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hh_mirror2011-03-13 07:55 pm
a-bit-put-upon.livejournal.com) wrote in hh_mirror2011-03-13 07:55 pm
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So what do bookworms eat? [Fifth Doctor and OPEN!]
Days, maybe, but as far as the Doctor was concerned, it could have been hours for all the attention he paid his immediate surroundings. His first goal, of course, had been to get outside as quickly as possible; the faintly Escheresque quality of the castle's interiors were disconcerting at best, and reminiscent of muddled times alongside. The grounds and surrounding lands, though still unfamiliar, were far more welcoming to his senses.
Even if the populace wasn't.
Nothing like pursuit by an impressive assortment of intriguing creatures to get the hearts in shape and the mind sorted out, apparently. Perhaps he'd go back and make peace with them later.
Having escaped barely unscathed and with a distressing handful of tearing and stains on his coat, the Doctor decided that perhaps exploring the castle itself would be a good idea after all. After being sidetracked frequently by a number of talking paintings (some indignant, of course, upon having their basis of existence challenged and their frames prodded in search of transmission devices) and strange visions (also indignant upon being told to return to their proper energy planes, because, of course, ghosts don't exist), he'd managed to acquire a room of his own somehow, where his coat rested until he could learn to mend it himself, and his hat kept it company. He then got himself more or less directed to the library, where he spent what most humans would consider an embarrassing amount of time simply getting lost among the rows. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to find no direct references to his presence or influence in the immediately available historical documents, though this Merlin fellow sounded somewhat familiar. Better to pursue that concept later on, though.
With better footing after that, despite how few familiar subjects he could find amidst the archives, the Doctor set to work educating himself about his surroundings. It wouldn't be fair, would it, to condemn the place for the intentions of a few denizens, and wouldn't it be his luck to land here in some other time zone by courtesy of the TARDIS? Earth itself had been a prison for a time, after all, and he loved it no less than he had before his sentence.
And so it was that now, some several days after his release, the Doctor could be found at a massive reading table, surrounded by codices of theory, numerology, defence, herbal maintenance and utility, potions and the like, nearly hidden behind the stacks with his nose buried in Hogwarts, A History. He'd decided several times over to stop and seek out a cup of tea, but he could never tear himself away from a good story.
Even if the populace wasn't.
Nothing like pursuit by an impressive assortment of intriguing creatures to get the hearts in shape and the mind sorted out, apparently. Perhaps he'd go back and make peace with them later.
Having escaped barely unscathed and with a distressing handful of tearing and stains on his coat, the Doctor decided that perhaps exploring the castle itself would be a good idea after all. After being sidetracked frequently by a number of talking paintings (some indignant, of course, upon having their basis of existence challenged and their frames prodded in search of transmission devices) and strange visions (also indignant upon being told to return to their proper energy planes, because, of course, ghosts don't exist), he'd managed to acquire a room of his own somehow, where his coat rested until he could learn to mend it himself, and his hat kept it company. He then got himself more or less directed to the library, where he spent what most humans would consider an embarrassing amount of time simply getting lost among the rows. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to find no direct references to his presence or influence in the immediately available historical documents, though this Merlin fellow sounded somewhat familiar. Better to pursue that concept later on, though.
With better footing after that, despite how few familiar subjects he could find amidst the archives, the Doctor set to work educating himself about his surroundings. It wouldn't be fair, would it, to condemn the place for the intentions of a few denizens, and wouldn't it be his luck to land here in some other time zone by courtesy of the TARDIS? Earth itself had been a prison for a time, after all, and he loved it no less than he had before his sentence.
And so it was that now, some several days after his release, the Doctor could be found at a massive reading table, surrounded by codices of theory, numerology, defence, herbal maintenance and utility, potions and the like, nearly hidden behind the stacks with his nose buried in Hogwarts, A History. He'd decided several times over to stop and seek out a cup of tea, but he could never tear himself away from a good story.
no subject
With a blink, he wraps that train of thought neatly away for later, instead focusing on the words that startled him in the first place.
"I, ah... well, if they're listed, or in a readily accessible archive, I'll be happy to. Have you got any notion of where I might find a countering article?"
no subject
I shrug and open the book. Starting with a completely unfamiliar language, I decide to try for letters, first, rapidly making a count of which characters are used and how frequently. A 'Rosetta Stone' would help, but all I have to work with is Kusu's wards and those only use a very limited number of symbols. I also want to try and do this without that damn old fox knowing, too.
"The centaurs in the forest keep an oral tradition. The house elves don't say much." I look at him a moment. "The centaurs aren't fond of the students here."
no subject
"They're not fond of very much in the way of whatever looks human, are they?" he replies with a grimace, involuntarily shifting on his seat. Despite the trance state he'd undergone to heal from that encounter, his side still smarts from the glancing arrow, and he's fairly certain he'd do well not to attribute the lack of fatal wounds to any sort of bad marksmanship.
Not that he blames them--most hybrid species in the more popular galaxies, or even seemingly hybrid, tend to prefer solitude, especially when sharing a world with humans.
"You'd suggest spoken lore, then? Have you got any idea of what might be considered tokens of respect amongst these races?"