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calufrax2009-02-25 09:42 am
garpu.livejournal.com) wrote in calufrax2009-02-25 09:42 am
Entry tags:
Somnambulists, ClocketPatch
Story: Somnambulists
Author: ClocketPatch
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 15259
Author's Summary: "We live to survive our paradoxes."--The Tragically Hip
Characters: The Doctor
Warnings: None
This fic is delightfully trippy, but if you hang with it, you'll be rewarded. It takes what the Cartmel Masterplan intended and combines it with the New Who mythos surrounding the Doctor. ClocketPatch captures just how alien the Academy and Time Lords are.
Dust choked the Academy.
Hoards of nano-robots kept the arched umber walls and geometric floors shined and repaired to sterile newness. No shadows lurked between doorframes or beside corners. It was a clean place, a bright place, which moved with succinct order and precision, and the dust, The Dust! thrived in the sweet glowing halls and classrooms.
Invisible. Pervasive. Cloying.
Students travelled from class to lecture to leisure in measured steps to the tick of a shared internal clock. The rhythm unaltered for millennia: A culmination of lives and ash washed together to same dead end. Grey-robed grim tumbling down the corridors of eternity. All waiting. All ready to end. Because someone had pierced the veil.
There was a boy. He wore regulation student robes over his regulation child body; grey on dark leanness. He did not attend class or leisure, but spent his time in the in-between.
He had been a student at the grand and noble Prydonian Academy for over a century. A child pacing a blinding-bright womb, following the beat with eyes closed to the moth-flame, adding his dreams to the dust — but then, as the decades blended, his dreams, among the millions, rose from their discard to haunt him. A chilly phoenix rising from the grave to find…. What?
He didn’t remember them, not at first, but when he woke from his rest periods he shivered with warmth and ached for knowledge. He tried to satisfy the need by studying harder — more, more, more — pounding himself dry with facts and figures until his thoughts twisted into numbers and he couldn’t think without computing his ideas into sums.
But the dreams, the greedy red-rimmed fire birds, remained thirsty.
Author: ClocketPatch
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 15259
Author's Summary: "We live to survive our paradoxes."--The Tragically Hip
Characters: The Doctor
Warnings: None
This fic is delightfully trippy, but if you hang with it, you'll be rewarded. It takes what the Cartmel Masterplan intended and combines it with the New Who mythos surrounding the Doctor. ClocketPatch captures just how alien the Academy and Time Lords are.
Dust choked the Academy.
Hoards of nano-robots kept the arched umber walls and geometric floors shined and repaired to sterile newness. No shadows lurked between doorframes or beside corners. It was a clean place, a bright place, which moved with succinct order and precision, and the dust, The Dust! thrived in the sweet glowing halls and classrooms.
Invisible. Pervasive. Cloying.
Students travelled from class to lecture to leisure in measured steps to the tick of a shared internal clock. The rhythm unaltered for millennia: A culmination of lives and ash washed together to same dead end. Grey-robed grim tumbling down the corridors of eternity. All waiting. All ready to end. Because someone had pierced the veil.
There was a boy. He wore regulation student robes over his regulation child body; grey on dark leanness. He did not attend class or leisure, but spent his time in the in-between.
He had been a student at the grand and noble Prydonian Academy for over a century. A child pacing a blinding-bright womb, following the beat with eyes closed to the moth-flame, adding his dreams to the dust — but then, as the decades blended, his dreams, among the millions, rose from their discard to haunt him. A chilly phoenix rising from the grave to find…. What?
He didn’t remember them, not at first, but when he woke from his rest periods he shivered with warmth and ached for knowledge. He tried to satisfy the need by studying harder — more, more, more — pounding himself dry with facts and figures until his thoughts twisted into numbers and he couldn’t think without computing his ideas into sums.
But the dreams, the greedy red-rimmed fire birds, remained thirsty.
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