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Post by The Eighth Doctor on Dec 20, 2010 8:59:46 GMT -5
After a few more moments' scrutiny the Eighth turned back into the ballroom, almost colliding with the man he had seen before, near his Sixth Incarnite. "Oh I beg your pardon! I wasn't looking where I was going!"
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Post by The Tenth Doctor on Dec 24, 2010 10:35:47 GMT -5
Tyler glanced at the man who had almost bumped into him. Looking him over, he immediately knew that this man wasn't fashionable. Actually, come to think of it, his brother was the only fashionable one there. Not really knowing how to answer a human, he replied.
"That is all right....people are not dressed very fashionably here..can you tell me why?"
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Post by Bryan Wilkeson on Dec 24, 2010 11:04:09 GMT -5
"Tyler, I don't think it is a good idea to make assumptions based on your brother's style. It seems to me that the locals would determine what is fashionable," Kyra sent to him as she clung to his arm. She looked at the man he bumped into, not really recognizing him, though he felt somewhat familiar. She smiled and said, "Hello."
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Post by Issildia Nevar on Dec 30, 2010 10:22:00 GMT -5
Issildia's lips tightened into a thin pallid line as the foolish guard ordered her downstairs. Still, she was done playing the part of the frail Lady Alice Trevena, she was done toying with these men. The damage had certainty been irrevocably done and it was time to bring some well needed silence to the Queens budding Torchwood Institute tonight.
Her ebony locks swayed about her shoulders, every strand softly swinging as though time had decided to take a slower pace as the huntress strode out towards the guardsman.
The rigid array of training Issildia had endured to evolve into the creature she was now rose boldly into the forefront of her mind. Most of the combative arts shared the same core lesson. Never waste your efforts or energy, one step, one twitch of a wrist can eventually be turned into something with a far deadlier intent. Move fluidly and never waste momentum and use your opponents strength to your advantage.
Her cerulean eyes flickered like the chilling gaze of an incensed viper among the torchlight, that frigid stare centered in on the man alone.
In that singular moment that her swift walk turned into a brief charge to close the distance upon the guard who surely would have now caught on to the threat before him, Issildia immediately reached brutally out towards his sheathed sword. Not to remove the weapon from him, no, but to merely keep the blade hidden away in its leather bound home where it was less of a threat. Issildia knew that it took little physical pressure to keep a sheathed weapon from being drawn, and she needed only mere seconds to finish the deed.
Simultaneously as her coiling right hand swept forward to silence his weapon her carefully sculpted musculature became known as her slender form tensed, tendons and ligaments moving in utter symphony.
The silken expanse of her gown rose rather unladylike upwards to her thigh as her left leg snapped out in a precise swiveling kick towards the man's skull towards the rather softly encased temple. It was the most preferable place to strike the human head as it provided minimal protection to the brain. Issildia only hoped she was able to fully silence the man before an alarm was raised.
This entire performance took not even the semblance of a duo of seconds. Whether or not the man evaded her efforts was up to his training, and perhaps a bit of luck.
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Post by The Eighth Doctor on Dec 31, 2010 11:07:12 GMT -5
"Well, I guess it all depends on what one's taste in fashion is," the Eighth replied. "Sometimes mere age can alter one's own taste. Just a short time ago I prefered a long wool jacket, a felt hat and a scarf twenty feet long! Then it seemed a more subdued cream suit was more..well...suitable. After that....." he gave a short laugh at himself. "Let's just say my taste went a bit awry at that point!"
Thinking of his Sixth self reminded him to look around. It was hard to think such an outfit would be hard to spot but he didn't catch any flash of the reds, orange or yellow and black anywhere in the crowd. 'I wonder where I went and what I was doing here?' he mused. 'Odd, very very odd indeed.'
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Post by The Tenth Doctor on Jan 1, 2011 19:21:05 GMT -5
The man immediately realized that this woman was a fighter, and someone who had training....possibly someone who was with the enemy of Torchwood...the enemy known as the Doctor. He attempted to roll away from the female, moving as fast as he could, but wasn't sure that it was quite fast enough.
_________
Tyler sent to Kyra, "Well, I'm not human...I don't visit this planet...my brother does, and he would know what was in style and what wasn't."
Out loud Tyler replied, "Yes, I suppose it does....but how is E....fashion decided upon, anyway? Who gets to decide?"
