TESTING STUFFS NO POASTY PLEASE

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

CHARLES BLACKWOOD; PERFORMING EVERY SATURDAY NIGHT AT 7 PM

xxxxxxxA smartly-dressed young man stood in front of the brick wall, a smug smile accentuating the dimple in his cheek as he read through it, his face plastered beneath the words. Brilliant. Oh you handsome devil, you. he thought to himself, brushing invisible dust from the sleeve of his jacket. He was wearing his best suit, in black and creamy white, newly shined shoes and a classy hat to top it all off. He had naturally dark brown hair that he wore short, stormy gray eyes, and a fair complexion. He cut an impressive figure, tall but graceful with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. There was nothing awkward about him; even at his most dramatic, he was smooth. He had a bright and ready smile and a high-class character. He was the illustrious Charles Blackwood; the traveling magician.

xxxxxxxReaching a hand into his waistcoat pocket, his fingers brushed against the cold metallic surface of his pocket watch. He slipped it out of the pocket and the chain clinked as he checked the time. Six o'clock. Evening. He still had half an hour before he was supposed to meet with--what was her name? Camille? Something like that. Either way she was bound to be some lovely French pastry. Mmm. He loved this country; they certainly knew what love was really all about. He had never been much for the traditional romance of England; prim and proper. Actually, he had found that the British restrained their emotions in all things. If one were to speak their mind or act with passion, it would be scandalous and cause for a great influx of gossip. He had never been serious about women because women were simply too serious for him. He supposed that eventually he might find someone that fight right in with his personality, but he hoped he didn't meet her for a good ten years. He wasn't looking to settle down anytime soon; he was only twenty-three, after all. He had been born and raised in France, and he supposed that is why he had not fit in with the popular culture of England. He had lived there ever since he had exiled himself from his family when he was seventeen. He had been young and naive, but now he was more versed in the ways of the world. Throwing himself into life completely on his own and separated from the luxury he had been accustomed to his entire life, he had to learn everything, from how to sleep outside and how to find the best deal on food, he took pride in the fact that he could live comfortably no matter what his earnings. If nothing else, he'd just find a rich patroness to take care of him for awhile. He was always desired at parties, anyway, which was good for food.

xxxxxxxThe day he left his parents chateau in France was the time he first ceased to be Richard Crozier. At that point, it was in name only that he changed; since then he had ceased to be a Crozier mind, body, and soul, and he vowed that there was only one way he would ever return to that life, and he didn't want to think about it. He was having too much fun as a traveler; he was no gypsy, he was rarely discriminated against for his choice of trade. His upbringing allowed him more experience in the world of gentility than your average traveling performer. He had a thorough background; his manners and knowledge of etiquette were impeccable, his education had been extensive, and he had gained valuable street knowledge. His intelligence was, so to speak, complete. He was an accomplished young man; he could play a variety of instruments, had a pleasurable singing voice, fluency in three languages, mastery of sums, an avid reader and talented writer, and was able to perform magic for people (in various literal and figurative ways). He did not consider his childhood a waste of time; it had proved itself very valuable. It had helped him more than he had ever thought it could, and was a particular advantage over other performers. Had their skills been on the same level, he would win over any audience with his charisma and ability to maintain genteel conversation upon a variety of educated topics.

xxxxxxxHis life was full of leisure time, and nothing was on a very rigid schedule. He hated monotony; his happiness required novelty and a certain measure of unpredictability. Though he knew that being punctual was important in many cases, he couldn't help it--everything had to be on his time, on his schedule. He wouldn't allow anyone to control his life without express permission. The only time he would arrive early anywhere was if he was to perform and needed to set up. He was a professional through and through, and very proud of his work. He was a creature of fancy and spur-of-the-moment decisions, someone who didn't look before he leapt. He played everything by ear, his actions rarely the works of careful consideration and was not one to make...plans. He decided to go against his usual habits and go early. What else was he going to do? He had nothing interesting thrown his way, and so his only choice would be to actively avoid going to dinner early. Besides, he was feeling rather hungry....lunch was wearing thin, and he was not wearing his most comfortable clothing, this suit created for the visual effect rather than comfort. He hoped she was a damn angel because he was not only arriving early, but wearing his very best. He didn't want to get off on a bad start with the people in the town, after all. He had tickets to sell!

xxxxxxxIt was only a ten minute walk from his apartment to L'Ouette, the fancy restaurant he was to meet this Frenchwoman at. He leaned against the wall outside, staring up into the cloudy sky. Although the sun was not to be seen, it had still been rather blinding out--perhaps the clouds amplified the brightness of the sun's rays. Sighing, he tapped his feet. Had twenty minutes passed yet? He figured he would wait for another few seconds before sitting down at the table without her. Just as he pushed off the wall, placing his pocket watch back into his pocket, he spotted a lovely woman approaching him. Offering her his most charming smile, he bowed in greeting to her as she introduced herself as Camille Royer. "Enchanted, Mademoiselle Camille. You may call me Charles, of course." He was glad she had not presented her hand for him to kiss; he hated when females expected it, and she did not seem like the timid type. He loved flirting with timid women because they reacted so splendidly. He could make old ladies blush and young women flush; but he knew where to draw the line and seeing as how he liked his face intact, tended to feel out the characters of the women before he made any advances. She seemed a bit serious for his tastes, and he hoped she wasn't just another snob.

xxxxxxx"Shall we, Mademoiselle?" He was careful to allow his fluency in French to be tempered by a British accent. He had lived there long enough now that it wasn't difficult, but he had begun to relapse into his old ways as he had traveled through France. No matter the mastery of the language, it took longer than just a week for a born and bred Englishman to lose his accent, and he did want to keep up pretenses for as long as possible. It was not always unavoidable, but rather unpleasant to be discovered as a fraud in one way or another. He held the door open and offered his arm to her and led her into the restaurant. The host led them to their table and Charles settled himself, ready for wherever the night took him.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

“”
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Needless to say, Wesley was frustrated. Irritated. Perhaps even...angry. Angry pirates are something that people generally wish to avoid; even the mild ones like Wesley. He had a hidden violence to his personality that seemed only to arise whenever he was in Caiden's presence. He gripped the hilt of his dagger and threw a bemused glance to Captain Hook. "Captain, you must be joking. You think this....this..." he sputtered for a moment, trying to decide upon a term that showed the vehemence of his hate for the crocodile man. "Swamp scum could do anything? What help could he possibly offer? All he is are posh words and exaggerated mannerisms, sickly displays of perversion in your direction. I don't think you can trust him farther than you could throw him. Which, given his girth, is not very far at all." He shot a scathing look at the man with his last statement. True, he wasn't usually the one to throw Caiden off board when the situation called, but it was not that he was averse to the idea. Certainly he had in the past, but he preferred to watch the humiliating ceremony. Wesley watched the man warily, not moving from his position. He had to demure to the Captain, however. If she wanted Caiden's help, he had little say in the matter. She knew how he felt, and that was all he could say.

Although she didn't say anything, she didn't have to. He realized his possible transgression; he knew he'd be forgiven for such a small mistake, but he still decided that it would be best to keep his temper under control. He couldn't stand to be around the man, but that was no reason to fall out of rank. He flashed a smile to Jamie. "Very well Captain. If you say that we should ask him to help, I trust you. I just have to warn you, cad." He pointed a threatening finger at Caiden's face. "I will be watching you like a hawk. And if you put one toe out of line, I will make sure that justice is more than swift." Although he was not an advocate of violence in any fashion, for someone he really cared about (and to someone he hated very much), he would make an exception. He would never hurt anyone too hard, of course, but giving Caiden a sound thrashing--well, that he could do. He relaxed his pose as much as he could, but moved so that he was close to the Captain, waiting to hear the details of the plan. She had not had the chance to detail her ideas to him, Wesley wasn't about to let Caiden know that. Let him think that Wes already knew the plans. Let him realize just who it was that acted as her confidante. Who was it that grew up with her. That ran her ship with precision and efficiency.

Wesley had always been different. He knew that. He didn't need everyone else to point out his glaring faults. He knew he wasn't the perfect image of a pirate. He tried to make up for it by working his hardest; serving the Captain as best he could, making sure the ship was clean, that all of their equipment was working, keeping the semblance of the chaos and disorder without having any of the actual downsides of the two. He had never gotten along with other pirate lads. Jamie had been his only friend. Maybe that's why he had clung to her; she was the first person to give him a chance. To believe that maybe he was worth noticing. Maybe it was why he clung desperately to their relationship, wishing for more, but scared of the very idea of it. He envied Caiden. He hated him so much because he was jealous. Not only because of the kiss that he had received from the Captain, not even the obvious flirtation or the inclination toward flattery that he thought Jaimie may display when in a very good mood. Above all else, he was jealous of his fearless confidence, his love of who he was and his self-assurance. He could never do what Caiden did. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but he covered it up. He couldn't show his true feelings. Not to anyone. He knew the crew didn't really think he was the best for the job. He knew no one was scared of him. And it killed him to admit it, but he didn't know what to do. He felt a stab of guilt for treating Caiden so poorly for such a foolish reason, but he couldn't stop himself. He was a passionate being, little though he showed it. A pirate should never be sensitive.

