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The TARDIS is asleep.

Sleeping is new and strange and rather excellent, all things considered, in her opinion. All non-essential functions just power down for a while, all at once and all on their own. And then there are the bits of your mind that you never really pay proper attention to when things are going mad all around you, and they get so busy once you've largely powered everything else down, putting together all sorts of wonderful things you can think about when you wake up. Unless, of course, you wake up to find that something else interesting and wonderful and perhaps a bit mad is already going on, in which case your attention may be engaged elsewhere.

Rather like right now, when the TARDIS has woken to discover there's a small, glowing, changing person -- no, not a person, not quite. Like a person, though. Or close enough.

So, a small, glowing, changing not-quite-a-person watching her.

The TARDIS smiles.

"Hello."

(no subject)

Honestly, does he think she turns warning lights on for her health?

Well, actually, that's exactly why she does it. Her health, his health, the health of the pretty one and the orangey girl.

She doesn't just gad about, turning on warning lights on a whim.

But, no. He won't bother to figure out why she might be turning them on, never mind making them blink. He'll just complain about them and hit the console and kick things.

Which will hardly help with anything at all.

And then he'll wander off to check his post.

In three . . .

two . . .

one . . .

"I've got mail!"

And now, now he just wants to pop out of the universe for a moment.

It's really very difficult. And unsettling.

After all, how would he feel if she decided it was quite all right to burn up his swimming pool and scullery and seventh squash court?

Oh, wait. He doesn't have any of those, does he?

Anyway, they're gone now, without so much as a by your leave.

Ah, well. She'll just have to put the archive back in order later.

Sooner.

One or the other.

At some point when they're not . . . when they're not . . .

When they're . . .

When she's . . .

Well.

This is new.

This is different.

This is where she's never, ever been.

She's gone all . . . squishy. Squishysquashysoft.

She's got hands.

Look at that.

Hands.

And fingers.

Lots of fingers.

And teeth. New teeth. That's weird. Teeth at all. That's weird.

Oh, the possibilities of teeth.

And hair. The hair. It just doesn't stop, does it?

And legs. Legs, now those are important, or so she thinks.

There's something very important with legs. What is it?

And do you move them both at once or one after the other?

Whoops, wobble. That was a wobble, wasn't it?

She's gone all wobbly.

That's her.

Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff.

Up-and-downy stuff in a big blue box.

No, not in a box.

In a party dress.

With legs.

And those are important.

But why are they important?

Ah, yes.

Because of the running.

There's a ridiculous amount of running.

She should get on that.

No time like the present.

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Notes and Details

A Couple (Give or Take) of Things to Know About the TARDIS (and Her Mun):

1. She doesn't exactly exist linearly. She exists across all time and space, and therefore she has a habit of doing things like answering questions that haven't been asked (or even thought of) yet. She may well do that while talking to you, BUT

2. Unless you've told me there's something you'd like her to tell your pup, that's more likely to manifest in things like thanking the waitrat for a drink she hasn't ordered yet, or saying "bless you" in response to a sneeze that hasn't been sneezed. SO

3. If there is something you'd like her to mention, get in touch and we'll see what we can work out. She tends to be a bit oblique/cryptic, but we can talk about the details. SPEAKING OF WHICH

4. The mun is reasonably conversant with the adventures of Doctors Nine, Ten, and Eleven, but hasn't seen more than clips of Doctors One through Eight. Remedying this is on her To Do list, but her To Do list is a vast and complicated thing, and it's likely to be a while. If there's something the TARDIS and I need to know about from Earlier Days, please let me know. I'll do my best to accommodate people.

Questions/Comments/Requests? Leave me a comment here, ping me (elsinorequeen on AIM), send a message or an e-mail (elsinorequeen(at)gmail(dot)com), and I'll get back to you!

Thanks!

(no subject)

The Doctor: I don't understand. Who are you?
Idris: You really not know me? Just because they put me in here?
The Doctor: They said you're dangerous.
Idris: Oh, not the cage, stupid.
[Touches her head]
Idris: In here. They put me in here. I'm the...
[stops]
Idris: What do you call me, ah... We travel. I go
[makes the TARDIS sound]
The Doctor: [half smiling] The TARDIS?
Idris: Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. Yes, that's it. Names are funny. It's me. I'm the TARDIS.
The Doctor: No, you're not. You're a bitey mad lady. The TARDIS is up-and-downy stuff in a big blue box.
Idris: Yes, that's me. A type 40 TARDIS. I was already a museum piece when you were young. And the first time you touched my console, you said...
The Doctor: I said you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever known.
Idris: Then you stole me. And I stole you.
The Doctor: [pauses] I borrowed you.
Idris: 'Borrowing' implies the eventual intention to return the thing that it was taken. What makes you think I would ever give you back?
The Doctor: [Slowly turns and looks suspiciously at her] You're the TARDIS.
Idris: Yes!
The Doctor: My TARDIS!
Idris: My Doctor! Oh, we have now reached to the point of the conversation where you open the lock.