#and in nuwho there's a lot of quote un quote deaths but. whatever. b. kingdom's young they can have emotional investment in something)

[nobody-knose--archive]

📫 & 📼 for whatever characters ya wanna talk about :D

these are both really interesting questions in the sense that i cannot for the life of me foresee their potential answers being of much direct value to the stories i try to tell. also they’re hyperspecific & contain stories within themselves and y’all know me telling a story in short time is a goddam challenge, but! with a character randomly selected as its focus, below the cut i give you: one story based on the first prompt feat the cojum who? crew! i do not in any way promise to give a story for the second prompt but this was fun enough on its own so i thank you all the same. (cws for implied death, mention of blood)

2.66 to 4.67 billion miles apart at any given time

“What’s that you’ve got there?” is an innocuous question when it’s directed at, for example, a cat. ”A letter, duh,” is an innocuous answer when it’s not being given in, for example, a space ship with nothing that could conceivably resemble a mail slot on its entire exterior. ”O-kay then. Is the easier follow-up question ‘Why’ or ‘How’?” Amber responds, cautious but incredulous. ”’How’, definitely; I got this out of the T&LDIS mailbox. The easiest question you could’ve asked was ‘Why not me?’ as I think you can understand not getting letters when nobody knows your transtemporal address.” ”I... don’t particularly care about that.” ”Same here, actually. But the hardest question you could’ve asked (given my inability to answer it) and, frankly,” Coral takes a second to look incredibly incredulous, “the one I’m surprised you didn’t ask is, ‘Who’?” This moves Amber towards a different shade of curiosity. “There are many people connected to you I of whom I wonder the ‘Who?’ but I never expected you to do as well.” Coral, who had been scanning the now-open letter as Amber spoke and looking for all the world utterly lost in thought, glances up at Amber when his sentence concludes and says, “Have you ever considered becoming a poet?” He only stares and stifles a sigh in response. ”Or maybe a songwriter? I understand if that’s less your style though-” ”Are you not going to answer my question?” ”I got a letter because I know people who know my address, and anything else I can go over if I want to, and if I figure out the answer myself after reading it.” ”Alright. That’s good enough for me.” Amber, with a strange sort of compliment in his head and plenty of awareness of how Coral wants to be left alone, exits the console room. Coral takes a seat in a seat that manages to be well-worn and familiar despite the objective newness of this console room design and takes another look at the letter in their hands. ”Hey Coral,” it starts, already a strange way for a letter addressed to them to start, considering they have yet to tell any of their former companions about their name change, and especially not any fellow Time Lords (the use of circular gallifreyan indicating as such). “The majority of this letter wasn’t written by me- and before you ask, no, I’m not Marcy. I’m a time lord you’re close with, yes, but not Marcy.” This factoid Coral finds suspicious- whoever wrote it must know Marcy well to have handwriting so similar in style to its. And the use of the present/past/future perfect continuous tense [a tense that is notably difficult to translate into english] in reference to the writer’s familiarity with Coral themself carries a array of implications they aren’t looking forward to understanding. ”I’m writing this preface to clarify a couple things. Firstly, I came into possession of this letter unintentionally and without any ill will towards you. And secondly, the contents of this letter would thoroughly unsettle you if you weren’t aware of the strange means by which it made its way to you- means I don’t plan on telling you, but the fact that they’re strange and I’m writing all this should help at least somewhat. Two-and-a-fifthly, I know these contents would unsettle you because I used a different name at the top of my section than what the original writer used in theirs.” It seems the writer of this letter (its preface at least) is attempting to cram as many confusing temporal implications as possible on one (modified-to-be) dimensionally transcendent piece of paper. ”I’m pretty sure I’ve said everything that needs to be said, but if I didn’t I’ll probably find a way to get the information to you anyway. Only if the opportunity presents itself though. Much like how the present tends to opportune itself.” Coral’s almost starting to wonder whether this is actually some completely random person they know that at some point in their life learned circular gallifreyan, just for how unlikely it feels that any time lord would write this stuff. “Greetings and good evening,” then a signature in the form of a drop of ink close enough between conventional shades of orange and red for Coral to mistake it for a drop of gallifreyan blood at first. They sigh, then pull the next sheet of paper out of the