaks, she's flipping through the pages, only to find a messy child-like scrawl, riddled with spelling errors, on each of the pages. Only about a dozen pages are written upon, but the last entry is interesting.

"What do you think this means?" This time, she expects him take it.

"No, I hid other places," he says, taking the book from her. "Don't sleep all that much, my people."

He slips on his glasses. Snow falls on the page, but the writing doesn't smudge. It's been here a while.

"G.M. Better take it with us, have the TARDIS translate it," he says. Anything to get out of this room. He turns to leave and starts.

"The door." It's gone.

"What do you mean your people do not sleep much?" Morgana's slowly picking up on the differences between Time Lords and humans, so she tends to focus on the few facts he does drop.

"And would G.M. not be --" she is about to say something when the lack of the door is pointed out.

This does not go over well. There are very few things Morgana is irrational over. In fact, they are limited to 3 things: her nightmares, her relationships with those closest to her, and being locked in. She steps around the Doctor and stands where the door should have been.

She is not going to panic, she tells herself.

"I knew it," he hisses. "I knew we should've gotten out of here."

He pulls out the sonic and gives the door a quick once-over. "Solid wall, all the way through. No hallway, no way out, and is it getting colder to you?"

He looks at the wall. Ice begins solidifying overtop of the pictures, and long icicles

She hisses back. "Well, we did not, so pointing out the obvious does nothing," save make her resolve not to panic that much weaker.

Morgana, who is dressed only in a summer gown, did not notice the temperature difference, simply because she's been cold the entire time in the room, but watching the ice creep down the walls, and the small area that melted where she knelt for a moment freeze over into a small patch of ice, makes her colder. The still damp areas on her skirts also freeze. She wraps her arms around herself.

There is not an anteroom, or closet, but there is a small window. "Does that open?" The Doctor is closer, she is not panicking, thank you very much.

"It might."

He slips his jacket off and places it on her shoulders as he heads towards it. This was supposed to be a trip to the beach. It was supposed to be quick and fun and warm. Now, they're freezing, trapped in a room that radiates evil and wrongness and without much of a way out.

He grips the sides of it and tries to give it a tug up.

"Frozen solid," he says. "There must be something we can smash it with."

for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

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