He didn't like to show his weaknesses. He knew how it worked. You expose your belly, you get gutted. So he always wore a smile. A broad grin. Always tried to be loud and brash, put on a party face even he didn't feel like it. He schooled his features into tranquility, replacing his frown with a mild smile, as if intrigued by the prospect of a plot to tear down Peter Pan. Honestly, he couldn't care less about the womanizer. Sure, he thought he was a rotter; but that was no reason to join her vendetta against him. He knew, however, that she had been the best friend he'd ever had, trusted and loyal--in her own twisted way. He couldn't transgress upon the memories he had of how she had stuck by him. Stuck up for him. Helped him. He shouldn't show her disrespect now, especially not in front of a stranger. He leaned against the wall of her cabin and watched her, waiting for her to detail out her ideas. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. Just smile and it will go away... he thought wistfully, repeating his silent mantra until he felt his negative thoughts lifting off his shoulders, pushed back into the recesses of his mind. It was the best way he knew of to expel the negativity from his immediate conscious; just act happy, and you will feel happy.

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[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

thoughts "speech"
xxxxxxx"Where to now?" The Doctor stood at the TARDIS controls, speaking to no one in particular. He sighed as his words echoed, laced with the lingering hum of the machinery. A tall, lanky man wearing a brown suit in blue pinstripes and a white collared shirt with a dark blue tie and a long light brown jacket that had been given to him by Janis Joplin as a gift and reward for helping her. He wore white trainers that were surprisingly clean but obviously well worn and comfortable. He stood with his feet splayed, as if bracing himself for movement--which, in fact, he was. He had nondescript brown hair that was styled so it stood up. In the front pocket of his suit jacket was a pair of black square-rimmed glasses that had clear plastic instead of prescription glass as lenses. He had perfect eyesight (of course), but he thought they added to the whole "geek chic" style, as he liked to call it. He liked to display his cleverness at any possible moment, and the glasses were just another, subtle way of stating the fact.

xxxxxxxThe Doctor; it was not a title. There was no surname given. Just that; Doctor. Sometimes, when in an irritated state, he would give "Who" as a surname. Doctor Who. It was, inadvertently, what almost everyone called him upon their first acquaintance. "Doctor...who?" Sometimes it was funny, and it didn't really get old. He loved to surprise people and watch their reactions; even though humans could be so predictable when faced with enigmas, and though he could usually guess what their reaction would be he liked to casually throw the same variables at them, such as the size of the TARDIS--on the outside it was stuck in the camouflaged shape of a police box from the 50s (due to malfunctioned chameleon circuit, but he didn't want it fixed; it was nostalgic and his symbol) of normal proportions. Inside, however, it was a spaceship of generous proportions, with sectioned off rooms including a spacious closet

xxxxxxxThough he has the very appearance of a human being, the Doctor is far from it. He is not just any species of alien; he is the last of the Time Lords, a race of people now elevated to near-mythic proportions. Often considered godly because of their technology, power, and biological make-up, the Time Lords were wiped out in the epic Time War. Doctor had wandered for centuries after loosing all of his people, sacrificed in order to destroy the daleks. It pained him to know that despite their great sacrifice, the Dalek race had still survived and come back in successive waves. They were like deadly mosquitoes. Numerous, near to impossible to eradicate, and devilishly annoying. Thanks to the Face of Boe, he had discovered that he wasn't completely alone; he hadn't believed it at first, of course, because the expansive silence in his mind proved to him that the universe was devoid of any other Time Lords, but he had been trapped far into the future; the Master. Master's Time Lord essence had been siphoned into a pocket watch, and when they had helped him to discover it, Doctor had thought it would be a new turn for the better in his life. To think; a fellow Time Lord! They could travel the eons together. Unfortunately, Master turned out to be a bit of a mental case, and after trying to destroy and conquer Earth he had, in the end, died. Died. Just like that. Just to spite the Doctor, to leave him completely alone. That loneliness was why he always liked to make friends. Wherever he went; he was a friendly guy, it wasn't too hard. He was interesting. He had a time traveling police box. You know. Usual party stuff.

xxxxxxxHe had a long list of traveling companions; he cycled through them in his mind. So many friends. So many tragedies. The loss of each one, either through their return to a more stable environment or to an alternate universe, or to death and time--he felt them all. Each one broke his heart in the end. Luckily, he had two. His most recent loss was Donna Noble; she had been just that. Noble. She had, in order to save himself and everyone and the universe, spliced her DNA with his own to not only create a half human replica of Doctor himself (which had been convenient enough to allow him, in some way, a more permanent life with Rose Tyler in alternate Earth) but had also turned herself into a human-Time Lord hybrid Donna. Unable to physically cope, he erased her memory. Put the Time Lord part of her to rest, so she could live as a normal human. It had been painful, and he knew that the part that remembered, buried deep down, would hate him for it. Oh, Donna. Such a no-nonsense woman with a fiery temper. He chuckled, and frowned. He hadn't been alone in such a long time that he didn't know what to do with himself. After centuries of being alone it's hard to find new ways to entertain yourself without external stimulation. Just set it at some random coordinates, I guess... He had already visited most places that anyone would really want to. Revisiting was only fun if you had someone to show it to, or someone to meet. He selected the program that would allow the TARDIS to take him to a random place and time, and he stood braced to watch the screen.



xxxxxxxRunning a hand through his hair, he stood in a triumphant pose before the front doors to the TARDIS. Waiting. He could have looked at the screen to see where she had taken him, but seeing as how he had wanted a surprise, he wanted to wait for the 'grand unveiling' to find out where his next adventure was to be. As the humming finally stopped, he pushed through the doors and blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted from the naturalistic imitation lighting from the TARDIS (perfectly acclimated to his personal preference) and bit down on his lip. He looked around for a moment, nodding his head--it looked a bit boring, really. Wasn't this type of decor typical to Earth schools? He took a few steps, hearing the doors to the TARDIS close and lock behind him. It had landed him in what seemed to be rather cramped quarters; he was face to face with a wall after a few seconds. Turning, he saw a door, and that there appeared to be more space just off to the side. As he rounded the corner of the police box, his heart dropped and so did his jaw. He put a hand to cover his mouth and dragged it down his face, skin stretching ever so slightly as he did so. Oh bugger. Suddenly he grinned, turning on the charm at all the surprised and astounded faces staring up at him. The teacher, a middle aged woman older than himself and with a decidedly stern look to her face, was staring at him in horror. "Well my apologies. Didn't think I was parking right in the middle of your class. I'll just pop off then. Oh, by any chance....what's the date? Anyone?" he looked around, eyebrows shooting up into his forehead, his eyes roving over the classroom and met by general astounding silence. Someone piped up and told him the date. "Ahh, of course. Lovely year. Enjoy it. Next year's rubbish. Well, I'll just be off then. Cheers!" He dashed back to the TARDIS and threw open the doors, jumped inside and slammed them closed behind him. It was a good thing that no one could just try and open the doors without the right key; or he'd have been in trouble many times over. You never knew how a group of people would react, especially if they had just seen a time traveling alien land right in the middle of their classroom. Children were usually much more enjoyable than human adults, however; much less prone to wanting to capture and destroy or own aliens and much more desirous of asking questions. Muttering to the TARDIS about her shoddy parking job, he set the coordinates to take him into orbit around the Earth's moon. It was lovely; he had been there when he befriended Martha Jones. This time it wouldn't be in a hospital, and he wouldn't have to save anyone--hopefully. Trouble seemed to greet the Doctor wherever he went...

xxxxxxxThe whirring started up, signaling his departure. He heaved a sigh of relief--no real mishaps there. He stood, watching the monitors as he zoomed to the moon. It was never exactly precise, this time travel; he could usually get the place well enough, it was the time that was the tricky part. Getting to the exact date you wanted; things just happened. The flow was not without it's obstacles or irregularities. Like the time he had accidentally returned Rose to her mother three years instead of three days after her departure....oops. That had been a fiasco. As he stepped out onto the moon's craggy surface, he stuck his hands into his pant pockets. He didn't care what the date was. This place at this time was the perfect metaphor for his state of mind. It was cold, but he didn't really feel the full effects; it was empty, even of an atmosphere. Thankfully the TARDIS allowed him a few feet to move in that kept it's own atmosphere just for him. It was cold, lonely, an outcast on the outskirts of society, looking in at Earth to all the wild parties they were having, but not able to join. He, of course, had much more mobility than the poor moon, which was stuck in revolution around the egocentric Earth. He still felt lonely. Human companions (and especially those of the female persuasion) had become like a drug for him--when he was younger, he thought eons would pass and he'd be fine being alone with only the social interactions that occurred when he traveled. Now, after inadvertently recruiting all those lovely women and heroic men to travel with him, he now found he couldn't even go this long without someone? Seriously? It was a little ridiculous. But he couldn't help how he felt.