envelope- the actual letter itself. “Dear Conductor,” The preface wasn’t lying. That does feel weird to them. “That’s probably the weirdest way I’ve ever started a letter but you never told me your name and I don’t care enough to ask. I don’t really know why I’m writing this letter (do you even have a mail slot on the T&LDIS? I don’t remember ever seeing one) but it’s been about a week since you left me at home and” Their hearts stop. Exercising a considerable amount of self-restraint, they do not crumple the letter into a tiny ball and throw it into the depths of the whirling time vortex, and instead resume reading it. They know who wrote it now. “I get the feeling you’ll show up tomorrow or another half week from now looking like you thought you’d arrive only a couple hours after dropping me off.” (Not an inaccurate prediction, though to be precise it would be the day after she wrote this letter that they would pick him up.) “I guess the most likely reason I’m writing you this letter is that [the clear markings of an abundance of erased words fill up space] you’re the only dude ever, I think, that might know what it feels like to go somewhere and be kind of lost in the past and future instead of actually in the present. It’s a really hard feeling to place.” (They can’t actually relate to this, the contrasting aspect of it at least. Being untethered from the natural flow of time, reality itself even to an extent, has been the norm for them for nearly as long as they can remember. All the same, the very groundedness of non-Time Lords, their ability to truly look at a world the way it currently exists as they are in it, not as one of many bits and pieces in a long, winding web of time, is something they envy. They wonder if thon ever managed to pick up on how that very quality is what they happen to value in every companion they ever pick up.) “I mean, to you, there’s not much of a difference between 1985 and 1984 and 1986, right? Just like how there wouldn’t have been a difference when we landed in that one jungle place, if we were there in 443Δ or 441Δ (<- that’s what a delta looks like, right?) But to me, here in the “present” or whatever, if we go back a year that’s when me and everyone I know about and the whole planet was a year younger. Are you just used to that?” (Yes. On occasion, they no longer are. And they treasure those occasions as much as they can.) “I mean, you’re the only person ever who could possibly know if this war with the Russians is going to end a week from now or in another year or in a whole century. Or even if it’ll end at all. All that stuff is just things that’ll keep me up at night but to you it’s facts you already know, right? And it’s like that everywhere (everywhen?) there are probably people on all those planets who are thinking about stuff that happened a month ago and you could go there and know exactly what happened then if you want to. And now I feel like i could do the same thing, almost. It’s so strange.” (This is what happens to the people they make companions out of.) “I don’t want to just fill up this letter with talk about weird time stuff though. We deal with enough of that already, don’t we?” (They did, and it wasn’t enough.) “I guess with all this talk of how much a big deal the present is, I was thinking I could offer something for us to do when you get back. I don’t have to immediately set off again on grand adventures with you, do I? There’s this movie coming out, you probably know about it in some way, and it’s about an old person and a younger person traveling through time in a machine that looks like a car- sound familiar? We don’t have to see it, of course, I always like traveling with you, just let me know what you think when you get back. I guess I might be making a big assumption, that you’ll get this letter before then, but what’s the point of having that scifi trans-temporal mailing address of yours if it doesn’t work as intended?” (A very good point. One they can’t help but agree with.) “Your partner in time, Wesley Griffin.” Coral’s eyes lock with the signature at the bottom of the page for a long, long moment. Eventually, they glance up and reread Wesley’s entire section of the letter, top to bottom. And again. And a few more times, for good measure. For Wesley, it was about a week and a half spent at home, recuperating. For Coral, it was closer to a year, and an incredibly busy one at that, dealing with fellow renegade Time Lords and making sure the T&LDIS is appropriately capable of evading the non-renegades that seek to cause them more harm than the actual renegades. The whole little diversion was meant to be a break for both of them, when in reality Coral got maybe a couple weeks of fine rest and recuperation, and Wesley obviously wasn’t having as restful a time as they assumed he was, if this letter is anything to go off of. The day Coral returned to pick Wesley back up was a grand one, though humble. Neither of them brought up the subject of watching a movie, Coral because they didn’t know it was meant to be an option and Wesley because thon was never confrontational enough for her own good. Nor