Tyler frowned at Eight's list of his choice of garments. None of those sounded like Six's outfit. Perhaps they were among the lower class. Even if they were, Tyler didn't mind. He actually preferred more common folks. Realizing that these must be commoners, his face turned somewhat red.
"I....I....I was mistaken. I am sorry," he quickly spoke to Eight.
Tyler, embarrassed, wondered how he might be able to get around with these humans all around.
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Post by Bryan Wilkeson on Jan 1, 2011 23:31:22 GMT -5
Kyra giggled a little. "Sounds like someone we know." She kept from looking to where she remembered her brother-in-law being. She looked to Tyler. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it."
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Post by The Eighth Doctor on Jan 3, 2011 14:57:08 GMT -5
'Who gets to decide, hmmm. A very good question." Eight pondered it for a moment. How -did- Earth fashions get decided upon anyway? "I suppose what's available would be the first consideration," he decided. "Then if one of an exalted state, royalty for example, was seen to wear a certain style of clothing, or color or even a hairstyle, those in the lower classes would try to imitate it as best they could. To try to fit themselves as the same frame, as it were. Then politics came and any in power were imitated. Then the idea of imports became the rage for some reason. Anything from Paris, for example, simply -must- be fashionable!"
He gave a wry laugh. "Of course little thought is given to comfort, or even practicality! Can you imagine wearing any of those outfits in a safari? Or even to be caught out in bad weather in them!" He gave his own bottle green jacket a self-concious brush and tug. "Although this jacket may seem posh, it's seen a lot of action, I can tell you!"
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Post by The Tenth Doctor on Jan 4, 2011 22:01:49 GMT -5
Tyler glanced at Eight, completely confused by the safari reference. He had no translation for safari, as the Doctor's TARDIS wouldn't translate the word for him into something he could understand in Gallifreyan.
"I'm sorry....what is a safari?" he asked.
He wanted to be able to understand Earth language, but he had no idea what this safari thing was, so he didn't know of a way to reply to it. Tyler heard the rest of what Eight said, the logic completely confusing him. Why would anyone want to imitate someone else in what they wore? Didn't humans have a more sensible system -- such as official clothing? Apparently not.
He felt stupid for having to ask the question. He was certain that this human would think him an idiot to ask what a safari was, but he needed to know. Perhaps it was the most important thing in human society.
Tyler smiled at his girlfriend, "Yeah...maybe...but he does know about fashion."
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Post by The Eighth Doctor on Jan 6, 2011 8:01:24 GMT -5
The Eighth slightly raised an eyebrow at the question but then dimissed it. Perhaps this gentleman was a foreigner, or someone who was fortunate enough to gain riches recently to rise from the lower classes. It was sad to think that for all the wonderous things humans could create, there were always some who fell back, to become the poor, the unwanted, the dregs. Of what use was the knowledge of a safari to one who didn't know where their next meal was coming from?
"A safari? An excursion for the wealthy," he explained. "They go out to what they considered 'uncharted wilderness' and shoot any animal that lifts a fang at them. Then they pose for pictures and hire someone to drag it all back to be mounted on the walls of their homes. Personally I prefer butterflies, they're so much harder to catch. Oh you wouldn't think it but try snaring a birdwing with a 6-inch net, running to keep up with it and making sure you don't trip and fall yourself! Then there's the delicate matter of making sure you don't harm the creature. Very delicate things, butterflies."
He paused a moment to reflect on the butterfly room he had in the TARDIS. When he felt tense and a bit overwhelmed a short visit there with those marvelous creatures flitting about did wonders to sooth the mind. He had no idea how many there were or even if he had caught each of them or they had begun to interbreed, he just made sure there were plenty of flowers, bushes and such for them to survive and thrive there. He gave a wistful smile. He hadn't been there in quite a while so he made a mental note to make it his first stop when he returned to the TARDIS.
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Post by Issildia Nevar on Jan 6, 2011 11:19:00 GMT -5
The man dropped to the floor in an attempted roll as Issildia's leg impacted the bare wall, sending a cloud of dust into the air. She reacted immediately, though to be quite blunt her face displayed a look of subdued surprise. Still she had not put it past some of the guards to at least be able to put up some sort of resistance.
Her only fear was the man sounding the alarm before she was able to silence him fully.
Following abruptly after him the cerulean eyed assassin allowed her leg to return to the ground before she struck outwardly like a pitiless serpent. For the shortest of moments her eyes met his own, sapphire meeting amber in a rush of adrenaline. Alien and foreign, and a whisper of malice glittered amid those blue orbs as the scene rocketed forward, Issildia's body tensing like a fully drawn bow.