xxxxxxxIt was then that he decided. A broad grin spread over his face; he'd just go back and find someone. Right now. Any time! Any place. Why not go back to that school? Maybe a few months or years later, and this time he'd control where he landed, but still--maybe if he found one of the students that had been in that class, he would be able to avoid the whole initial meeting thing and move right onto the protests about the impossible size of the inside of the TARDIS, the impracticability of time travel, etc etc. Setting the coordinates for three months later, he set off in the TARDIS, watching the screens carefully, monitoring the progress. When he landed, it was in what appeared to be a disused shed. He stepped out, closing the TARDIS behind him and throwing a discarded tarp over it to cover it as best he could. No use risking people poking about anyway! He didn't know how long he'd be gone. Well....obviously he'd be back if he felt sleepy, but he didn't usually need much. Unlike humans, he didn't need to spend so much of his lifetime asleep so much as doing. As long as he got at least 3 hours of sleep, he was alert and ready to go. Hunger didn't bother him much either; and his body processed mostly everything and so his bathroom breaks were few and far between.

xxxxxxxHe set out, walking across the school grounds in what appeared to be the back of the school. He couldn't tell what age group this school was for; it was quite large, but as far as he knew that didn't really mean anything. He wasn't even sure what town he was in. As he walked across the expansive fields, he saw that there was some sports team practicing a ways off from him. He stopped for a moment, standing up on the top of a small hillock. He shaded his eyes and watched for a little while before continuing on his way. First, he'd stroll through the school, check it out--maybe pretend to be a lost tourist or something. He wasn't quite sure; he usually just played it by ear anyway.

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THINK YOU'VE SEEN IT ALL? THINK AGAIN. OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS, WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND NEW WORLDS, TERRIFYING MONSTERS, IMPOSSIBLE THINGS.
AND IF YOU COME WITH ME...NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

thoughts "speech"
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THINK YOU'VE SEEN IT ALL? THINK AGAIN. OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS, WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND NEW WORLDS, TERRIFYING MONSTERS, IMPOSSIBLE THINGS.
AND IF YOU COME WITH ME...NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

xxxxxAs he stood, taking in the scene spread out before him, he heard a voice call to him. "YOU!" he turned to see a distinctly feminine figure approaching him. "You're the cray man from the telephone booth!" she stomped up to him, scowling at him. Oh dear....she has that teacher-look. Actually-- "You're the reason my students refused to do work in that classroom the next day, and why those Torchwood people went through the classroom, muttering about some doctor." He heaved a sigh. Yep, thought she looked familiar. He grinned sheepishly, ready to apologize and attempting to think of a plausible excuse for appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the classroom. "Why are you watching the girl's football?" she asked in an accusatory tone. He frowned for a moment, squinting out into the field. Ah, it was the girl's team. "Well...just wanted to see if your team's any good?" he asked, hoping that she would just accept that explanation. He hadn't really been watching, and especially wasn't interested in females that were that young. He was over 900 years old, after all. Talk about age difference. He had been all over the universe, traveled across time from the beginning to the end, he had met millions of people, and had been a part of most of the great and mysterious happenings in the world. He had never, ever had someone, much less a young female human, tackle him. She took him completely by surprise.

xxxxx"PERVERT!" She shrieked and came running straight for him. He frowned. "What? Am not! Actually, I think that's the first time anyone has called me that. WAIT, WAIT!" he shouted, his expression changing from one of bemusement to one of shock. He paused for just too long, and as he turned and set off running, she tackled him. They tumbled down the hill, with a series of "oofs" and "aughs" as they moved in unison. A flurry of color moved swiftly through his vision, and would have given himself great nausea if he hadn't a good physical disposition. They finally slowed as the land plateaued, and came to rest at the edge of the grass near the pavement that marked the edge of the school parking lot. He lay on his back, only vaguely aware that his suit had become dirty. When one traveled as much as he, one couldn't worry about getting dirty--it was inevitable. More distracting, however, was the slender figure of the young woman that currently straddled him, staring down at him from above. "Well. Hello there. If this is your typical Earth greeting, perhaps I ought to visit more often." He grinned and stared up at her, a brow quirked. He had many facial quirks--it was one of his primary character traits.

xxxxxIt seemed that she was relentless; even despite his words, she still remained on top of him. Was it not considered an awkward position? Despite his tendency toward perversion for the sake of entertainment, he fought the urge to blush but felt distinctly warm about the collar. "Now… who are you and how did you end up in my classroom three months back?" she demanded, and this time both brows were raised in surprise. How...direct. he mused. She certainly isn't shy about things. He toyed with the idea of denying everything, but then realized that his every word and manner had reassured her of the very claim she made on him; that he was not a normal human being. Maybe she...no. He sighed. Was it worth it to take a new companion? It would only get harder with time to be alone. But with millions of billions of life forms out there, it could not be difficult at any given time to find a new person to travel with--right? Maybe it was time for someone new. He flashed her his most charming smile. "Ah, right. That. You were the teacher, then? Brilliant. Sorry about that; let the TARDIS work on 'er own and she brought me there with no regard for your sanity." he shrugged and laughed as best he could from his position. "Very well. Nice to meet you. I'm the Doctor. Now, I can't deny that it is wonderful to be beneath a young woman as beautiful as yourself, but would you really mind getting off me for a bit? I feel rather like a rabbit beneath a lion's paw, actually." He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to just push her off. He was not a rude person; on the contrary. He believed himself to be quite the gentleman. Most of the time, anyway. He was polite and had good manners; he was well versed in the etiquette of over fifty races and spanning back for centuries within each. His memory was a steel trap; though he didn't keep everything in his immediate conscious thoughts, his mind worked like a computer. He could pull up multiple thought processes and access all of his memories by simply finding them in his mind. It was why he didn't keep pictures, or diaries, or anything. It was all safely tucked away, readily accessible in times of need.



xxxxxWhen she had finally released him, he stood up and brushed off his shirt sleeves and pant legs as best he could, ignoring the rest of the dirt and grass stains. Once he got back to the TARDIS he'd be able to clean himself right up. Or perhaps change into a new suit; he wasn't sure which, but that was the lovely thing about having all the time in the world. You didn't have to rush your decisions. Though he was a planner and liked to think ahead of time of all the possible consequences of his actions, he relished the refreshing sensation of impulsive action. Though mostly prepared for anything that he thought could be thrown his way, he liked to be surprised. He also liked to surprise others. "It's not a simple explanation, really. If you're interested in more than just an apology, however, I can oblige. Care to walk with me?" He shielded his eyes with his hand from the warm rays of the sun, and shrugged, gesturing with a sweep of his hand about the general area. "I'll leave it up to you to select the direction. You are more acquainted with it than I. What's your name, by the way? If I'm going to be attacked, I'd like to know who to report to the authorities, after all." He flashed her a cheeky grin, opting for hesitant humor. He hadn't exactly worked out her personality yet; he'd never really encountered someone that had outright attacked him as she had, but then again--he didn't think he'd surprised even Donna as much as he had disrupted Elise's life. He wondered how to begin; perhaps with the basics. It usually took awhile to get over the idea that there were aliens, so he liked to get it out of the way. Once humans got over that bit, they seemed to accept everything else much easier. That or they were just in shock. He wasn't sure. Actually, he didn't really care. He enjoyed both reactions from people.

xxxxx"Yes, Elise; aliens. And not just of the Earthly foreign kind that you hear about in the news. I mean the extraterrestrial, outer space, far-out type of aliens. The ones in your sci-fi shows with high-tech gadgets and flying spaceships and weird (to your kind) facial structures. Aliens. Your world is a tiny, almost insignificant little speck of dust in the giant expanse of time and space. There are millions and billions and trillions of sentient beings out there, all on different planets stretched out as far as you can imagine. One day, you humans will figure out a way to get out far enough. To make peace with them. But not in your lifetime, I'm afraid." He didn't voice the option, but he was thinking of it; he wanted to wait for a better time to mention it--once he had explained everything, said his piece, and seen how she reacted. Maybe not in your lifetime, but if you visit with me you could skip a few thousand years.... He clasped his hands behind his back as they walked, and fell silent for a moment, staring about, allowing her to process the information, respond with the usual "you're shitting me right?" type of reaction. "I know you probably want to think I'm crazy. But you can't ignore the last time we met, can you? If you think about it, there's no way you can deny my claim. I know, you see, because...I'm an alien. I might look like a human, but I am certainly not." He shrugged. "But I'm no one too important." he said, his smug smile betraying the fact that he was really lying and rather thought well of himself.

