(no subject)
Characters: Martha Jones, the Doctor
Rating: PG?
Time Period: Golden Age
Location: Resort spa
Relative Date: Fourth day, evening
Status: Closed
After leaving Annie, Martha had wandered back to the time room; something about the place drew her attention. Maybe it was her secret yearning to go travelling again, or maybe it was a desire to find out more about this place that they'd all been trapped in. She examined each of the pictures, running her fingertips along the frames. Obviously the paintings weren't a literal representation of the times they were linked to, as she very much doubted that she would end up in the middle of, say, a women's bathhouse. Though she was still curious, so she pressed the button...
...and ended up next to a (sadly) deserted pool. "Well, now, this is different," she said aloud, her voice echoing off the tiles. Except it really wasn't; it was a hotel that wouldn't have looked out of place in London, clearly rather posh and well-maintained. She made a mental note of where the button to return was, then stepped out of the room and into a sleek, futuristic-looking corridor.
"Good evening, Miss Jones," a bland-looking woman said to her, bobbing her head; from her uniform, Martha surmised that she must be a worker of some sort. "Can I help you?"
All right, so they knew her name. That was a bit weird. "Where am I?"
"The Hotel Fortunata, Alpha Sector. The night spa is just down the hall, if you would care for a treatment, Miss Jones. If not, I can show you to your room."
A spa? Things were definitely looking up, and Martha made a split-second decision. "No, no, the spa'll do. Thank you." She wondered for a moment if she ought to tip the worker, but she didn't seem to expect a note the same way her counterpart back home might, so Martha continued down the corridor. The spa was marked with a crescent moon on the door; she walked through and was greeted by an enthusiastic staff member.
Ten minutes later, Martha was enveloped in a white cotton robe and sitting in a chair and sipping an iced mocha latte as one of the spa workers painted her nails a stunning shade of bronze. Perhaps, she thought, this place wasn't so bad after all.
Rating: PG?
Time Period: Golden Age
Location: Resort spa
Relative Date: Fourth day, evening
Status: Closed
After leaving Annie, Martha had wandered back to the time room; something about the place drew her attention. Maybe it was her secret yearning to go travelling again, or maybe it was a desire to find out more about this place that they'd all been trapped in. She examined each of the pictures, running her fingertips along the frames. Obviously the paintings weren't a literal representation of the times they were linked to, as she very much doubted that she would end up in the middle of, say, a women's bathhouse. Though she was still curious, so she pressed the button...
...and ended up next to a (sadly) deserted pool. "Well, now, this is different," she said aloud, her voice echoing off the tiles. Except it really wasn't; it was a hotel that wouldn't have looked out of place in London, clearly rather posh and well-maintained. She made a mental note of where the button to return was, then stepped out of the room and into a sleek, futuristic-looking corridor.
"Good evening, Miss Jones," a bland-looking woman said to her, bobbing her head; from her uniform, Martha surmised that she must be a worker of some sort. "Can I help you?"
All right, so they knew her name. That was a bit weird. "Where am I?"
"The Hotel Fortunata, Alpha Sector. The night spa is just down the hall, if you would care for a treatment, Miss Jones. If not, I can show you to your room."
A spa? Things were definitely looking up, and Martha made a split-second decision. "No, no, the spa'll do. Thank you." She wondered for a moment if she ought to tip the worker, but she didn't seem to expect a note the same way her counterpart back home might, so Martha continued down the corridor. The spa was marked with a crescent moon on the door; she walked through and was greeted by an enthusiastic staff member.
Ten minutes later, Martha was enveloped in a white cotton robe and sitting in a chair and sipping an iced mocha latte as one of the spa workers painted her nails a stunning shade of bronze. Perhaps, she thought, this place wasn't so bad after all.