She dropped with him to match his rate of decent in order to force the full extent of her highly attuned musculature upon him as her left hand outstretched like a talon, seeking his unprotected windpipe before the man had the chance to cry out or resist.
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Post by The Tenth Doctor on Jan 6, 2011 18:58:58 GMT -5
Tyler blinked at Eight's answer, clearly not understanding the human logic of it. "I...oh....is it something that humans do often?"
Tyler glanced at Eight. He assumed that humans knew about aliens, so he thought nothing of his question to Eight. He also had no knowledge of human accents or different languages.
Tyler smiled at Eight's butterfly comment. So butterflies also existed on Earth. "Butterflies are nice," Tyler agreed. "I like them...so beautiful."
He glanced at his wife to see what her reaction to this safari thing would be.
___________________
When the man realized what this woman was trying to do, he tried to protect his windpipe and fight her back.
"You scum..." he managed to get out.
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Post by Issildia Nevar on Jan 7, 2011 13:31:36 GMT -5
(Taking some liberty with the guard's actions and his struggle. Feel free to decide the outcome)
That same emotionless veil that rose up every time Issildia's blood raged amid the fervor of combat took hold of her now as her lips curved into the shadow of a haunted smile.
"Scum? My...little..toy..soldier..." She whispered harshly as the man struggled to pry her hands from his throat. She brought her lips to his ear as her thumbs found purchase against his throat and began to apply force, not against the bare wind pipe but up against opposing sides of his jawline against his jugular veins; pressing heavily to shut off blood flow to the brain.
Those frost edged eyes tore into his own, neglectful of his expression of raw panic as he struck out against her, tearing at the delicate silk of her gown, ripping at the neckline. In doing so he pulled away the fabric which covered her right shoulder revealing the bare olive skin. The guardsman retched forward as Issildia ignored his actions, keeping her hands firmly fixed about his next until his brain began to starve for oxygen. Briefly his own dirty rarely clipped nails raked across her shoulder leaving behind a bloody scratch.
Yet in the scarlet wake of his actions a small patch of that bare skin began to strangely darken into a shape that even this Victorian era human might recognize.
A small interlocking "T" shaped figure of interlocking hexagons circled by some alien script closely laced together with a set of numbers listed just under the tattoo.
"2-563"
The tattoo began to fade as quickly as it had appeared as the faint scratch ceased its brief stint of bleeding. Still if the man was indeed a Torchwood agent of the Queen's he would have recognized it.
Issildia merely allowed a slight expression of disappointment to fall across her features as she leaned forward again to his ear, her voice brutal yet still strangely clinging to a thread of bitter sorrow.
"I am what you will become..." She uttered cruely, her hands shivering with anger as her grip strengthened with every intent to squeeze the life out of him. Giving him no chance to reply.
"Tell me....here with your life at its end." Issildia whispered.
"Does that bring you comfort?"
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Post by The Tenth Doctor on Jan 7, 2011 20:20:18 GMT -5
The guard shivered at this woman's words. So this woman was a Torchwood Agent as well. But how had she gotten there? A female agent, nonetheless. A look of disgust crossed his face. How had a female been allowed into the organization? What was the Queen or King thinking?
The guard wondered why this Torchwood Agent from the future would seek to kill Torchwood agents in the past. That seemed to defeat the purpose. Perhaps this woman was out to destroy Torchwood, and the tattoo was just a trick?
Gritting his teeth, his mind was becoming more and more foggy due to the loss of oxygen. Still, though, he would struggle until he drew his last breath. He was determined that he would not be so easily defeated by another Torchwood Agent....especially not one from the future. She was likely not alone. The Queen was in danger. He had to do what he could to protect her and the Agency itself. This woman was a threat to all of them.
Struggling as best he could, he thought of his training and whether or not he had learned anything that would get him out of this woman's grip....
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Post by The Eighth Doctor on Jan 8, 2011 10:23:59 GMT -5
Eight gave another lift to his eyebrow when the man he was talking to mentioned 'humans'. So it appeared this person himself wasn't of this planet. Interesting. "I'm terribly sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I am the Doctor." He reached out his hand.
Just then a fanfare rose up from deep inside the ballroom and a loud murmur echoed it. People began to move out of the way like the Red Sea being parted. "Well well well, it seems Her Majesty has arrived!" Eight noted.
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