xxxxx"No, I'm just a traveler. I wander the universe and adventure finds me wherever I go. I have no restrictions. With my TARDIS, that's time and relative dimension in space, I can travel to any place, to any time. The world, the past, the present, and the future are my playgrounds. Anything I want to see, I can. I can escape with the push of a few buttons, and my mind is more than clever enough to get me out of difficult scrapes, as it has in the past. Not to sound pompous, or anything. But I am rather brilliant, actually. You'd know if you saw more of me. Would you still be cross with my if I apologized? Truly and sincerely. I apologize. It was a complete accident. How do you think I feel about it? Here I am, expecting a lovely surprise and some marvelous scenery to greet me, and what do I get? Exposed in front of a classroom full of children. Not only that, but I bet the Torchwood group was real interested. Did you by chance meet a man named Jack? He's actually all right. The rest of Torchwood are just a bunch of obnoxious fools. Think I'm out to destroy the world." He wondered if maybe she would believe it too. "Oh. Don't worry. I'm not. Here to destroy the world, I mean. I actually am quite fond of Earth; I've many wonderful memories here, you see." His smile turned slightly sad as he grew obviously nostalgic. Snapping off that train of thought, he stopped. "Let's head back to the sports field then shall we....you want to see my TARDIS?" he waggled his eyebrows at her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THINK YOU'VE SEEN IT ALL? THINK AGAIN. OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS, WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND NEW WORLDS, TERRIFYING MONSTERS, IMPOSSIBLE THINGS.
AND IF YOU COME WITH ME...NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

thoughts "speech"
He groaned as she shifted her weight, and sighed in relief. "Not that I'm insinuating anything. I'm sure you are quite slim for your type, and if your self-esteem is connected to your physical appearance, I apologize for any possible slight that might be interpreted. But it is rather a relief not to have bones poking into soft areas of your own flesh." He flashed her a grin, insinuating his own brand of humor into the conversation, rather hoping she would at least realize the joke if not appreciate it. He could tell that she thought he was a nutter. They often did, in the beginning. He loved that "WTF" expression his words usually earned. Even once they got used to the idea of alien life and everything, there were still little events that they seemed to want to disbelieve for their novelty despite their current knowledge that anything was indeed possible, their every foundation having been completely shaken. He waited for her to respond, and was quite satisfied that she had fulfilled his expectation of surprise and disbelief. "Elise Gordon." she introduced herself. She muttered about it all being quite mad as she rolled off of him, and he sat up and cleared his throat. Standing up, he stretched and cleaned himself off as best he could, looking quite scruffy. He didn't mind overmuch. A glance at her showed her clothing to be in as much a similar state as his own, and he filed it away for future reference--another way to impress her. How well her clothes could be cleaned--and with her still in them!

That's really what everything was about--his self esteem was always bolstered by the impression he could leave on others. He didn't like getting a lot of attention and thanks or congratulations when he helped people, but in rather insignificant ways (in the scheme of things) he liked to know that he had knowledge that no one else did. Could show people things that they never would have imagined. Display his technological and material and educational wealth. He was not offended easily, and took her seemingly spontaneous attack as a matter-of-fact. It was something different. He'd never been attacked by someone that didn't want him dead (or worse). It was better than just having her stand there staring at him stupidly, or being too afraid to approach him in case he might zap her dead and pop off again. "You...you're an alien?" she had asked him. He had rather thought that was made obvious by a number of things. One, he had outright claimed not to be human. Two, he referred to Earth and humans as being not a part of his self-concept, and three--well how many humans could materialise in any place or time they wanted? None, he was quite certain. At least not yet. Humans did have a certain propensity for surprise and a rather shocking and dangerous tenacity for progress and knowledge. Slow as they were. Poor things.

"Well yes. Yes I am. Alien, that is. As previously stated, not just of the colloquial 'foreign' immigrant kind. Just a visitor. Real outer-space type of guy, you know?" He shrugged. "You can believe me or not. Things will really be easier for you if you just accept this as a fact. It's not my opinion, it's who I am. I really am not human. I've never lived on Earth--well, excepting that time that I thought I was John Smith. Had to forget who I was, you know? I was being chased by the Family. You can think of them perhaps as like a mob family out to get me--much easier than explaning it all right now." His tendency to get off track showed quite often, and he tried to cut his words shorter, giving an exceedingly simplified explanation for something really too complex to explain in less than a minute. "Oh ho. No need to worry about them anymore, though. They got what they wanted; eternal life. I gave it to them. Just not in the way they expected. They got their wish, but it also proved to be their eternal punishment." He shrugged. "Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, right? It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it. And I think I'm one of the few that would volunteer to do it. Not a very glamorous job. That's why I take my vacations every minute of my life!" he laughed, finding it genuinely entertaining. As they settled into pace and conversation, he was glad to see she was not so very obstinate as she could have been; they seemed to have moved on from the whole aliens-exist subject and were now moving onto explaning the particulars of the event three months back. As she mentioned Jack, he let out a clip of laughter. "Jack Harkness? Does he still call himself Captain? I don't think he can claim it legally. He's supposed to have been dead for...oh what, at least a hundred years? I think that's it at least. Difficult to explain, you know? Not aging? It's natural for me, of course. Part of my physiology. He was human, though, once." Doctor shrugged again, not willing to explain that either. It would all come to her in due time, if she stuck around. He was beginning to be hopeful on that account; she had so far passed all the markers of a potential companion. It is not as if he interviewed people, but if they didn't pass a few guidelines for people he could stand to be with and trust, they just couldn't come along. The final decision was really more spontaneous than all that, and relied first on his impression of the individual and second on their desire to believe and travel with him.



“See your TARDIS?” She stared at him incredulously. He winced. "Well...that came out wrong." He hunched his shoulders. "I promise it's not slang for anything inappropriate." He laughed. "And yes, yes it is that mysterious blue police call box. Quaint, don't you think? Makes me nostalgic for the 50s....ah." As soon as she finished the recap, he feigned surprise. "Well!" he exclaimed. "Someone has been paying attention!" He laughed. "yes. That is exactly what this situation is. I am an alien. I crash landed, so to speak, in your classroom. Came back to see what was up. I get tackled by a lovely woman and am forced to make an apology, and now I propose to tell you everything you odn't know about the world yet." He frowned. "No, wait. Did that even make sense?" He shrugged, changing his mind and deciding it didn't really matter to him. "This better not be a trick Doctor." He grinned. "No. Don't worry, it's not."

As they approached the shed, she voiced her suspicions. He had to admit that he was a rather shady character--maybe not in reality, but certainly to those that didn't know him well he could be considered a bit of a creep at times. "So do you often land your police box in random places?" He could recount many a number of stories to her, but he didn't want to get into it. Again, plenty of time for that later.

He flashed her a smile and stopped in front of the door of the shed. "No, it has not turned into a shed. The chameleon circuit is broken. It doesn't change anymore. I'm sure I could get it fixed, but I like it the way it is. You know? Anyway. Are you prepared?" He pulled the door open and stepped in, pulling the tarp off of the large blue box with a flourish. "Voila! The TARDIS!" As she merely stood there blinking, with no more comment than "that's it then?" he sagged in disappointment. "What? 'that's it then?' That's all you can say! It's a time traveling police box and that's all you can say?" He was slightly irritated. He had expected more amazement at seeing such an anachronistic item and knowing it was really a spaceship. So he skipped to the next part; "it's bigger on the inside!!" so he moved in front of it and crossed one arm under the other and snapped his fingers, as dramatic as possible. The doors folded outward and the light issued forth from the inside of the machine, displaying a view that was mind-bogglingly unmatched to the exterior. He arched a brow at her and watched her face. "Now do you believe me?" he arched a brow, gesturing for her to walk in if she should like. "Go ahead, take a gander."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THINK YOU'VE SEEN IT ALL? THINK AGAIN. OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS, WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND NEW WORLDS, TERRIFYING MONSTERS, IMPOSSIBLE THINGS.
AND IF YOU COME WITH ME...NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

POST

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

There was nothing but the incessant drone of city life to fill the silence. The hum of cars in the distance, television and music muffled through walls, wordless voices wafting along. All coalesced into white noise. A thoughtful name for such a phenomenon; it was the product of all the sounds combined into what seemed to be one; white light was just the same, all the colors mixed together. It was like silence. It dulled his senses, masked what was really going on. He couldn't stand the silence, and although it was not quiet the effect was still the same. He was uneasy; it was never quiet in this city, both literally and figuratively. There was always something illegal going on, whether it was drugs or violence or theft, there was always something. He almost felt guilty; was he hoping that something would go wrong? Isn't that what he was working so hard to achieve, a city where nothing bad happened? He knew it was impossible. Thousands and thousands of years of intraspecies violence, millions of cases of brutality among humans was proof enough of that. He sighed, and pressed the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, pushing until sparks seemed to pop behind his eyelids. He needed something to fill the void. It was relentless, this feeling of anxiety, of emptiness, of desperation. Some people drank, some hurt themselves, and some hurt others; but all of them did the same thing. Everyone had some addiction that they used to suppress the feeling. Batman? Well, his was prowling the night, seeking to right every wrong he came across. Everyone knows what happens when you withdraw the object of the addiction; withdrawal. It was never pretty, no matter the "drug"; Luckily, he supposed in a momentary morbid thought, I probably won't have to wait long. Something is brewing. I can feel it in my bones, like the pressure before a storm... he sighed and stared out one last time at the cityscape that spread out beneath him, stretching out farther than he could see, farther than he could even begin to fathom; curving away from him, lights twinkling in the darkness. A glance up to the sky; it was often heavy with smog, most cities were; you couldn't see it at night. Instead, what he saw was the light pollution; it was as if the light of the city was trapped in a dense purplish fog that hung low in the sky. He turned on his heel, his cape flickering out behind him and fumbled for a moment with his grappling gun. Aiming, he changed his mind and replaced it on the specialized latch on his utility belt.

