1. This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this site, you are agreeing to our use of cookies. Learn More.
  2. A reminder: If you want to ask an RP thread creator if you can join their RP, do so in private - via conversation or profile messages - or via the thread's discussion thread, if one exists. Do NOT ask if you can join an RP on the RP thread itself! This leads to a lot of unnecessary OOC chatter and that's not what the RP boards are for.

    This is clearly stated in our RP forum rules. If you've not read them yet, do so BEFORE posting anything in the RP forums. They may be found here (for Pokémon Role Play) or here (for General Role Play). Remember that the Global Rules of Pokécharms also apply in addition to these rule sets.

A Doctor Who Roleplay

Discussion in 'General Role Play' started by LaenVulpix, Oct 14, 2008.

  1. {{Right. Pretty much this is what the title says. o-o That being a roleplay based off the Doctor Who sci-fi television show. The events in this take place soon after the Time War (where the newest seasons began), and they'll go on from there. I'm going to try to categorize the events in "Episodes" of sorts, and I'll indicate when an Episode has ended. Hopefully I won't be ending or starting EVERY Episode, but we'll see. Right now the RP is private, meaning you'll need approval before you post. ^-^ Thank you. ILU. ALL OF YOU. NOW IGNORE THE FIRST EPISODE'S NAME, I KNOW I'M LAZY. ;_; [/rant][/capsabuse]}}




    [size=13pt]١٠١[/size] 101 - The Doctor



    The dawn rinsed slowly over the heart of London.

    To anyone standing in the looming, bleak shadows cast by the city's skyscrapers the day was still a dim shade of indigo-gray, but dawn had been shifting into place, tiptoeing over the horizon, for almost half an hour now. It poured itself on the port's rippling waters, an oil spill of gold that rose and fell with the sway of the water, pinpricks of light twinkling out on its cerulean canvas. The fierce burning swell of the sun doused London's outermost buildings, a promise of what was to come for the rest of the city. A solemn line of seagulls, sleek white feathers shining under the morning sun, perched along the rails of the anchored ships, bobbing and dipping with the ocean's endless tide.

    The early-morning working-class community was slowly coming to life; several handfuls of pedestrians maneuvered on the sidewalk, preluding to the thrumming crowd that amassed each day, and every so often a car would rumble by on the left side of the darkened pavement. The air was still, only whispers of movement ghosting through the leafy branches of the city's carefully plotted and trimmed trees.

    The sky wasn't quite blue or quite gray but more of an oil pastel smeared mixture of the two, blurred together beyond recognition and refusing to commit to either color. Somewhere in London, the powerful mosaic of concrete, limestone, stone cladding, iron framework and opal glass, the infamous clock tower known world-wide as Big Ben, was tolling, as trustworthy as ever. The heavy sound struck across the lethargic city, the Great Bell's peals starting with an abrupt, sharp edge and softening as the distance away from its tower increased.

    Dong...

    Far enough away that the clock's chime was nothing but a muffled echo that didn't do it justice, there was a sound.

    Dong...

    A grating sound, soft enough that it might not have existed at all -

    Dong...

    - but it continued, increasing in volume and developing a distinguishing quality that would not have it mistaken for anything else in the world.

    Dong...

    The sound was almost mechanical, and difficult to describe at best. A cacophony that was metallic and at the same time something completely different. A bizarre combination of strained whirring and grating that resembled a garbled siren.

    Dong...

    The sound was accompanied by the phone box.

    Dong...

    It was tall, and the thick wood was a bright shade of painted blue. A double-paneled pattern was carved into the wood on each of the box's four sides — three panels and then two small, unassuming windows that seemed more for style than purpose. Above the double-windows on each side was a small black plaque, and the words were backlit with fluorescent light that caused the letters to glow very faintly in the dawn air.

    Materializing out of the damp morning air and fading back out again, each time becoming more solid, and accompanied by the grinding whirs of sound, was a police box. The blue light that adorned the box's roof flashed brightly each time it appeared, a beacon in the light, dewy mist. At first it consisted more of the illuminated letters across the top than anything, and the rest of it was almost mirage-like — transparent. But before long the rest of it grew more substance, until the heavy weight was settled firmly in London, England.

    Although the sound was grating enough — distinct enough — to warrant at least a few turned heads, not one of the people striding along the concrete sidewalk gave it a second of their attention.

    A feature that definitely came in handy at times.

    After a few moments' delay, the box's door swung inwards with the loud, audible creak generally associated with rusty hinges. For a brief moment a face poked out of the small, cracked opening of the door, then dipped back in again before the figure inside really had a chance to see where it was.

    The second time, the scrawny figure pulled back the heavy door more enthusiastically, tucking something into the breast of its suit, before stopping on the threshold of the wooden phone box. It then turned on heel and ducked back inside the box's interior.

    Smiling broadly now, still pulling one arm into the sleeve of a tan ankle-length coat, the figure maneuvered his way around the tall door, straightening the collar of the coat with an air of distraction. His hand hooked into the box's small metal handle, and he pulled it shut as he stepped out. It closed with a heavy thud, and a distinct, thick click followed as the lock fell into place; the boyish looking man spared it a brief backwards glance before turning to observe the scene he'd stepped out on.

