| Date: 26 December 2007
Characters: Jack Harkness, Adric Location: hotel lobby, hotel bar Link to IJ: thread #19871 |
 One minute Jack was chatting with his ship's computer, sipping a HyperMartini and contemplating what it would feel like to be blown to smithereens-the next, he was sitting in what appeared to be a hotel lounge, empty glass in his hand. He considered himself lucky that his death had been quick and painless, but he wasn't quite sure why the afterlife entailed mid-21st Century furniture in neutral colors and tastefully subdued wood paneling.
"Could be worse," he told himself, looking around. But something was tickling at the back of his skull, that same subtle feeling he's learned to listen to in order to stay out of danger's way. It told him something was amiss, and he wasn't one to ignore his gut feeling when it spoke. Pulling himself to his feet, he straightened his uniform jacket and put on his most charming smile when he heard footsteps coming toward the entry. |
 Adric had explored as far as he'd felt like the last few days. And as much as he liked the library, there was one major limitation of it. There wasn't anywhere that he could get a snack. He'd headed all the way back to the main lounge, a book tucked under his arm as he stepped into the area, glancing over at the man that was standing there.
Lifting an eyebrow slightly at the expression, Adric paused in the doorway, staring for a moment before clearing his throat, "May I help you?" |
| "Yeah, hope so," Jack grinned. "Seem to have arrived without an itinerary. Where have I landed?" |
| "Hard to say," Adric said as he crossed the room, dropping his book onto one of the tables as he headed over to the bar near the back of the room, hefting himself up onto it and then dropping over to the other side, digging through the nonperishables items stuffed down there to go along with the drinks. "Do you need a solid answer, or would a halfcocked guesstimation work for you?" |
| Jack followed him to the bar after glancing at the title of the book. "I'll take whatever you can give me, since the last thing I remember was being on board my... vehicle. You here by yourself?" He leaned over the bar, watching as the boy rummaged in whatever was kept back there. From the looks of what he could see, he wasn't back in the 1940s, either. |
| "Technically, I arrived on my own. But I'm not the only one here, no," Adric said as he tossed a few packets of crisps onto the top of the bar before popping back up from under it and hefting himself over again. Honestly, he didn't have to go over it that way, but walking all the way to the end of the bar just to go through the little door thing seemed ridiculous.
Picking up his book Mathematical Aspects of String Theory, Adric slipped onto one of the stools and glanced over at Jack, "Apparently, we're out of time." |
| Jack's gaze lingered on him for a moment, eyebrows knitting before he shoved up a sleeve and flipped open his Manipulator. He punched a few buttons and only got a sad bloop. He tapped at it again, frowning, and finally flipped it closed. "Pretty heavy reading for someone your age. Well, for someone of any age, really. And do you mean out of time," he gestured with his hands, then shoved them in his trouser pockets. "Or out of time." |
| "This?" Adric asked, holding up the book before popping open one of the crisp packets, giving a slight shrug. "This is child's play. They're still only working within three dimensions," He said, popping a crisp into his mouth before turning the packet toward Jack.
"And it's hard to say exactly. Shouldn't be possible, but hell if I know," Adric said, shrugging. "The Doctor didn't even have any idea what was going on. Best explanation he could come up with was magic." |
| Jack smiled his thanks as he fished a crisp out of the bag and popped it in his mouth. "Doctor, you said? This wouldn't be The Doctor, would it? Big ears, leather jacket?" |
| "This would be The Doctor who has this annoying habit of changing his appearance on the people who know him," Adric said, popping another crisp into his mouth as he pondered. How many regenerations did that make that he knew of?
"The Doctor I ran into here was tall and skinny with brown hair, wearing a suit," Adric said, opening his book to scan it. |
| "Hm. Well not my Doctor, then," Jack mused. "But a Doctor... interesting. How many others are here, would you say? Anyone in charge, or does everyone just run amok lifting chips and reading string theory texts?" |
| "It's the same Doctor," Adric said with a slight sigh. "It's rather hard to explain unless you've seen it happen, but there's this process that Time Lords have in order to cheat death called regeneration. They completely change their cellular structure, appearance and all. I've seen two, not counting the one that I just told you about. As far as others... Well, there's a few. I haven't talked to many people, but I've seen plenty wandering around."
At the question of someone being in charge, Adric just smirked, "You expect someone to be in charge of chaos?" He asked before glancing over at Jack, studying his outfit. "Hrm. Military man. Guess you do expect someone to be in charge of chaos, then." |
| Jack glanced down at himself. "Just like to know what I've walked into and whether I need to steer clear-" he flashed a grin, "or seek out."
He leaned in close, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Don't let the uniform fool you. A lot of fun can be had from chaos-don't let anyone tell you any different." He leaned back and stuck out a hand. "Cap'n Jack Harkness." |
| Adric grinned slightly, shaking his head. This man was much more personable than he could have managed with a gun to his head. "Adric," He said, setting his book down and taking the extended hand, shaking it.
"I don't think you really have anything to worry about as far as it comes to steering clear of anyone," Adric said. "But as it is, my best advice is to settle in for the long haul." |
| "I'll take that under advisement," Jack said and winked. "Thanks, Adric." Long haul. But time was relative, and just a few minutes ago he's had very few choices. He'd much rather take this hand than the original one he'd been dealt. |