was the subject of feeling displaced in time brought up, though it is surely a more difficult topic of conversation to breach over dinner. Coral had spent their whole life until now unaware of this letter’s existence and had not suffered for it, to the best of their knowledge. Now it’s in their hands and they haven’t got the fainest clue what to do with it. Barely sparing the preface a second glance, they carefully fold and replace the letter in its envelope. Their back deliberately turned away from the door, they leave the console room to set off down the T&LDIS corridors, only the faintest whisper of a destination in mind. A few doors down, and some picked chords are heard underneath Amber’s voice from behind a door. “See, what most people think of when it comes to Spanish guitar is this one set of chords, when really those are just native to the Mediterranean and not Iberia specifically.” Coral doesn’t even try to stick around and hear a response. Long after the sounds of spanish guitar have faded, Coral crosses paths with Darius, heading in the opposite direction. “Oh, hey, do you know where I can find Amber?” it quickly asks. “He’s straight down the hall,” Coral responds without breaking their stride or turning their head, not giving Darius a chance to respond in further questioning or thanks. Briefly, they wonder if Amber was in fact talking to himself instead of to someone else, as they had assumed, but don’t bother entertaining the thought for very long. Just as they’re nearing exasperation with their ship for tucking the room they’re seeking so far away, the door reveals itself. It’s a door they’d recognize anywhere, and one they’d expect to see in only one place, and one they have not touched for far more years than they’d admit to most. So they take a deep breath, grasp the letter lightly in their hand, open the door, step inside, lay it on the bed, and leave. Not all of those actions occurring immediately after one another. - It’s more obvious to Jay than Amber himself that he relaxes immensely as he plays and talks about playing guitar. He’s greatly enjoying having an audience, clearly, and they have no doubt the novelty will not wear off any time soon. “...when really those are just native to the Mediterranean and not Iberia specifically.” Cautious and alert as always, though, it tenses up hearing footsteps coming down the hall- it can’t know for sure, but just in case that is Coral walking so quickly, it scans the room for any hiding spots or new ways out it knows should be there. Luckily, the sound passes by and fades almost before Amber can even notice, so Jay simply motions for him to continue playing rather than bring any attention to it. One and a half flamenco pieces later, some more footsteps are making their way towards them, and this time Jay’s earlier preparation pays off in part; the door is opened and ze is nowhere to be seen when it happens, but as Darius expresses a bit of interest in Amber’s technique and nobody else presents themself, ze pop zerself back into visibility with relative ease, neither Amber nor Darius batting an eye at this. “If you want, I could try and show you how alzapúa works, although I don’t really think I’m the best teacher out there-” “You’re fine, Amber. Darius, did you happen to see Coral out there?” Jay softly interjects. “Yeah, he was moving very quickly in the opposite direction and told me I could find you- well, just Amber -if I kept down the way I was going.” “Huh. Did they have a letter on them?” Amber replies, and Jay starts. “Yeah, actually.” (They try collecting themself to the best of their ability, and it should be said their ability is better than you’d expect.) “Alright. I wonder what they’re going to do with it.” (So does Jay, but ae at least have a very strong hunch ae’re highly interested in testing) “Amber, you don’t mind continuing this serenade in miniature with an alternate exterior audience, would you?” Amber shifts his attention back to Jay, a slightly melancholy tinge encroaching on his smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Go ahead and do your thing.” They nod and duck out the door, him quietly finishing, “I wasn’t really expecting you to stay very long anyway.” Unexpectedly, hy responds on hys way out, “I’ll steal another chance for us.” - A short while down the line (a while being, famously, one of the least quantifiable units of time measurement out there), Jay will take every necessary precaution they possibly can, walk directly into a room the T&LDIS will never be allowed to eject or remodel, no matter how many regenerations she or its conductor go through, and on their person will be a very, very old pen with no ink in it. A long while down the line, Coral (or perhaps someone no longer going by that name but very much the same inside) will walk back into the room that at one point housed a dear friend of theirs, and they’ll somehow bring themself to reopen the letter from him, and in the introduction they’ll read in reddish-orange ink a single, long, winding, and entirely new sentence in the preface that reduces them to tears in the kindest way possible.