We are a small but welcoming group of Doctor Who enthusiasts that also share a love for Roleplay! We have members of all sorts of RP styles and levels of experience, so don't be shy if you're new! We all start somewhere!
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Events
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He'd been drinkin', again, an' that never helped. On top o' that, he'd had mebbe two meals in the past three days - one a sandwich at a shelter, the other dug out of a dumpster back behind a restaurant before he'd been run off.
Oh, and he'd had a right good kickin' after gettin' a bit o' dosh, panhandlin'. Couple'a chavs, playin' "roll th' bum", had left him with a side that ached when he breathed an' a limp. And it was pissin' down rain so he was wet and cold. All he wanted to do now was find a place to have a lie down.
"Hey," somebody called. "Here."
Jimmy looked. Some upper class lookin' bloke in a fine suit had stopped, and was holding his hand out. "Whaddyawant?" Jimmy muttered, words slurring.
"It's for you," the man said, offering him a bill.
Jimmy peered at the man suspiciously. The tenner'd be nice, but... "What's init fer yeh?"
"Hmm?" The man sounded puzzled.
"What's init fer yeh? Yehr type dun normally help my type out."
The man shrugged. "Believe it or now, I was in your shoes once. Now, I try to help out."
Jimmy snatched at the tenner, before it could be withdrawn. "Thanks," he muttered, shuffling off.
The man fell into step beside him. "Let me help you," he said. "You don't need to live like this..."
Usually she liked jobs, they were something that took away the monotony of the day and make it that bit more exciting or arduous. For the past week she had been living on the move, drifting through London's homeless like a ghost and catching up on the latest underground gossip. Where the best places to pan handle were, what restaurants dumpers were more liberal with offerings and who'd been locked up. Right now, her job was to find Jimmy.
Jimmy owed her a debt. It wasn't the kind of debt that would have her banging down doors and running in guns a blazing, or even the kind of debt that warranted the slow torture reserved only for the worst offenders, but a debt was a debt and this one needed repaying. Jimmy gave her information, one of her best feeders into the heart of the homeless. She paid him what she could out of her salary for tidbits of information. His latest squander required payment in advance, something she usually grumbled about but had forked up nonetheless. Jimmy was her diamond in the rough, his information was always worth the extra investment.
Only... she hadn't heard from him in the last few weeks...
and he had missed their last two rendezvous.
Her schedule for the day had consisted so far of spray painting her concerns onto the wall in a violent display of art and running out of red paint, more was the pity. Now night had fallen and she was on the hunt for Jimmy... but it wasn't just him. One of her friends Jayde, not much older than herself had also gone missing. 8-Ball had sadly assumed that she had sunk further down on her sinking moral ship but part of her still nagged for an answer. Then there was Andy, Mikey and Jo. Over the last few months her crowd and circle had shrunk and shrunk. This was too great a rate to be put down to natural migration, even if the street people did have a tendency to move. Something else had to be going on.
So that's how she found herself in the warehouse district, sneaking around where she probably shouldn't be and trying to find someone she'd never be able to actually find. What she did find, however, was not what she had been expecting. Sure she'd heard about it from her boss and his colleagues back at The Church (as she liked to call it, much to The Hub's chagrin) but she never thought she'd actually see it. The girl bit down into an apple and stared, fighting the urge to go up and knock. Jimmy was her priority now... but it was so inviting. The big blue box stood proudly at the end of the alleyway, and a fleeting yet futile thought crept into her mind. Maybe... just maybe... he could defy reality and all of probability and take her home. It was never going to happen, but she could dream...
"I'm getting rained on," the Doctor said. "This must be London."
He'd been all over the universe. Seen wonders and majesties and terrors, experienced things that most of his own kind had never even dreamed of. And still, London rained on him. It was humbling, really. A reminder that the universe doesn't really care who you were or what you'd done.
It was refreshing, really.
He did a little soft shoe, finding himself in a really good mood, and was just contemplating breaking into a rousing reenactment of Singing in the Rain when he heard the footsteps approaching. And generally, in his experience, approaching footsteps in a blind alley were bad things. His own excepted, of course. So he spun, coming face to face with a tough-looking blonde girl in an oversized khaki coat, who was staring at him expectantly.