Deciding to at least spend some time exercising his muscles and his mind while he waited, he proceeded to leap from the ledge of the roof to the next. He made it with only a few inches to spare; he didn't want to stress his body out too much, otherwise he could have made it farther in that single jump, though he realized it was a bit silly trying to rationalize it to himself. No one else was around, and probably no one but one of his many enemies (and they seemed to increase daily) would have commented on it. He doubted most people would even consider jumping across that gap, much less quip about the distance he had achieved. He ran over his mental map of Gotham as he proceeded to perform a number of gymnastic maneuvers on the rooftop, crossing to another gap with each movement. Aim. Run. Jump. Land. Roll. Stand. On the next roof, he practiced offensive maneuvers, listing current known villains, their stats, and their whereabouts. He paused as there was the PPPP buzz in the earpiece that preceded the connection with Oracle, who was housed in the basement of Wayne Tower. Bruce? Oracle had changed so much. He remembered how she used to be; so bright and vivacious, bringing an alien amount of girlish femininity into his life that he could never remember experiencing. She had been a breath of fresh air, and how had he repaid her? He had allowed her to be crippled. Now she was cynical and easily irritated. He supposed he deserved everything she threw his way. Her voice was harsh, impatient. "I'm assuming you aren't calling just to say hi?" he asked, his own voice gruff and gravely to his ears. Maybe it was the job that had changed both of them; he wondered if Nightwing's voice had become rough as well, then dismissed the thought as foolish.

She didn't laugh. Forcibly exhaling through her nose in what he could only imagine was a snort of derision, he sighed. Why did he bother? He always provoked her. Don't try and be cute. Her sardonic voice filled his head. It doesn't work for you. There's something going down at the Cheetah Room. He frowned, trying to remember what it was, hoping she would have the common sense to provide more specific information than that. He heard her sigh. Don't tell me you don't remember. The Cheetah Room? That bar that Detective Flass worked at. His jaw dropped. He remembered all too well; it was a long Halloween that year. That was during the Holiday killings of the Falcone crime family. What a mess that was. Another serial killer popped up around then, seeming to take a page from the Holiday killings; he'd taken to targeting cops on holidays. No other guideline; just that. Cops. Like all the other sick ******** he played a game with the rest of them. They called him the Hangman because when he killed his victims he left a mockery of the children's guessing game etched with blood, always a few letters missing. He had even gone after Commissioner Gordan and Harvey Dent. Two-face, Harvey's malicious alter ego obsessed with duality and anything with the number 2, had put the killing spree to a stop by killing the Hangman. Although a part of Batman was glad that one more threat was eliminated in Gotham, it physically pained him to know that murder had been used, a life had been wasted. No matter what, that was his credence; murder to eradicate was not a possibility for him. It was a means to an end that would rip apart everything he was, everything he worked for. If he killed with intent, it was then that he would cease being Batman and become the villains he hunted down.

He realized with a jolt that he hadn't been paying attention to what she was saying, and she was currently screaming into his ear. What the ********, Bruce! You ask me for help and then ignore me when I give it to you? s**t. Do you remember where it is? Apparently it's the hangout for some gang. Seems something went down, someone is dead. I'll update you if I find anything else out. Not get a move on. Abashed, he set off for his destination. "Sorry Oracle. Just, you know, reminiscing about some really great times. Yes I know where it is. Keep me posted...." He restrained the irritation in his voice, but couldn't restrain the sarcasm, but trailed off as he scaled the side of the building and made his way down to the lower levels of the street, heading north.

Dropping the few feet to the concrete ground of the alley way with a soft thud of his boots, he released the hook and set the grappling gun on his belt. Hidden in the shadows, he inched his way along the brick wall until he saw the neon flashing sign. Cheetah Room. It was a sleazy strip club, and it made his stomach turn at the thought of what happened behind those doors. He watched for a moment, and was glad that he had been so close by. Everything was so much faster when you had the resources at his control. The Batmobile was faster than anything. He wasn't restricted to traveling along the road, however; like a bat, he could fly through the night. Well, maybe not literally without his plane or anything, but he could travel along the rooftops, and it was quicker than anything down on the ground. That was part of what drew him to this life; in some strange way he liked the loneliness, the independence. He liked being the only one that did things his way. Though side-kicks really did help things....sometimes they were just another obstacle. Look at what had happened to his R--no, don't think about it, don't think about it, don't go down that route. The problem with memory is when you want to forget something, you can't seem to stop thinking about it. His past was full of nothing but violence and death and destruction, hate and darkness. And he couldn't escape his own mind and memories.

He saw Two-Face step out of the club following the last echoes of gunfire. At first Batman thought he was coming toward him, but he cut down another side alley. Hearing the revving of a car's engine, he pulled out a tracer with deft fingers and crouched at the corner, waiting, avoiding the light that lanced through the night from the headlights of the car. As it passed him by, he threw the tracer at the back, and it latched onto the trunk. It was not completely necessary, of course; he rarely depended solely upon his tracers, but technology was his only weapon aside from his self. That being his most potent weapon, he set to following them, his Batmobile following on a route that ran parallel but unseen by the car he was tailing. He would follow until he couldn't without his car, then follow them discretely to their hideout. He wasn't nervous, really. This was nothing new. If he failed for the moment, he would go back and start at the beginning until he found them again. He wondered if he had always been a high sensation-seeking individual, or if it was some recklessness brought on by the habit of the vigilante gig. The adrenaline gave him a feeling of stasis, of normality. Bruce Wayne was an atypical disruption in the life of Batman, not the other way around. Alfred was always worried that Bruce Wayne was losing himself, but he was really the figure head, the front that Batman hid behind, and Batman suspected it had been so since his parents died, even if he didn't realize it at the time.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

xxx"À demain, mes amis." He said gruffly, just as the school bell rang to signal the end of class. He waited a moment instead of packing up, watching his students in their flurry of activity as they dashed out the door. Guy could never understand that; it was rather insulting, actually. Was his class so boring that they had to run? With a sigh, he acknowledged to himself that he shouldn't take it so personally. They were teenagers. Impatient, impulsive, active. That's why he liked working with younger students; they were so...vivacious. Adults had a tendency toward seriousness, and seriousness he could not abide. One did not have to be serious to be mature, and most adults seemed to confuse the two quite frequently. A few students stayed behind, filing up to the front of the class to ask him questions. He had just handed back their first drafts of a paper, and it always earned him questions from the more responsible students. He liked when people showed interest in learning; it showed...character. He helped the few students left behind with their questions, explaining the corrections that they needed to make. As the last one left, he packed up his briefcase and buckled it shut. Swinging his jacket up in a backward arc, he caught the sleeve holes and slipped his hands through them, tugging on the material to settle it on his frame. Guy believed in fashion, as a matter-of-course and always dressed well. Today he was wearing a pair of pleated dark gray slacks that fit snug against his long legs and slender hips, a dark red button down shirt with a collar tucked into the top of his pants which were accentuated by a plain black leather belt. His wore dress shoes with a slight point, shining black. Over the long-sleeved shirt was a matching dark gray vest with silver buttons, and around his neck and tucked behind the vest was a simple black tie. His suit jacket was of medium gray tweed. On the back of his chair was a smart black peacoat, which he was currently in the process of putting on. He snatched up an ivory-white hand knitted scarf and wrapped it around his neck so that it fell loosely about his person. He struck an elegant figure, standing tall at 6'3", with broad shoulders and narrow waist, fair musculature and slender physique. He was in perfect control of his body movements and had a graceful gait. He was not awkward or clumsy and took great pride in it.

xxxPushing the door open, he sauntered down the corridor for the door that lead outside. As he opened the doors, the inevitable gust of air tousled his dark hair and caused his jacket to flare out. As the breeze settled, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes as he walked. Slipping one out of the box, which he replaced back into the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a lighter and flicked the flame into life, setting it to the end of the cigarette and replaced the lighter alongside the cigarettes. Drawing deeply, he slipped the cigarette from between his lips and exhaled slowly, emitting a smooth stream of smoke. He felt a light rush as the nicotine reached his bloodstream and as he caught the butt with his lips, he smiled to himself. He had been told by many Americans that he was a highly stereotypical Frenchman. Not only did his ideals and beliefs match up with what people expected, but also his love of cigarettes, wine, food, and women. He didn't care, however; he liked what he liked, and he didn't care what anyone else thought of him. It allowed him freedom from the social constrictions that he felt so many people subjugated themselves to; if someone is going to like you, they will like you regardless. If they can't stand you because of your genes or your jeans, then why bother with them? They aren't true friends anyway. His hypocrisy showed in his desire to impress people and his love for love. He hated for people to dislike him, but at the same time he refused to change anything to please others. He enjoyed attention but partially dressed for himself. He was interested in fame and in pride, his two main motivators. He contemplated this as he stared up at the skies; gray and cloudy, but the sun was shining. The light came through hazy, as if filtered through balls of cotton, and gave no warmth to those below. Though the weather was more temperate than in his hometown, he had acclimated to it enough to still be cold. He couldn't imagine what others farther north were experiencing right now! Beginning to think about his home in France, he meandered toward the teacher's lounge. That had been his last class of the day, but there was still close to an hour before the end of the school day. He had more papers to grade and a test to work on; he preferred to do most of his work at school because anywhere else distracted him too much. School, he associated with work; and so it was one of the few places he could really get any work done. Sure, there were distractions, but the motivation was there. Anyway, James Acquisto should be there soon, he was also done for the day.

