LOG {closed | complete}
Who: The Tenth Doctor, thexunnamed, and Rose Tyler, missrosetyler
When: 4 December, early evening
Where: A café in The Starscape
WTF: Rose and the Doctor meet face to face. Presumably, this is pretty frakking great for all involved.
Warnings: Er, nothing worse than you'd find on television. Not even the premium channels.
The Doctor was fiddling with the button on his wrist cuff, popping it open and closed, open and closed, open-close, open-close. He was seated in a very overstuffed armchair that'd like to have swallowed him whole (in fact, he'd given it the old once-over with the screwdriver just to be certain he'd stand up, trousers intact), trying not to stare at the doorway. He'd had to chase about sixteen people (four of whom were conjoined triplets carrying a toddler and looking very harassed) out of the accompanying way-too-stuffed chair. It was reserved thankyouverymuch.
He'd also had a cup of coffee, spiked with just a shot (or three) of espresso. He didn't know why he'd done it, exactly, but he felt like he needed to be prepared for seeing Rose this time. The last time for her, he'd apparently left her devastated on that desolate beach in Norway, and the last time for him - well, take two, except he'd also given over his metacrisised half-twin. Nope, not one ounce of jealousy that time, watching them snog with his mouth and hands and exchange words that belonged to him.
But Rose didn't know that. And she wouldn't. This time, he'd do things proper. If only she'd show up! He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to sit still... well, relatively so.
When: 4 December, early evening
Where: A café in The Starscape
WTF: Rose and the Doctor meet face to face. Presumably, this is pretty frakking great for all involved.
Warnings: Er, nothing worse than you'd find on television. Not even the premium channels.
The Doctor was fiddling with the button on his wrist cuff, popping it open and closed, open and closed, open-close, open-close. He was seated in a very overstuffed armchair that'd like to have swallowed him whole (in fact, he'd given it the old once-over with the screwdriver just to be certain he'd stand up, trousers intact), trying not to stare at the doorway. He'd had to chase about sixteen people (four of whom were conjoined triplets carrying a toddler and looking very harassed) out of the accompanying way-too-stuffed chair. It was reserved thankyouverymuch.
He'd also had a cup of coffee, spiked with just a shot (or three) of espresso. He didn't know why he'd done it, exactly, but he felt like he needed to be prepared for seeing Rose this time. The last time for her, he'd apparently left her devastated on that desolate beach in Norway, and the last time for him - well, take two, except he'd also given over his metacrisised half-twin. Nope, not one ounce of jealousy that time, watching them snog with his mouth and hands and exchange words that belonged to him.
But Rose didn't know that. And she wouldn't. This time, he'd do things proper. If only she'd show up! He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to sit still... well, relatively so.