rude_not_ginger | for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

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for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

"You wanted an ocean, have I got an ocean for you."

The Doctor darted around the console and scooped his jacket up from where it hung on one of the TARDIS pillars. He absolutely loved this bit. The first trip to an alien world with someone who didn't even believe in other worlds until now. Very little was more exciting.

"Now! We've got breathable atmosphere, low radiation, and a beautiful summer day. The waters of the Greeio Malgoon are purple in the summer, which is when they're the warmest and the safest. I'd have taken you to them in the winter when they're blue, but the water's acid content gets a bit high and ends up spewing out strange creatures with eyes that shoot lasers. Green lasers, they disintegrate you without much warning. Very technicolor world, the Greeo Malgoon."

He shrugged. "Still! In the summer, peak of tourist season, it's the most brilliant place for a visit."

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What Morgana does not know is that that this trip in the TARDIS is smoother than most. If she did, she might not be quite so nervous about stepping out where ever they are. The trip itself was extremely unnerving.

"Greeio Malgoon?" Those two words may sound foreign but not quite as intimidating as another word the Doctor's mentioned -- one Morgana does understand. "And what do you mean by 'low' radiation?"

She has a right to be concerned, you see.

He steps over to her and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Low like Earth radiation. Nothing to worry about, nothing that'll make you sick, I promise."

He still feels no small amount of guilt for that day, for how ill she became. He may never show it and he will probably never properly apologize, but it's there, under the surface.

He extracts one of his hands and offers it to her. "Come on," he says. "Brand new world out there. Best trip to the ocean you'll ever see."

Morgana's dressed in a light summer gown, exactly what she would wear if this were the Western Sea as the Doctor once promised.

She's in a foreign place, with someone she knows so well -- she's seen inside his head -- but yet, doesn't, at the same time. Looking at his hand, she then looks back to her dagger, sheath and cloak. He may not like them, but she has to ask. "Do I need them?"

In her pocket is the small might-be-a-screwdriver the Doctor gave her, but she's uncertain if that's enough.

Morgana might also be stalling a little, as the excitement of some place new is battling with her practicality of staying in a safe place.

"Nah," the Doctor says. "There won't be any trouble here. Just a bit of sightseeing, that's all."

He hopes.

Well, sort of hopes. He does like a little bit of trouble.

Well, a good bit of trouble.

Morgana is about to ask the Doctor to promise -- he understands the value she places on such things, but stops herself. If he can't do so, she will refuse and they will stay put.

"You say the sea is purple?"

As much as she would like to, she knows she will not be able to tell anyone of this at home, as everyone would think her mad. Not that everyone wouldn't think her mad for agreeing to go on this journey with the Doctor in the first place.

So, here goes nothing, she steps forward, leaves her cape and her dagger, and takes his arm, not his hand. That's her agreement.

He gives her a wide smile and pushes open the door.

"Allons-y."

Outside, it's dark. The sky is black dotted with tiny stars. The ground they've landed on, in contrast, is sharply white and sparkling with the light of the stars above it. Like long stretches of bone, it juts out to a pebbly beach. And, as promised, the ocean is purple, the color bright and vibrant against the black and white of the landscape. The beach stretches out as far as the eye can see, curling outwards into a spiral far in the distance. Bright red mountains stand out behind the TARDIS.

"Smell that afternoon breeze."

Morgana isn't outside for half a minute before she drops his arm, and takes a few steps away from him. Looking to the ground, the beach, the ocean -- and what a purple it is. She has paid plenty to make sure gowns are dyed such a rich colour.

The air smells of dampness. It's not rot, more like, "It smells like early morning, before the dew is gone." She only says it aloud because she has to say something -- it's been a few minutes of silence and taking in the surroundings.

She turns around to see the mountains, that look like they stole their colour from well-tended roses, but does not spend long examining them. Instead, she turns back to the purple sea, taking a few steps nearer.

And then feels the need to point out the obvious, "You must be mistaken of the time. If it is afternoon, where is the sun?"

He leans over to her and points up at the one dark part of the sky that has no stars.

"Dark star," he says. "Produces the same heat and light resonance of a yellow star, but it's utterly black. Greeio Malgoon has two suns, one for each side. It's never nighttime here but the sky is always dark."

He grins. "Odd little universe, isn't it?"

All Morgana can do is nod in agreement. What else is she going to do, disagree? Of late, she's only learned the names of the other planet in her solar system -- and what exactly a solar system is.

She tilts her head a little, still confused by one thing. "Then how do days work, if one does not know when it is time for dinner, or morning, or duties?"

Everything, is so rigid in her own home, and even the nearly half-year away from it has not rid her of that.

She asks this not once looking at the Doctor. She's tentatively making her way towards the sea.

"Well, people on this world don't function by schedules," he says. "It's more of a matter of when they want to, when they don't want to. There's no difference between the twin suns and the days are only about five hours long. The only difference in time is the planetary shift to winter. Which is, as I said, when things go a bit wonky about here. But we should be at least four, maybe five days away from winter, so we're good."

He hops after her, stuffing his hands back into his pocket. "People on other worlds that think in ways far beyond what you know. It's brilliant, isn't it?"

"Doctor," She's still not looking at him. She's a bit mesmerized by the colour of the sea. "If everyone only ever did things when they wanted to. Nothing would ever be done properly."