xxxStubbing out his cigarette in front of the teacher's lounge, he pushed through the doors and unwound the scarf, pulled off his coat and jacket and deposited them in layers on the back of a chair. The lounge was not empty, but there were not very many teachers there. He went back to grab a cup of coffee and an extra cup and sat by the window. Pushing it open, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, earning him a few glowers as a pair of teachers closer by got up and moved further away. They had tried to stop Guy from smoking in the lounge, but he ignored them. Until they threatened to fire him (which they couldn't because he was the only person in this whole school that was actually from France) he wouldn't stop. It was his time to relax, and why should he have to stand outside, anyway? Just as he was smiling back at one of the male teachers throwing a look at him, he heard the door open and glanced over his own shoulder to see his friend, M. Acquisto.The man was American born, from Boston. He had attended the prestigious Yale university and had a PhD in French literature with a concentration in literature from the 1800s. He had a marvelous grasp on the French language and on various philosophies, and he and Guy often got into animated discussions. In French of course. Loud and energetic, everyone at first thought they were arguing. Those that knew them better would be able to tell you that they were the best of friends. "Salut, Jacques! Ça va?" He grinned, motioning to the seat across from him. "Ça va." was the short answer he received as James got his own coffee and sat down across from Guy. "Dois-tu fumer? Pah." Guy knew that his friend disapproved of his smoking, but again--wasn't about to stop."Sans doute." James knew it, but it didn't stop him from commenting every time he saw Guy with a cigarette. They were silent for a moment, sipping their coffee, before they fell into easy conversation. First: how their day went. Second: the impatience of students. Third: work to do. Fourth: begin the philosophical and literary discussion.

xxxLess than an hour later found them deep in discussion, and Guy was on his second cup of coffee and third cigarette. He heard the distant sounding of the bell that signaled the end of the school day. Soon, more teachers would be arriving to mingle or collect anything they had left behind, or to meet up with someone they needed to talk to. People passed him by, and he stubbed out his cigarette into the extra cup he had gotten, and stood up to throw it away. He recognized the quirky band teacher, a young man that seemed stuck in his own teenage days. Even at his age, Guy had still dressed like he was older. He admired M. Gravite for his individuality and determination to his own personal sense of style, but he wondered if the young man was planning to dress like a high schooler until he was fifty. He appreciated a certain level of maturity, and having not known Sam on a personal level, had no idea as to his personality. The artistic type, however, was always afforded lenience that others were not privy to, for their creativity and generally wild nature could not be held to the same standards as most of the population, in Guy's mind. Next to enter was Mme. Laurier, a matronly woman with a fierce, no-nonsense attitude. She was followed by an uncouth German teacher, then a pair from physics and chemistry. Miss Hope was a reprieve for Guy, who liked to people watch. There was a French word for it, but it could not be translated into English. In France, there is an acknowledgment of an interaction between people--you people watch, and people watch you. There is no hostility or awkwardness involved. It tended to make Americans nervous, which was all the more entertaining for him. He liked to observe pretty people; men and women alike. He preferred the women, of course, but he could appreciate beauty no matter what shape, gender, species, object, or idea. Miss Hope swanned in, with her soft beauty and her educated manners. She stopped to get coffee, and his eyes followed her as she moved to an empty seat. Sitting by herself. Such a shame. He wondered if perhaps he would go and talk to her, but for the present moment contended himself with merely looking at her. There was no real lust in his gaze, nothing to offend or fear; he was merely observing her, trying to ascertain her character and personality as best he could from his external point of view. His gaze flickered to the door as another young woman entered, and he recognized the creative Miss Cunningham. He turned his gaze to watch her as well, lending half his attention to James, who was currently trying to engage his interest on a quote from Balzac. He arched a brow, making a hastily-formed comment back to James to continue their conversation.



JE T’AIME, OH OUI JE T’AIME ! (MOI NON PLUS) OH, MON AMOUR…
COMME LA VAGUE IRRÉSOLU, JE VAIS, JE VAIS
ET JE VIENS ENTRE TES RIENS, ET JE ME RETIENS
JE T’AIME, JE T’AIME, OH OUI JE T’AIME (MOI NON PLUS)
OH, MON AMOUR…TU ES LA VAGUE; MOI L’ÎLE NUE
TU VAS ET TU VIENS ENTRE MES RIENS
TU VAS ET TU VIENS ENTRE MES RIENS, ET JE TE REJOINS
JE T’AIME, JE T’AIME ! (MOI NON PLUS) OH, MON AMOUR…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

Miss Allisia Cavender stood before the class, holding up a ring set with a garnet stone on a thin twisted silver band for the adolescents gathered before her to see clearly. "All right class! So tomorrow we are going to put the finishing touches on your rings--you'll set the stone and give it all a nice polish. Don't forget to review the technique we went over with the copper practice copy!" She cast her students a bright smile and glanced at the clock. There was still five minutes before the end of class, but she was just like her teenage students; impatient. She had been here for hours, and was ready for the day to be done. Not that she didn't enjoy what she did; but she looked forward to a few hours of relaxation. She still felt young, a woman in her thirties. It was so odd how time seemed to fly away from you. In a blink, another year passed. 20 seemed ages away, and anyone in that group was considered old. When you reached 20, you dreaded 30, I don't want to be old. When you reached 30, it was 40--and so on. Sometimes it made her wonder--did it ever stop? Or do some people just always feel young, and some always feel....old? Though biologically she had aged, mentally Lisha was still a ten year old. She loved the same things, took pleasure in anything cute and fun, and rarely took anything seriously. Everything was a game for her; she was easily amused. She was, unfortunately, equally temperamental as a ten year old, and prone to changes in emotion at what she deemed to be adequate provocation.

Lisha wore a pair of skinny jeans that clung to her lithe form, black denim that was so worn in some places it was almost gray. There was some accidental fraying--she didn't believe in spending a lot of money for fashion. She wore her clothing until it was not possible to use it, and then saved the fabric for future use. She wore a bright blue paisley print short-sleeve shirt with a slight turtleneck that puffed up on the shoulders slightly. Over that she wore a black empire-waist sleeveless dress that fell mid-thigh and had a dusting of dark gray outlines of stars upon it. Around her neck was an assortment of jewelry, including a steel-colored metal chain that dangled down past her chest, a string of crystal shards, and numerous other necklaces with a color palate of silver, white, and black. Her clothing style was as eclectic as her other tastes ran; sometimes her outfits were conservative, all in grays and blacks and whites. Sometimes she wore crazy patterns, and sometimes she wore bright swathes of color--it depended on what she felt like wearing that day. She had her nose pierced and had four in each ear. A number of rings and bracelets adorned her hands, and the shoes she wore were knee-high black leather boots with a slight heel and a pointed toe. The dress had a splash of white paint on it, and her shoes were obviously old; slightly dirty and the leather well wrinkled. Her dark brown hair was short in the back and along the top, just brushing against the nape of her neck and the tops of her ears. Her bangs fell straight across her brow, her face framed by two locks of hair that fell down past her shoulders in the front in a dramatic bob-cut. They were bleached and during the summer had bright flashes of color. Unfortunately, the school would not allow her any unnatural colors and so she kept them for outside of the school year. She had a smooth, dark complexion of both hair and eyes and skin, with a lean body and average height. Many people had told her to stop acting like she was still in college. Grow up. Well, she didn't want to grow up. Besides, what was wrong with keeping your personality the same throughout life? Where was it written that you had to grow up, mature, abandon all of your past interests and desires, and take up a mundane and bleak life of a "mature adult"? Who got to make that definition, anyway? Human is human is human, no matter what age. You are who you are, and you shouldn't just decide to change it because that is what you are "supposed" to do. It always infuriated Lisha when people tried to tell her she had to act her age.

As her class filtered out, saying their goodbyes, she waved them all along. She liked to let her students out five minutes early; knowing that they had a reprieve often made them even more attentive during class. That was one of the great things about her jewelry design class; it allowed a lot more freedom than most classes. You could go at your own pace, talk to friends, and make mistakes. Even if you fell behind, as long as you were caught up by the end of the school year it didn't matter much to her. She knew you had to have an internal motivation to enjoy doing something and to get it done, and she didn't like to try and force that onto her students. Everyone had their own method, their own peculiarities, their own interests and habits. It was more enjoyable to see those played out in the classroom. After cleaning up, she donned her houndstooth print coat and a white fringed scarf that wrapped around her neck multiple times. She held a pair of snug black gloves but did not put them on. She was only walking over to the teacher's lounge, after all. Grabbing up her old black messenger bag and slinging it over one shoulder, she closed the door to the classroom behind her and headed for her after school destination.

