The Ninth Doctor
Nov 7, 2013 0:23:54 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Nov 7, 2013 0:23:54 GMT -5
Canon
Character Image
Name: The Doctor
Age: "Nine hundred and five. Really. Honestly. Yeah, yeah, I know I told Sarah Jane I was over two thousand years ago, a while back. But I'm telling the truth now. Honest."
Gender: Male.
Species: Gallifreyan Time Lord
Planet of Origin: Gallifrey
Occupation: "A little of this, a little of that. Bein' a tourist, doin' things, seein' things. The occasional good dead. Mostly, seems to be runnin' a lot."
Physical Description: The thing you notice, if you don't notice the black leather jacket and black slacks, is the eyes. Piercing blue eyes, that never quite seem to reflect the smile on a mobile face. Not that they're cruel or anything, but there's a sadness in them, that never quite seems to go away. After that? Well, it's the sharp, prominent nose and the short, slightly-receding hairline. And the nervous energy. The Doctor's always fidgeting and shuffling and looking around, never stopping. Never resting. Always looking for the next thing to do.
Personality: Tired. At his core, the Doctor is a tired, shell-shocked man, running towards the future to evade his own past. Not that he doesn't love the exploring and the seeing new things and the getting into and out of trouble and setting things right. He absolutely does. But, there's a frantic edge to it, now. Once, he left his homeworld because he was bored, because he wanted to see the universe. Now, he's left his homeworld because it's dead. Because his world is dead, and he's the cause and the executioner. And now he wanders because there's no other choice.
History: "You think it'll last forever. People and cars and concrete. Your home. Much as you don't want to be there, much as you'd rather be somewhere else. Much as you fight with your family, you think it'll alays be there. Waiting for you.
"But it won't. One day it's all gone. Even the sky.
"My planet's gone. It's dead. It... burned. It's just rocks and dust, long before its time. Because there was a war. There was a war, and my people lost.
"See, I'm a Time Lord. I'm the last of the Time Lords. They're all gone.
"I'm the only survivor.
"I'm left traveling on my own, 'cause there's no one else. So... hey. Wanna come with me? 'Cause if you do, then I should warn you - it ain't safe, and it ain't calm, and you're gonna see all kinds of things. Worlds where the sky is burning and the sea's asleep and rivers dream. Ghosts from the past and aliens from the future. People made of smoke in cities made of song. Danger and injustice. And you know what it'll be? I'll tell you what it'll be: the trip of a lifetime!"
Addition Medical Information: This is, of course, his ninth incarnation. So that's eight regenerations down and four to go.
RP Sample:
it was just gonna be one of those days, wasn't it?
He'd landed on the prosaically-named Metalaxia 124b, known to the locals by the equally prosaic name of "New Terra", intending to take a few days off. Maybe get some fishing in. He'd always enjoyed fishing, particularly when the day wasn't interrupted by the aggravation of actually catching something.
So, naturally enough, there was a military coup of some kind going on. Or, at least, that's what it looked to be.
"Drop your weapon!" the earnest young man in the battle dress shouted, aiming a crude-looking but probably effective assault rifle.
The Doctor stared at him. "It's a fishing rod!"
"Drop it now!" the man, boy really - he couldn't be more than 18 or 19 - shouted, rifle shaking in his hands.
"Ah, c'mon," the Doctor said in his most reasonable voice, "it's a fishing rod. Y'know, for fishing? Only thing'll find it dangerous is fish, and..."
"Drop it!"
"...it doesn't even have a hook!"
The boy's eyes narrowed in an expression the Doctor had seen a thousand thousand times. That look of terror that's prompting someone to do something stupid. With a sigh, he dropped the rod. "There. I'm all disarmed. The fish of your nation salute you for your service. What's going on 'round here?"
"What?" the boy was taken aback by the question, which was half the point. The other half, of course, was to find out what was going on.
"See, I just got here. And I was lookin' forward to a spot of fishing, but there's all the fire... and the guns, of course. Can't forget them. Incidentally, you're holding that all wrong."
The soldier boy glanced at the rifle. "I... I am?"
"Yeah, see... you've got to brace it with the sling as well as the arm. Keeps the barrel steady." He watched with some satisfaction as the boy tried. "Now, go ahead and slide the clip out, and test the aim."
"Slide... slide the clip... out?" the boy stammered. "But..."
"But..?" the Doctor echoed, then opened his eyes in a pantomime of surprise. "Oh, yeah! Prisoner. Tell you what... you've already caught me, right?"
"Right..?" He didn't quite sound convinced.
"So, we can take it as writ I'm your prisoner. That way, everything's good and you can remove the clip before someone gets hurt."
