This entry is an excuse for this icon.

[triedunture]

I haz no write. D: I am going to try to do 20 minutes straight of something. Plz to be forgiving teh crap?

<><><><>

One of the walls turns into a mirror, which is handy.

Off comes the fuzzy dressing gown still laden with fruit that's been stashed in the pockets. Off goes the worn house slippers, kicked into the corner of the shifting, living, breathing room. Off with the pyjama shirt and the striped pyjama trousers.

No underthings. Understandable, but still not pleasant to consider. The Doctor thinks about Jackie's perennial leer, and he frowns in an exaggerated manner, his lower lip folding over itself.

This new body will take some getting used to. It's more elastic than the last. The Doctor leans close to the new mirror, peering intently at his fresh face, pulling his muscles into all the expressions he can think of: a too-wide manic grin, a wrinkled brow of confusion, an open-mouthed gasp of surprise, an angry glare of melting hatred.

'It'll do, I suppose,' he murmurs when he runs out of looks to try. The forced emotions trickle off his face and he stares at the blankness of it. He examines the rest; wry limbs, thin torso, freckled shoulders, strangely shaped feet. He wriggles his bare toes against the warm metal floor of the TARDIS.

'This one needs something more flash,' he decides, and the TARDIS obliges with racks of clothing, costumes of every era and colour. The suit and tie are easy decisions. He's too thin this time around, and maybe a proper suit will lend that extra bit of gravitas he needs. Or it'll just make him look ridiculous, and either way is fine, really. The coat is good. Useful. Lots of pockets.

The canvas shoes will fit his new feet perfectly. And his new fingers itch for them. (Sometimes it's hard to tell what a new body wants. But this body is speaking loud and clear.) The Doctor laces them up without a moment's hesitation.

He looks into the mirror once more. Spins to see from all angles. It's missing something, some affectation, something that will make him look trustworthy to the humans he admires so well.

The TARDIS hums. She knows.

The eyeglasses are waiting for him in the wardrobe. Just black frames, false glass, no real magnification. He doesn't actually need reading glasses; his eyes are brand new after all. But there's something comforting about pulling those eyeglasses out of their little case and slipping them on.

The mirror shows a near-human. The Doctor grins, pleased. He slides the glasses off and folds them into his breast pocket. He makes so few concessions to decorum, puts forth so little effort to blend in to his surroundings. This one thing, he can do. If for no other reason than it brings him pleasure to see himself in glasses, like a real person.

'Doctor?' Rose calls from somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS. 'Where've you gone?'

The Doctor can hear the trepidation in her voice. She hasn't yet learned to trust him completely. He's not her Doctor. Not yet.

He puts the eyeglasses back on and opens the door, ready to present his new self for inspection. 'Right here, Rose,' he calls, and walks lightly to break in the stiff shoes.

Comments

[blackletter]

Awesome! I love the making of faces in the mirror, trying out new expressions (or rather old expressions on a new face).

BTW, I don't know if anyone else has pointed this out to you yet, but there's a fab index of all things Whovian. (Which, given the lenth and craziness of the canon is wild and oftentimes totally inconsistant and everyone (including the current writing team) makes free to pick and choose the bits they like and ignore other bits...but it's great for browsing and getting ideas.)

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Ohhhh, thank you for the link. I got a whacky idea this morning during the commute, and this might be a good place to start looking if someone else has had the same idea.

[random-nexus.livejournal.com]

*waiting for teh crap*
*waiting.......*

Sorry, we are seeing none of teh crap. Only the fun happy good writings. Will return for crap another day, but without expectations of receiving.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Oh, p'shaw. It's crappy crap from Craptown USA.

[favoritedarknes.livejournal.com]

*grins like a maniac*
Oh this is good.. you, you're good *points finger*
Loved it :-)

Plz to be forgiving teh crap? Sorry, no crap here.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

*pleased bobble-smile* Thanks much. Though it's still crap.

[cestlavieminako.livejournal.com]

What crap? I think this is quite good!

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Thanks, but I'm still a wobbly baby bird of a Who fan.

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Hee, nice icon.

And *nicer* fic. I think you might've restored a modicum of my fading Ten!squee.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

I'm so far behind! Just as everyone's getting over Ten, I'm getting into it!

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Not a problem! Means you'll be up to speed by the time the chap in my icon turns up.

He doesn't actually need reading glasses; his eyes are brand new after all. But there's something comforting about pulling those eyeglasses out of their little case and slipping them on.

...dude. Have you seen the skit called "Time Crash"? (It should be on YouTube if you haven't.) That's totally what happens!

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Jesus christ! Who is so huge, I know all my Clever Ideas are already gonna be done! :D

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Is OK! You'll probably end up doing them better than anyone else!

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Yeah right. I mean, I'll give it my best shot, but y'all are like the cool teens, smoking season 4 cigarettes behind the grocery store while I'm still playing with my season 3 tricycle.

[pinglederry.livejournal.com]

Psht. Tricycles are cool. :)