Sauntering through the doorway, the acrid smell of smoke and coffee and warm air wafting toward her. She smiled; only one person crass enough to smoke inside. Monsieur Didier. Her assumption was confirmed when she looked around, spotting him. She smiled, dimpling. She stuffed her gloves into the pockets of her coat and then unbuttoned it and pulled it off, slipping it over the back of a chair next to Guy. She glanced around with a broad grin at everyone as she readjusted her scarf but left it on. "Hey everyone! Nice day? Whose got a l?" She laughed, then pulled out the chair and sat down. She knew Guy's reputation, and at first she had been quite sweet on him, but she wasn't the type to be sucked in for long. She had gotten over her initial awe of him and they had become friends. She was easy with his flirtatious manner, and liked to tease him with feminist arguments that always sparked interesting arguments. She didn't agree with his methods, but who was she to complain? To each their own. She glanced around again and recognized most of the teachers present; she had a good memory for little else but techniques for crafts, faces, and names. She recognized the young band teacher (a man after her own heart!), as well as a few english, history, and science teachers.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

The Doctor was mollified by her secondary reaction. Upon reflection, he supposed that the TARDIS on the outside is not all that impressive except as a historical artifact, until you've seen the outside. "Bloody. Hell." Now there, that was more like the reaction he had been waiting for! He crossed his arms and a smug grin crossed his face. Elise stood, staring into the interior of the TARDIS. Even from an outside perspective, he supposed with a normal police call box one ought to be able to see the entire dimension of the box just looking in, but with the TARDIS...well, it often sent people's minds flipping about for a few minutes as they tried to wrestle with the idea of it being larger on the outside. Just looking in the front door, one couldn't see into the corners of the front room of the TARDIS, much less the extra rooms that sprouted off it, including a sleeping quarter, bathroom, and a very extensive walk in closet that held all the clothes and accessories one could need for fitting into different time eras. He didn't often use them, really, preferring to keep his own clothing, but sometimes it helped to fit in. His companions often used the costumes of course; they couldn't bluff their way out of a situation like he could, most of the time. Not that they weren't capable, of course. It just helped things much more.

He watched her as she slowly entered the TARDIS, creeping in as if it was going to turn into a monster and swallow her whole. He laughed jovially and stepped in after her, brushing past to fiddle with some of the controls, checking the diagnostics and everything that was going on with the "ship" at the present time. He glanced up as she ran back out and, presumably, around the exterior of the TARDIS. "Haha; I promise you, Miss Gordon, it is not some parlour trick. Magician I might be, but not quite so literally." He laughed again as she stopped and squeaked. It was something he'd never quite seen anyone do before; shriek, yell, shout, in amazement and frustration and complete disbelief; but never a squeak. He could appreciate it, he supposed; being the person he was, he could feel the very insignificance of the size of everything in comparison to the entire universe, stretching out further than any human could possibly comprehend. He knew what it was to have your world shaken up, your mind thrown about, and your entire self-constructed view of your world tossed out the window. And still he couldn't help but relish witnessing it each and every time.

He stood, watching her almost apprehensively with his hands tucked into his front pockets, brow quirked and a small smile on his face as she reentered the TARDIS. He was eager to see what she had to say; obviously she was in awe, but he wanted to know if she really appreciated it. Some people were infinitely curious, and curiousity and a sense of adventure and an easy temper was necessesary to qualify as his traveling companion. He also preferred someone with a bit of a spark to them, but not someone too rebellious; he needed to know that in an emergency, they would follow his lead without questioning him too much, especially if they didn't know anything about the situation. He'd known someone like that, and had dropped them quite quickly. He played with the idea; he really wanted to ask her to accompany him (as long as she fit the bill, of course) but a part of him knew it was not the right thing to do. Think about it; think about all those people that have traveled with you. What happened to them? They either died, got hurt, had their hearts or spirits broken. Even after they leave, they never stop looking over their shoulder, wondering when they will see you again. He nearly pummeled his conscience back into place. Don't you feel for them? Of course I do! How can I not? He argued with himself, his selfish desire for company outracing his guilty conscience. If she wants to come, why not? I give people a good dose of excitement and adventure. They're free to leave at any time. Look at Martha Jones; she left, and even got married! Happy as can be. He sighed, then realized she was talking to him.

"I cannot even describe this place with words. Is that normal?" He blinked at her then adopted a contemplative expression rather resembling a wince. "Weee-eelll...." he drawled, then sucked in a breath of air. "Uh--yeah. Actually, quite...normal. Takes a bit of getting used to for you lot. At this point you all still think that a digital watch is a great feat of technology." He shrugged. She stared at him with eyes wide in curiosity. "Can you really time travel and go to planets, explore the entire Universe with this machine? It’s just so amazing and so unrealistic that it seems possible. Doctor, this really is happening now, not a dream or a product of some tumble or rolling down a hill?" When she asked that, his heart dropped for a moment. Was she really going to try and deny it anymore? Well, there was only one thing for that. Either he'd have to show her he could by his leaving, or her coming with him. He rather hoped it would be her accompanying him as he left. His eyebrows flew up to his hairline. "What? Still not convinced? But you saw the TARDIS! The inside...outside...you know? Of course I can. What do you think I am, all talk no action? Ha! I'm a real life time l-traveller." He caught himself. He wasn't ashamed of his heritage, but for right now at least he wanted to skip over the whole pity train. Once he knew her better, once he knew she had accepted this whole package as a reality, then he'd tell her more about him. He didn't want to be bothered to explain it all now anyway; he was too busy trying to convince her and himself that she should travel with him.

He stepped toward her as she spun around, and stopped as she ceased her circular movement and stood facing him. "Doctor, I do have a few more questions..." He frowned at her sudden switch. She had seemed bewildered and confused, but now--she seemed so aggressive, so sure of herself! It set him on the edge for some reason. It was a...hungry look. He didn't like that look. That look...meant trouble, and he knew it. He watched her warily as she came slinking toward him, her eyes large and innocent, issuing a challenge. He drew a deep breath; he did his best not to show his sudden discomfort, and instead stared at her as if completely curious as to what she was doing. As she suggested that he prove it to her, perhaps thinking to challenge his pride or male ego, he wondered. It certainly was convenient enough. Usually he was the one to issue an invitation, but here she was brazenly forcing an invitation from him! It was quite novel. "Would it be possible then, if you would be so kind, as to prove it?" she asked in a syrupy-sweet voice, quickly closing the distance between them. He could not help but note the rhythm of her step and the sway of her hips, issuing every bit the feeling to the Doctor that she was a slinky tigress about to pounce on him, the tasty little morsel that he was. As she slipped her arm about his neck, grinning at him, he froze, his muscles tense as he stared down at her with an intense gaze. I wonder if you could use the phrase "I'm only human" as slang....because I think that principle could apply here very well, in an idiomatic sense... "Show me what you can do. You can even surprise me with where we go." He paused for a beat and as she slipped away, he felt a tingle down his back as the warmth of her presence was withdrawn. "Well!" He clapped his hands and banished the awkwardness with a grin. "I know just the perfect place for you, then! Brilliant! Close the doors." He shouted, suddenly full of energy. He ran to the controls and began to set their destination. "Now hold onto something! Here comes the good bit!" Everything began to whir as the TARDIS sparked into life. He glanced surreptitiously up at Elise Gordon.

Oh, yes. He knew it had to be her accompanying him as he left this place and time...





As everything came to a standstill, he strode forward to the doors and turned, braced against them, to look at Elise. "Well, Elise Gordon. Ready? You can come see what's on the other side of this door." He jerked his head toward the door just behind him as he mentioned it. He waggled his eyebrows a bit at her. "Or you can sit there like a bump on a log. Your choice, really." When he felt she was sufficiently prepared and at the peak of her curiosity, he pushed the door open without turning his gaze from her face. The door slid open and behind him was the tumbling scenery of a vibrant green countryside, with a mirror-like lake somewhere in the distance, rolling hills and fields of flowers and sparsely scattered houses. They were certainly in a different place; he wasn't exactly sure where or when, but he knew it was England, sometime in the early 1800s. Now was the best part of time traveling; seeing what sort of trouble you could stir up, what sort of excitement you could find; time to find the nearest town center! He stepped backward out of the TARDIS. Turning, he took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest, surveying the land at his feet.

The wind whipped his clothes around his body, his hair about his face. "Right. Shall we take a gander?" he turned to look back at Elise. "So you can find out when and where we are, precisely. Not that I don't know, of course." he stated relatively defensively. "It'll be a nice surprise for you, though." As an English teacher, he knew that she had to know many of the 19th century's most famous authors. He had attempted to bring her to a time closest to one of them, but it was never an exact science. He didn't want it to be, of course; he liked the excitement that came of ont knowing exactly what time the TARDIS would drop you off. He wondered if he should tell her to change her clothing; he wouldn't stand out as much, being not only male and wearing a suit, but his accent was rather close to a variation of the British accent; Elise's accent, however, and rather radical male clothing would stand out like nothing else. "Perhaps, though, you'd like to don the correct apparel?" he asked hopefully. "I'm all for rushing into things, but you might find yourself quite a fish out of water if you catch my drift. I've got plenty of period piece clothing..." he drifted off.