She pauses for a minute and kneels to the ground, tentatively touching the bright, white earth, trying to figure out what makes it sparkle. She takes a little of it in her hand. It does not feel like dirt, more like crystalline sand.

"When I went to the Western Sea with my father. I took a handful of sand and wrapped it in a kerchief, to take home, with a few pebbles. My nurse laughed at me. My father did not." She's talking as she rubs a finger over the strange earth in her other hand, tying to work out what it's made of.

"Nothing wrong with wanting a token to remember the places you've been to. That's why people paint pictures, they write sonnets, they collect shells. They want to remember the world they've seen," the Doctor says.

He shrugs a little. "Me, I always just find myself coming back. See what it's like with my own eyes."

He looks out to the horizon and points. "There's an outlook over there. Can probably get a better view of the sea from it."

Morgana composes herself a little. That was a lot to share with the Doctor, even if it was just a vignette from an event she's already told him about. She looks at him a moment, wondering why she would do such a thing.

And, since no one is around to judge her for the question. "Is it not possible to touch the sea?" There's the idea of touching a purple sea that is just so appealing.

He looks out to the water. "The acid content is a little stronger than seawater, but not that much stronger than vinegar," he says. But the summer is usually the touristy time of year, and plenty of humans swim in this sea.

Funny, he expected this part of the world to be littered with people during this season, but the Doctor and Morgana are the only ones. Must be some sort of holiday.

He gives the water a nod, then gives her a smile. "Oh, go on, then. Kick off your shoes, you could probably even wade a bit."

Brushing the white earth off her hands, Morgana stands back up. She's in her summer walking shoes, so she slips them off, leaving them neatly out of harm's way and makes her way down to the sea - stopping at the water's edge.

It is even more purple up close, a colour she did not know would exist in nature.

She looks at the deserted beach. "Why are we alone?"

It is the mid-afternoon and the breeze is warm. This would be an ideal day to be outside.

She takes another step towards the water.

"Dunno," the Doctor says, kneeling down and unlacing his trainers. He tugs them and his four pairs of socks off and pads barefoot towards the water, too. "Holiday, maybe? Some sort of celebration in town?"

He has a funny suspicion that's not what it is, but he's trying very hard to ignore it. It's altogether far too quiet out here. It would be peaceful, he supposes, if it didn't make his hair stand on end.

If there's one thing Morgana isn't, it's a coward, so when she takes another step forward, it's directly into the water. Even though she's holding her dress, just high enough to keep from getting wet, a little trails into the receding wave, but just like the water she is used to, it doesn't leave any purple stain.

"The water is selfish," she muses fancifully. "Keeps its colour to itself."

Since there isn't a concern about ruining her dress, she releases it, and leans over, both her hands skimming the top to the tiny wave that comes in next.

Edited 2010-06-14 23:13 (UTC)

The Doctor steps into the water himself. It's warm against his skin, and he smiles at the way the sand feels beneath his toes. He looks up to the waves, and then to his unlikely companion.

This is what he loves most about travel. It's not just the places, it's not just the extraordinary sights, it's seeing the people he travels with marvel at them. Sometimes he thinks he's too old, he's forgotten what it's like to love travel, but he can experience it vicariously through them.

"Not bad, eh?"

For just half a second, there is the insane desire to splash him. He sounds rather chuffed with himself, and she is feeling rather -- silly would not be the word she would use, but yet it would be true.

Instead, Morgana stands back up and looks at him. "This is magnificent." In the internal battle not to stroke his ego, and the truth of the matter, like her flash of silliness, the truth won.

"I cannot understand why no one would be out to enjoy this."

He's immensely pleased with himself. He'd been switching between a few different oceans to take her to, and this one won out. Excellent choice, Doctor. Bravo.

"I don't know," the Doctor says. "We should ask them, I think."

He starts off through the water towards the outlook, eventually hopping up on the warm sand when the ground raises up out of the water towards a small cliff.

"Ask them?" Morgana's still adjusting to purple water. She's not entirely sure the locals are good to meet yet.

On the other hand, the Doctor wants to ask where everyone is. More so, he's so curious he's tracking them down, hence there is only one conclusion.

Moving a a bit faster through the water than him -- the splash doesn't bother her, water dries -- to catch up.

"Doctor," she says when she does reach him, "What is wrong here?"

This is the Doctor. She automatically assumes something's gone wrong.

"You get that feeling too?" the Doctor asks, because clearly that's what her implication is. He keeps his shoes in his hands and heads up the edge of the cliff.

Once over the rise, the city comes into view. It's crystalline, dark towers that shine with the sparkling sand. The spires twist up to dark red points. It would look ominous, if the Doctor wasn't so sure they were utterly peaceful. Except...

"What is that?" he asks, pointing to a plume of red smoke coming from the center of the city. "That's not right."

The Doctor can keep believing that all he wants, there isn't the time to correct him. "What burns like that?"

Her shoes, sadly, are a little way off, and she eyes them, warily.

"I don't know," the Doctor says. "We should find out."

He drops to put on his shoes and notices, for the first time, that she's still barefoot.

"Better go grab those," he says. "I don't remember what the streets of the city are made of."

Morgana's not one to question this. If something is burning, usually, there is a hand to be offered.

It takes her a moment to gather her things and rejoin the Doctor. She doesn't take the time to clean off her feet, so there's that uncomfortable feeling of sand in one's shoes, that she chooses to ignore.

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