He stared back. There was something familiar about her. But then, he'd met a lot of people, over the centuries. Maybe he'd known her great-grandmother, or something. So, after a moment, he grinned. "Hello. I'm the Doctor. And I should warn you that, if you're looking at mugging me, I'm skint."
In a way she hadn't expected anyone to actually exit the box. Sort of a sods law type of thing; you know, right place wrong time or vice versa. So when the Doctor made his grand appearance looking almost as if he was about to break into song, she could only suppress a snicker and instead stared at him expectantly, taking another bite out of the apple. He looked... ordinary. With everything Torchwood said about him she had conjured up an image of a grand man, regal almost in stance with a dauntless stare. What she saw was almost an echo of her... though slightly better dressed. For a moment she was back in a burning city, the cries of zombies all around and hunger driving her on. She shook her head to clear it, banishing the thoughts. 8-Ball had denied the therapy that Torchwood had offered her, preferring to keep a hold on her fierce independence. There were times when she had considered it, but in reality 8-Ball was rather too stubborn for her own good sometimes.
The girl fixed her eyes on his, blinking once and then looked back at the alley entrance, a contemplative smirk crossing her face. She kicked a foot back and rested it against the wall, letting her back follow suit and the other appleless hand dangling lazily by her side. "Yer don't look skint to me doc." She said, crunching another mouthful of the fruit and gesturing at his jacket pockets. "I've 'eard a lot about you from The Church, real interesting stuff. Stories, deeds, legends. Real big guy."
The girl finished the apple core and chucked it away down the alley, the fruit bounding along and coming to a rest at the man's feet. "Name's 8-Ball, church informant... or I would be, if my informees didn't keep going walkabout." She instead reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one up and taking a drag, blowing the smoke into the air. She declined to offer him one and put the box back in the pocket. "What brings you depths of The Smoke then, doc?" 8-Ball vaguely gestured at the city round her and took another drag, fixing her scowl back on him. She checked her old and battered watch. The longer she was here, the less time she could spend looking for Jimmy. But perhaps he could help with that...
Last Edit: Feb 10, 2014 15:03:22 GMT -5 by Deleted
He stared back. There was something familiar about her. But then, he'd met a lot of people, over the centuries. Maybe he'd known her great-grandmother, or something. So, after a moment, he grinned. "Hello. I'm the Doctor. And I should warn you that, if you're looking at mugging me, I'm skint."
The girl fixed her eyes on his, blinking once and then looked back at the alley entrance, a contemplative smirk crossing her face. She kicked a foot back and rested it against the wall, letting her back follow suit and the other appleless hand dangling lazily by her side. "Yer don't look skint to me doc." She said, crunching another mouthful of the fruit and gesturing at his jacket pockets.
"Then I'm allergic to mugging," he assured her with a straight face. "Although you don't look the type."
"I've 'eard a lot about you from The Church, real interesting stuff. Stories, deeds, legends. Real big guy."
"Really?" He sounded surprised. "Fantastic! I never thought I'd actually get mentioned in the gospels. Or is it the Old Testament? I'd hate to think I'm seen as all wrath and fire and brimstone and such, but I can see how..."
The girl finished the apple core and chucked it away down the alley, the fruit bounding along and coming to a rest at the man's feet. "Name's 8-Ball, church informant... or I would be, if my informees didn't keep going walkabout." She instead reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one up and taking a drag, blowing the smoke into the air. She declined to offer him one and put the box back in the pocket. "What brings you depths of The Smoke then, doc?"
"A police box," he said, glancing around the alleyway. "So, is 'the Smoke' a local nickname for the neighborhood, or just this alley? And... walkabout?" He reached out and plucked the cigarette out of her mouth, tossing it over her shoulder. "Filthy habit, that. Stunts your growth. And what do you mean 'walkabout'? 'Departing for greener pastures' walkabout, or 'nobody ever sees them again' walkabout?"
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