As they approached the town, he looked about for someone selling newspapers. Purchashing one, he handed it over to Elise after glancing at it very briefly.. "Best way to find a date." He didn't even miss a beat as he corrected himself, not without a bit of humor. "Well, you know what I meant." He did not even slow down to allow her to read it; chances were, she had a good guess that they weren't in the 20th century any more, but he wanted to see what she thought when she found out the exact date. This was the year before the publication of Jane Austen's Emma; with good faith, they had arrived closer to her hometown than he had hoped. "How bout that Miss Elise Gordon, english teacher? Believe me now then, do you?"

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THINK YOU'VE SEEN IT ALL? THINK AGAIN. OUTSIDE THOSE DOORS, WE MIGHT SEE ANYTHING.
WE COULD FIND NEW WORLDS, TERRIFYING MONSTERS, IMPOSSIBLE THINGS.
AND IF YOU COME WITH ME...NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN.

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

POST

[sheldor the CONQUEROR]

xxxA clanging noise sounded from right beside her head, and Darby Carlisle was thoroughly startled. Jolting awake in something close to fear at having been woken so suddenly, she quickly turned over and grabbed her phone, silencing it. That noise was a ring tone that had come with her phone, but she couldn't imagine it coming from anything unless it's sole purpose was to wake her up. Being scared awake was as good a way as any; it left her a bit bewildered at first, and if she heard those tones while awake it made her heart skip a beat, but she never slept through it. She didn't know what it was; just something about that tone that put her on edge. She liked it; a good way to start the day. The problem was not going to bed early, she went to bed early enough every night, but...was certainly not a morning person. She squinted at the phone as she went through the settings to turn off the alarm, otherwise it would go off again in five minutes, needed or not. She slammed it back down on her bedside table and flopped back into her soft bed, and pushed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. Rubbing the sleep out of them and slapping her face awake she jumped out of bed. Stretching all of her muscles she stepped into slippers and danced her way into her bathroom. Her room was spacious, with a queen size bed, a silver metallic desk with a laptop on it next to a matching bookcase, an entertainment system, resplendent with a large screen TV and a DVD/VHS player with shelves to hold her DVDs of movies and television shows.

xxxOne entire wall was plastered with photographs, half complete and always added to. She was no photographer but she loved to collect pictures to immortalize her favorite memories. She almost always had a disposable camera in her bag. She was not camera happy though; she preferred to live out the experiences rather than just living them through the lens of a camera. She walked over to her desk, where an envelope was sitting. Ripping it open and dumping the photographs onto her bed, she found a piece of tape and began to add them to the wall. Some of them she saved or discarded, but most of them went up. She held one special picture in her hand and looked at the wall. There it was; a spot that seemed not to connect but in fact was rather like a shrine. A shrine of hatred to none other than Liam Johnson. She tore a picture in the center out and replaced it elsewhere on the wall, and stuck the one in her hand in its place. It was a picture from their date on Saturday. It had, in the end, gone well as far as dates often went, but that wasn't why she put this picture up. With a bark of laughter, she looked at his face, immortalized on her wall in slight confusion with a burger in his mouth. At least she had something to laugh about amid all the other pictures of wretched memories surrounding that central picture.

Everything was painted in white, silver, and purple; her favorite color palette. The carpet was plush and white, though it only extended a few feet beyond the bed to reveal beautiful hardwood floors. The bathroom also had a certain level of grandeur; two sinks in a marble set top, the wall behind lined with mirrors. There was a large shower and the usual accompaniments to any bathroom, with much unused space. A special radio was mounted on the wall, impervious to the heat and humidity. Darby liked to listen to music while she was in the shower. Changing out of her PJ suit of thin shorts and a tank top, she jumped into the shower, flicking on the radio and began to sing at the top of her voice. She knew she wouldn't wake her parents; they were already at work, and she had the house to herself. This also meant that on occasion when her phone's alarm malfunctioned, she had no one to wake her up for class. It wasn't too big of a deal; she wasn't a straight A student, but she wasn't a slacker either. Her teachers knew she did her work and even if she didn't always do it well, she had a high enough GPA and good social standing with most of them that they usually forgave her if she made the effort to make up the homework. She wasn't smart enough to be able to put no effort into her school work; if she had her way, she'd forgo it altogether (the laziness). It was the one area she hated to compete in. Sure, she liked knowing she did better than x number of people on an assignment or on an exam, and that is when she liked to advertise her grades, but overall she didn't make it a goal to compete with others like she usually did.

xxxGetting out and wrapping a towel around herself, she brushed her long wavy dark brown hair. Drying off her face and then her body, she moisturized and went back into her room to get dressed. She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out and drying it as she contemplated what to wear, now clad in just her underwear. She picked out a pair of khaki cuffed shorts that fell about mid thigh and pulled them on. She walked over to her computer and set some music on. She danced as she stared in at her closet, wondering what to wear with them. She pulled out a creamy white blouse with a low square neckline and no sleeves. It fit snug against her waist and gathered just below the bust. It was a simple white tank top that had been covered over with a lace pattern, and a thick blue ribbon was threaded through it to add a splash of color. She donned a simple strand of gleaming pearls and matching earrings, and a bracelet of pale blue crystals on a delicate silver chain. Pulling out a pair of pumps to complete the outfit, she went to put her make up on and finish getting ready.

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xxxShe parked her car in the student parking lot and got out. Stretching, she ran a hand over her hair, which was styled up in a loose bun, with two locks of hair left out to hang down and frame her face. It was cold out this morning, especially since she was wearing so little, and so she was wearing a thick white pea coat and a thin light blue scarf wrapped multiple times around her neck. She locked the door to her car and put the keys in a zipper pocket inside of her over sized purse. It was slung over one shoulder and used in lieu of a backpack, so it held her notebooks and pencils, her wallet and other odds and ends. She almost never brought her textbooks home, and instead kept them in her locker so that she didn't have to cart them back and forth. If she had a lot of homework, she generally spent a bit of time in the library and did as much as she could just for that same reason. Reaching into her coat pocket, her hands met the smooth surface of her cellphone. She pulled it out and flipped it open as she walked through the lot, heels clicking on the asphalt. She was checking the time; she still had awhile before classes began. That wasn't the only reason she was checking her phone--she actually had been checking it every hour since Saturday night. 9:30 was when Liam had dropped her off at Fifi's house after their date (she had lied and told him it was her house so he didn't know where she actually lived) and just to further ******** with his head, she had sent him a text close to 10 PM. It had read Hey thanks for going out with me, even though I know you didn't want to, I had fun!. It had been short and sweet, something to keep him thinking about her. She had enough experience in the dating realm to know how to manipulate people, and it wasn't that she was waiting for him to respond. It was the fact that he hadn't responded. At all. Not later that night, not the next morning, not even by sunday night. No one--and she meant no one--ignored her messages. Even though she hated him, the fact that he didn't respond had insulted her beyond belief. Slipping it back into her pocket and frowning, she walked up the front steps, shivering slightly as the brisk morning air played up her legs, revealing goosebumps.

xxxShe pushed through the door, and stopped when she saw someone standing in front of her. It was none other than Jared Thorn, her ex-boyfriend. She had dumped him awhile ago, and ever since then they had enjoyed an even worse relationship than what existed between her and Liam. He hated her, she thought he was boring, and yet as the veritable King and Queen of the high school, they were expected to be at least friendly with each other. Around others, there was thinly veiled hostility, but alone she felt free to be as obnoxious as ever. He deserved it; no one gave her those looks and got away with it! "Ugh." She said with a sneer, stopping in the doorway with one hand on her hip and one in the air to hold up her bag, the straps cutting into the crook of her elbow. "Come on, Jared; what, did you forget the way to your locker already? I know it's been a long two days, but I'm sure if you think reaaaaally hard you will be able to remember. Don't stand here and block the hallways with your fat a**, other people walk here too you know. You're not actually the king of these halls, as much as you like to fantasize that you are." She shot a glower at him and brushed past him. She was in a bad mood today, and it was never a good thing to encounter Darby when she was in a bad mood.

xxxShe put on a bright smile and said hello to everyone that greeted her, whether they were friends or not. She was generally a sociable and friendly person, just depended on who you were or what your attitude toward her was. She stalked through the hallways, hips swaying in tune with the clicking of her heels, when she came to her locker. Opening with a deft twist of her wrist, she pulled a book out and seemed to be weighing it in her hand. She was really trying to decide whether it was worth it to take her books with her now, or come back for them between class. She always tried to guess whether she would even need it that day; sometimes she won, sometimes she lost. It didn't really matter either way; if she needed it and had left it in her locker, she either went to get it or just shared off someone else. People were generally disposed to help her, as long as she hadn't been mean to them in the past. She put the book back into her locker and opened her bag, pushing things around to make sure that nothing important would get squished. Taking out two of the three notebooks from her bag, she put them back into the locker and switched them for the heavier book. She pushed around some of the papers sitting at the bottom of her locker, searching for a certain one. She had done her homework, but where had she put it?