Character Image
Name: The Doctor
Age: "Nine hundred and five. Really. Honestly. Yeah, yeah, I know I told Sarah Jane I was over two thousand years ago, a while back. But I'm telling the truth now. Honest."
Gender: Male.
Species: Gallifreyan Time Lord
Planet of Origin: Gallifrey
Occupation: "A little of this, a little of that. Bein' a tourist, doin' things, seein' things. The occasional good dead. Mostly, seems to be runnin' a lot."
Physical Description: The thing you notice, if you don't notice the black leather jacket and black slacks, is the eyes. Piercing blue eyes, that never quite seem to reflect the smile on a mobile face. Not that they're cruel or anything, but there's a sadness in them, that never quite seems to go away. After that? Well, it's the sharp, prominent nose and the short, slightly-receding hairline. And the nervous energy. The Doctor's always fidgeting and shuffling and looking around, never stopping. Never resting. Always looking for the next thing to do.
Personality: Tired. At his core, the Doctor is a tired, shell-shocked man, running towards the future to evade his own past. Not that he doesn't love the exploring and the seeing new things and the getting into and out of trouble and setting things right. He absolutely does. But, there's a frantic edge to it, now. Once, he left his homeworld because he was bored, because he wanted to see the universe. Now, he's left his homeworld because it's dead. Because his world is dead, and he's the cause and the executioner. And now he wanders because there's no other choice.
History: "You think it'll last forever. People and cars and concrete. Your home. Much as you don't want to be there, much as you'd rather be somewhere else. Much as you fight with your family, you think it'll alays be there. Waiting for you.
"But it won't. One day it's all gone. Even the sky.
"My planet's gone. It's dead. It... burned. It's just rocks and dust, long before its time. Because there was a war. There was a war, and my people lost.
"See, I'm a Time Lord. I'm the last of the Time Lords. They're all gone.
"I'm the only survivor.
"I'm left traveling on my own, 'cause there's no one else. So... hey. Wanna come with me? 'Cause if you do, then I should warn you - it ain't safe, and it ain't calm, and you're gonna see all kinds of things. Worlds where the sky is burning and the sea's asleep and rivers dream. Ghosts from the past and aliens from the future. People made of smoke in cities made of song. Danger and injustice. And you know what it'll be? I'll tell you what it'll be: the trip of a lifetime!"
Addition Medical Information: This is, of course, his ninth incarnation. So that's eight regenerations down and four to go.
RP Sample:
it was just gonna be one of those days, wasn't it?
He'd landed on the prosaically-named Metalaxia 124b, known to the locals by the equally prosaic name of "New Terra", intending to take a few days off. Maybe get some fishing in. He'd always enjoyed fishing, particularly when the day wasn't interrupted by the aggravation of actually catching something.
So, naturally enough, there was a military coup of some kind going on. Or, at least, that's what it looked to be.
"Drop your weapon!" the earnest young man in the battle dress shouted, aiming a crude-looking but probably effective assault rifle.
The Doctor stared at him. "It's a fishing rod!"
"Drop it now!" the man, boy really - he couldn't be more than 18 or 19 - shouted, rifle shaking in his hands.
"Ah, c'mon," the Doctor said in his most reasonable voice, "it's a fishing rod. Y'know, for fishing? Only thing'll find it dangerous is fish, and..."
"Drop it!"
"...it doesn't even have a hook!"
The boy's eyes narrowed in an expression the Doctor had seen a thousand thousand times. That look of terror that's prompting someone to do something stupid. With a sigh, he dropped the rod. "There. I'm all disarmed. The fish of your nation salute you for your service. What's going on 'round here?"
"What?" the boy was taken aback by the question, which was half the point. The other half, of course, was to find out what was going on.
"See, I just got here. And I was lookin' forward to a spot of fishing, but there's all the fire... and the guns, of course. Can't forget them. Incidentally, you're holding that all wrong."
The soldier boy glanced at the rifle. "I... I am?"
"Yeah, see... you've got to brace it with the sling as well as the arm. Keeps the barrel steady." He watched with some satisfaction as the boy tried. "Now, go ahead and slide the clip out, and test the aim."
"Slide... slide the clip... out?" the boy stammered. "But..."
"But..?" the Doctor echoed, then opened his eyes in a pantomime of surprise. "Oh, yeah! Prisoner. Tell you what... you've already caught me, right?"
"Right..?" He didn't quite sound convinced.
"So, we can take it as writ I'm your prisoner. That way, everything's good and you can remove the clip before someone gets hurt."
Oh, yeah. I play the Corsair already.