Time And Relative Dimension In Space ("Sexy") (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stole_a_time_lord) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
milliways_bar2013-06-04 08:24 pm
stole_a_time_lord) wrote in milliways_bar2013-06-04 08:24 pm
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(no subject)
This holiday is excellent.
Earlier, the TARDIS read the explanatory screen from end to beginning, and again, starting somewhere in the middle.
She likes middles. So much of things is made up of middles.
She's in the middle of something right now.
Specifically, she's in the middle of the floor of a 1960s British Police Box, which she built almost entirely out of blue Legos, and some black ones and white ones, and the occasional purple one, here and there.
It's smaller on the inside than she was expecting, but at least the doors open out the way, properly, when you pull them, as you should, rather than push them, as he does.
She has also, after careful review of her options, acquired webby finny fishy hands. And those, in turn, have required the acquisition of pudding.
So. One TARDIS. Sitting in a replica of a 1960s Police Box. With fish fingers. And custard.
[OOC: Slowtime please, as of 10:20 EDT. My brain has gone all . . . custardy. :) Please, no new tag ins. Thanks!]
Earlier, the TARDIS read the explanatory screen from end to beginning, and again, starting somewhere in the middle.
She likes middles. So much of things is made up of middles.
She's in the middle of something right now.
Specifically, she's in the middle of the floor of a 1960s British Police Box, which she built almost entirely out of blue Legos, and some black ones and white ones, and the occasional purple one, here and there.
It's smaller on the inside than she was expecting, but at least the doors open out the way, properly, when you pull them, as you should, rather than push them, as he does.
She has also, after careful review of her options, acquired webby finny fishy hands. And those, in turn, have required the acquisition of pudding.
So. One TARDIS. Sitting in a replica of a 1960s Police Box. With fish fingers. And custard.
[OOC: Slowtime please, as of 10:20 EDT. My brain has gone all . . . custardy. :) Please, no new tag ins. Thanks!]
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There are beads in it, and at the very end of it -- a star.
It is still young.
"Mostly I am for hiding it. While it is sleeping, yes?"
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It's very pretty.
"You have a chameleon circuit."
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"Mostly it is clay, yes?"
Once it was stone.
Bodies are tricksy like that.
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"Like pottery.
"And bricks."
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Coyote makes very good ones.
When she does not make ones that explode.
Or melt.
Still.
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"It hasn't been fired."
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"Flesh is mostly for burning, yes? But that, I am thinking, is easily fixed."
Raven cheats, you see.
And reality is always obliging.
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"Flesh bodies."
She's never had one before.
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"Clay is not so much better, I am thinking. For things that are bigger on the inside, yes?"
She snags another cookie out of her own pocket, leaning forward to shove it in the TARDIS' mouth.
"Some fuel is for burning faster. So."
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(Biscuit.)
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Inhales the cookie might be a more accurate descriptor.
"Yes and no. It depends on where you are looking from, I think."
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Beat.
"Where do you look to?"
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"Mostly from both sides of a doorway."
Thresholds, man. They are even tricksier than time.
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"Do you push or pull the doors?"
This is important.
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"That, I am thinking, is depending on the hinge."
It is the universe's best-kept secret.
Wait.
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The TARDIS approves.
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Gently.
"That, perhaps, is not so much of a surprise."
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"But perhaps it is."
That's the wonderful thing about perhapses.
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Fair play happens to other . . . . kind-of-people.