    The mysterious police box had appeared in one of the smaller back-alleys pinned between the sides of two office buildings. Hidden from even the soft dawn light that was spreading across the sky, the narrow isle was thrown into a deeper shade of gray — the ground beneath the man's worn trainers was loosely-packed gravel. Small patches of thriving weeds poked through the rocks in several places, and a discarded newspaper, torn and tattered and waterlogged by a recent downpour (the sort that roars in the sky for just long enough to soak anyone not wisely sporting a coat or umbrella and then dissipates into soft clouds and cheery sunshine), lay embedded in the small stones. Piles of miscellaneous unwanted knickknacks lined the alley's edges — crumpled and folded cardboard boxes that had already served their purpose, a bicycle with its frame bent beyond repair, flat tires that had been replaced with spares.

    The gravel crunched beneath the man's Converses. Thousands of tiny stones bit into each other under his weight as he twisted one way and then the other, tucking his hands into the deep pockets of his coat.

    "An alley - always an alley." The man commented under his breath, more to have said something than out of a sense of conviction; the question seemed to be angled at the inanimate phone box, and after a moment he began to walk.

    He popped out of the alley as if it were only natural that he had been there to begin with, craning his neck up and scanning the street he had emerged on. The faint breeze ghosted through his short, tussled sepia-brown hair, and after a moment he turned left to merge into the small crowd, large russet eyes sparking with determination.

    Hands buried in his coat pockets and moving with a purposeful gait, he almost just kept walking when his shoulder knocked into another person walking in the opposite direction. His momentum carried him forward several more steps before he paused and wheeled around, nearly colliding face-first with another person that had been following close behind him. The woman in question, dressed in a prim black dress with a thick, woolen black overcoat pulled over it, offered him an annoyed glare that spoke thousands of words she couldn't voice herself thanks to the mobile phone pressed to one ear. She brushed a strand of dyed blond hair out of her dark eyes and shifted past him, already replying to the unheard voice on the other line.

    A bit late, he realized he hadn't seen what the person he'd bumped into looked like, making it a bit more difficult to apologize — even in the thin crowd. After a beat, he started to turn around and return to the task at hand.
     
    #1 LaenVulpix, Oct 14, 2008
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 27, 2014
  2. Sem

    Sem The Last of the Snowmen
    Former Administrator

    Beep! Beep! Beep!

    Heavy lids slowly cracked open, letting bright morning light rain into the irises which they curtained.

    Beep! Beep! Beep!

    "Bloody clock," croaked the voice of a young man, his voice hoarse due to the dryness in his throat.

    Beep! Beep! Be!-

    He withdrew his pale, limp hand and turned over in bed, pulling his sky blue covers higher over his shoulders and sighed tiredly. He thought of all the things he had to do that day and moaned softly and he listed them to himself. "Have to shower, go get those flowers for Beatrice, walk to the market and get some of the things we'll need for dinner, take Ronny to school and Debra to her appointment, take that conference call for work, call up the electrician to see about that switch, pick Debra up from her appointment, look up the address for that new doctor, make reservations, order a cake, wrap that present, pick up Ronny from school and take him to practice, fix up something to eat, clean up, pick up Ronny from practice, drop off Ronny at home, pick up Beatrice at her place and take her to eat, eat… I should eat more than once today, take her back to her place, eat cake and open her present, watch a movie, go home, review Ronny's project, force Ronny to bed, and then go to bed myself… Just kill me now."

    The male unwillingly removed the covers, exposing his skin to the coolness of morning and sat up over the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and stretching before rising.

    He wasn't the tallest of people around, coming up to no more than 5'5". He was lean and his lightly brown skin had a healthy glow. He had black hair that fell just above his eyes and curled ever-so slightly so that it looked wispy at times. He was only 20, but he could've easily passed for someone in secondary school.

    He stepped into the shower and stood still for a few minutes, letting the steamy water warm his body before he started washing. Once he was done he shaved, making sure that his face was perfectly smooth as he preferred. He looked at himself through the mirror with his icy blue eyes, observing from all angles before closing his eyes in satisfaction and leaving the bathroom.

    As he walked down the hall he banged on Ronny's door; a signal that it was time for the boy to get ready for school.

    He walked back into his own room and closed the door and set about getting dressed, picking out a pair of beige cargo pants and a black t-shirt emblazoned with a Nightwish logo. He donned his favorite hoodie in order to insulate himself from the colder weather of fall. Grabbing his wallet and cell phone, and the necklace on which was a pendant with a raindrop on it, he set out of his room, pausing briefly to hang his wet towel up in the bathroom.

    "I'll be back in a few, make sure you're ready when I get back!" he called out as he walked out the front door into the cool morning. He paused to look at sky, taking note of any signs of possible weather and the sun, which was slowly ascending into the sky.

    He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking down the street in order to get his first task for the day out of the way. He looked down as he walked, seeing only the amount of space he needed to without being in danger of walking into someone or something.

