About


    Well, hello there. You can call me the Doctor. Though, it appears that I've merely become an 'outdated' life in my own timeline ... I am the third form.
    I was exiled by the Time Lords for interfering with events throughout the universe. For the longest time, I was stuck on one planet: Earth. Recently, however, mt exile been lifted, and I've been allowed to travel at will. This is my one of my many stops.

    Unfortunately, I left miss Grant behind, but perhaps it's for the better. It's far too dangerous for her here.











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                  Not the White Text Guy

                  Report | 01/08/2012 7:29 pm

                  Not the White Text Guy

                  [[ *BREAKS THIS CHAIN OF MASTERS* ]]

                  T1ck T0ck.

                  Before Three had arrived, Scratch was still finishing up the final touches so that his guest would be rather comfortable. Especially for the display he was going to show him. A graphic one at that - which is why he hadn't brought up the task of preparing him any form of a snack. Regardless, he would still give him a beverage; in terms of specifics, fine wines that he knew the Doctor would enjoy. Even if their chat about wines didn't occur, he still would have known what had happened to be the man's favorite and such. A nice little trait from omniscience, after all.

                  Scratch held the bottle carefully - he knew the amount Three would drink over the course of his visit, and would keep it exactly as such. Not higher or lower than that marking. He simply stared at the side of the glass - though it was for show of the narrators and muns who were spectators of sorts - and observed how the liquid filled its circular form. Knowing when enough was enough, he lifted the bottle upwards so it wasn't titling and pouring anymore. Quickly, he shut the bottle with a cork, making it so that none of it would spill. What a mess that would be.

                  Snapping his fingers, the bottle vanished from his grasp in a spout of green static that had ripped through space. A common characteristic that had fallen upon things or people he teleported. It was bluntly a First Guardian thing. And it was to always be green - it was a callback to the Green Sun of course. Their source of omni/semi-potence, after all.

                  However, Scratch was in no hurry as the clock ticked, nor when he was preparing things. He knew the exact moments to begin or stop this, or yield doing that. He was very aware of Paradox Space's odd time - in fact, an hour in Eath time was a few minutes for him, relatively speaking. It would confuse many people, yes, he knew. But it didn't quite matter. What mattered is that he was in no rush - when was he ever? Certainly not once.

                  He had no reasons to be.

                  There wasn't a reason to panick either.

                  Usually.

                  He wasn't a procrastinator or lazy either. After all, what excellent host such as himself was? If they were, they probably were just ametuers. One who did things at the last minute and had put it off for quite some time would not meet Scratch's high standards of excellent hosting abilities. Nor would slob of any kind and things of that manner. But that was for another time.

                  Without a double check - as if he needed to - Scratch strode towards the green (much like everything else in the apartment) door. His pace was slow, but not sluggish. Nor was it quick and rushed either. A simple calm pace constructed of ease and a smug ego. There was no reason to be reassured by the sound waves of Three's shoes clacking against the building's floor, but it did give him the constant feeling that yes, there weren't any mildly frustrating dark spots in his way.

                  Oh how he loathed those. But, he wasn't going to complain.

                  On cue, his gloved hand had extended towards the knob of the door slowly, grasping the brass. He allowed his fingers to stay put on the texture only for a moment - while he couldn't quite feel temeperatures, he was aware that the metal had become a tad chilled via limitless intelligence - before opening the door. And what he would see, is his guest. With that, he spoke up with the obvious greeting of, "Welcome," before stepping aside to allow the Time Lord into his apartment.

                  He wasn't going to play as a blockade, after all. He did have important things to show him.
                  The Master Yana

                  Report | 01/06/2012 8:06 am

                  The Master Yana

                  The Master looks down at the Doctor's shoes, and lets out a sort of breathy laugh, screwing his lips up and to the side in a weird smirk.

                  "Man, you are in for a treat. In the future, I mean." he sighs.

                  Looking up now into the older man's face, he decides that he shouldn't let on too much about the future. Let him think that Master is doing really well for himself.
                  The Master Yana

                  Report | 01/06/2012 12:00 am

                  The Master Yana


                  I've lost count. I've regenerated a few times, stolen a few bodies.



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                  The Master Yana

                  Report | 01/05/2012 11:51 pm

                  The Master Yana

                  Later you got in the way.

                  Aged him almost 800 years.

                  He... meaning you... looked like a gnome.

                  I stuffed him in a birdcage.

                  I laughed.
                  Misster Master

                  Report | 12/16/2011 12:41 pm

                  Misster Master

                  Indeed! =Having tagged along with the Proper version of himself he watches, hands hipped... Before joining in the shin-kicking.=
                  Four Beat War Drums

                  Report | 12/16/2011 12:40 pm

                  Four Beat War Drums

                  Tch. You think you're so clever, don't you. -looks over the other Timelord with disdain before giving a kick to the shins- Well you aren't.
                  Potentially Problematic

                  Report | 12/14/2011 9:38 pm

                  Potentially Problematic

                  Lurker took her visor back when the videos were finished playing, and nonchalantly, she clicked it back into place, hiding her bizarre lack of eyes. She clasped her hands behind her back, one elbow crooked a bit oddly to avoid jostling her gun. "The first invasions began 35 years ago. Five years after that, the enhancement program began, when we realized how far outmatched we were. The invaders--we call them the Corvidae--are fond of subtle methods of combat. Since their original arrival, the planet has gotten steadily warmer, and they have used methods we have yet to be able to pinpoint to slowly kill off the animals. We know little of them, but we suspect they want our planet for their own." She didn't sound bored, so much as...resigned. After all, she had only been created a few years ago. She had never lived without the war. "I rather miss the horses, to be honest."
                  Potentially Problematic

                  Report | 12/14/2011 7:44 pm

                  Potentially Problematic

                  Gladly. *she removed her visor, revealing...nothing. There were no eyes behind the visor, because they would have been superfluous. She handed the visor to the Doctor, and once he was wearing it, she recited a command in a flat monotone* Video play back: folder: Compound. Files: All. *it was a jumble of rapid video files, most silent but some with Lurker's cold, clinical narration. A military compound of some sort, scientists milling about a lab and working feverishly on perfecting cloning technology so that maybe they could at least bring back some of the animals that had been lost, human subjects screaming from the back rooms, a small gaggle of young men that had been...warped and were now as much machine as men, those same men in suits of armor hurling each other around a practice arena as easily as a child might lift a pencil. And then outside the gates of the compound, where there was...very little. Desert, barren save for a few clumps of scrubby trees, despite Lurker's disinterested comments about the compound being in the middle of the Appalachian mountains, and a lonely road stretching endlessly away from the compound gates. Finally, a ship of massive proportions blotting out the sun, someone screaming in the background for everyone to get inside, and then it frizzed into static* Has your curiosity been assuaged?