    He sighed a depressing sigh, wishing to be back in his warm bed. He had recently gotten out of university, a feat he was proud of, and had found himself a decent-paying job. His life had fallen into a neat and organized schedule, with little variance from day to day. He had recently admitted to himself that he was quite bored, though he felt that it was wrong to feel such a thing; his life was going very well by society's standards, but that never really meant anything to him deep down.

    Sighing again as he stepped out onto a busier sidewalk he was met with a rush of other people, each one making their way to their own destinations, on their way to do their things that needed doing.

    He picked up his pace, walking quickly and silently as he always did, and reached into the right pocket of his black hoodie, pulling out a decent looking texting phone that was a shiny jet black. He used his thumb and quickly pressed a sequence of blue-lit numbers he knew by memory and held the phone up to his ear.

    After a series of rings he heard a click and the voice of a middle-aged woman. "Hello?" she asked.

    "Hey, Mum." He said.

    "Oh, good morning, James." She said cheerily. "How are you doing?"

    "Alright I suppose; a lot to do today." He noted as he weaved around a couple of slow walkers.

    "Oh, I wish we were there." She said guiltily.

    "No, you two enjoy yourselves, it's not that bad anyway." He looked up and saw that he was nearing the flower shop.

    "If you say so…"

    "Listen, I gotta go, Mum; I'll call you tomorro-"

    Someone had knocked against his should and he felt the phone falling out of his hand and to the hard, wet cement, the light went out as if it were a soul escaping a body the device and shattering into many plastic chunks and pieces. He stood wide-eyed down at it for a while before shouting, "Oi!"

    James retraced his steps, going against the flow of people hoping to find whoever it was that had bumped him. He noticed just in time a curious man's face looking towards him, brow furrowed. The man turned around and continued on his way.

    "‘Ey, you!" James shouted as he ran forward a few steps, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.
     
    #2 Sem, Oct 14, 2008
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 27, 2014
  3. Sporting a look of mingled curiosity and polite confusion, the tall figure wheeled around for a second time as a hand latched onto his shoulder. He walked backwards a few small steps until he came to a stop, blinking down at the young man who had been trying to get his attention. Deep brown eyes looked down into the other's pale blue ones, and the taller man's eyebrows raised in something that was similar to recognition. His mouth was slack for a moment and his eyes were almost distant.

    Another ghost of a breeze managed to shake a few dead leaves from one of the stunted tree's branches. They fluttered quickly to the sidewalk, joining the accumulating pile that would have to be swept away at some point.

    A sudden, abrupt smile blossomed on the scrawny man's face as he recalled what had happened less than thirty seconds ago and connected it to this man's agitated expression.

    "Oh, hello," he greeted the dark-haired young man - or was it a kid? He couldn't really tell - amicably. "You must be the -" he made a gesture that meant nothing whatsoever. "Back then -" he pointed a bit more helpfully over the blue-eyed man's shoulder. "When I -"

    He broke himself off, scratching behind one ear in a manner that was decidedly habit, still staring vaguely over the miffed young man's shoulder, although not really at anything at this point. The sky on the horizon was definitely lightening now, casting a murky glow over the sky that was muffled by the fog that hadn't quite lifted yet.

    "Yeaahh," he drawled out and drew his gaze back to the man with wispy black hair, "I'm - Sorry about that. It's early and I'm obviously a bit....well....Anyway, I really should go; there's...stuff — important stuff — happening....Or going to happen....Or already happened...." His brow wrinkled, bright amber eyes still directed towards, but seeing through, the decidedly shorter man in his black hoodie.

    He blinked, flashed the other a distracted smile, and turned around.

    Then turned back, coat whirling, and extracted his right hand from the depths of his pocket.

    "I'm the Doctor — by the way." He declared without warning, sticking his arm straight out and offering a handshake to the young stranger.
     
    #3 LaenVulpix, Oct 16, 2008
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 27, 2014
  4. Sem

    Sem The Last of the Snowmen
    Former Administrator

    "Oh, hello," the man responded. "You must be the -" he waved his hand. "Back then -"

    James nodded his head to the segmented statements.

    "I'm sorry about that. It's early and I'm obviously a bit....well. Anyway, I really should go; there's...stuff — important stuff — happening....Or going to happen....Or already happened...." he responded. His manner of speaking was strange, or he was confused, or something. James looked at him with a bewildered stare.

    The young man was about to say something when the older man turned around, but he turned right back around and introduced himself as 'The Doctor'.

    "The... Doctor?" James inquired as he shook the man's hand. "Doctor... who?" he asked. "Doctor of what?" as he waited for his answer he wondered why he was even wasting his time with pleasantries. He was owed a new phone and he would be falling behind in his schedule, the details of which escaped him at that moment as he stared at the strange man, this... Doctor. In fact the phone seemed little issue as well the longer he thought about it... It seemed that very little mattered at that moment.

    "Pleased to meet you..." James finally said.
     
    #4 Sem, Oct 18, 2008
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 27, 2014

Share This Page