Oswin Oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
souffle_girlek) wrote2013-11-18 09:33 pm
souffle_girlek) wrote2013-11-18 09:33 pm
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He said it would be cool. He says a lot of things are cool (and to be honest, usually he's right), but being out in the English countryside in the dead of night during a horrible storm isn't exactly fun, is it?
However, there was a manor up ahead, and the Doctor was rambling (not new) about ghosts (definitely new) and... well. With him, there might actually be ghosts, and she's beginning to regret a bit being so definite in her stated belief that there are no such thing as ghosts.
She hadn't expected him to rush out to prove their existence. He knew of a haunted manor, he said. One that not even birds would fly over, because of the persistence of these hauntings. She'd scoffed, and he'd taken it as a challenge.
Inside the grand manor they find only two people - older man (Major, part of the second World War) and a younger woman (a psychic empath, whatever that is), could look deliciously suspicious if it wasn't for her sober and serious expression and his almost nervous reserve, and Clara will admit that she's a tad bit disappointed that they're in the Seventies and no one has go-go boots. Frankly, she's gotten to the point where she knows to just sit back and watch the Doctor run circles around people, no matter what their objections are.
Though one objection is rather interesting.
"I will not have my work stolen, then be fobbed off with a pat on the back and a letter from the Queen. Never again." He has a nice accent, Clara decides, as they follow the Doctor, hustling down a corridor. "This is my house, Doctor, and it belongs to me."
"This is actually your house?" Clara interjects, before the Doctor can change the subject (again).
"It is." He sounds... almost uncertainly proud of the fact.
"Sorry... you went to the bank and said 'you know that gigantic old haunted house on the moors? The one the dossers are too scared to doss in? The one the birds are too scared to fly over?' And then you said 'I'd like to buy it please, with my money.'?"
Turns out he did, which is both impressive and completely balmy. The story that he tells them now that the Doctor has utterly ignored all their objections is equally balmy - all about a ghost that's been around since there has been people, one that never seems to change, one that there's actual photos of, on that evidently likes psychics and is accompanied by a knocking devil.
She'd be less freaked out if the Doctor didn't seem to believe every word. She has to remind herself - she doesn't believe in ghosts. They can all be as spun-up as they like, she will remain calm.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when he taps the back of her head to catch her attention.
"You coming?" His voice is low, as if he could somehow avoid being overheard in this small space. She found herself answering in the same pitch anyway, because that's kind of what he did to people.
"Where?"
"To find the ghost!"
"... Why would I want to do that?" Even if there was a ghost, which there isn't, because there are no ghosts, this one doesn't exactly sound like Casper.
"Because you want to. Come on." And he turns and goes, taking her following as given.
"Well, I dispute that assertion." She hisses after him, holding her ground.
"Eh? I'm giving you a face. Can you see me? Look at my face." It is certainly a pleading face, and she finds herself following, despite herself. Despite the talk of screaming ghosts that unnerved soldiers and priests, the one that has actually showed up on photographs.
"Dare me." She instructs him, staring out into the dark hallway.
"I dare you." He replies without having to ask the whys of it. "No takesies backsies."
She takes his candelabra instead, and marches out into the dark.
***
They go to the music room (the heart of the house), and everything starts to go a bit... wrong. This is the bit of the horror movies she hates, the creeping around, hairs on the back your neck going all prickly, fear with nothing to focus on. There's cold spots and odd creaks and she finds that suddenly, all of the fun has gone out of the situation - she isn't happy. And then the Doctor runs off, leaving her to trail after like every horror movie heroine ever.
She catches him in the hallway, just as something crashes into something else below, making an ungodly noise. Then her candles flicker out, and frost forms on the windows, and the Doctor fails at being reassuring because he's fluttering around the corridor as if enough frenetic movement will explain the whole situation.
"Oookay, what is that?" She demands, proud of how her voice doesn't shake. Much.
"It's a very loud noise. It's a very loud, very angry noise." He replies with extra flutter to his hand gestures, trying to casually lean against the wall and failing miserably.
"What's making it?"
"I don't know. Are you making it?" He demands, but before she can get properly outraged, the crashing resumes, and he scurries to her side, abandoning his attempt at cool. The grip on her hand is nearly crushing.
"Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"I may be a teeny, tiny bit terrified. But I'm still a grownup." She points out, and seriously, the floor is rattling when that crashing rings out.
"Mainly, yes, and?"
"There's no need to actually hold my hand."
"... Clara."
"Yes?"
"I'm not holding your hand." He holds up both unoccupied hands, and lightening crashes behind them, and there's a something in the corridor behind them, and...
She's not ashamed to admit it, she's the one to break and run first, but she'll just as happily point out that he beat her back to the light and warmth of downstairs by a mile. Not that things are any better down there - there's an actual ghost and writing on the wall and everything, and frankly, she doesn't want to hunt ghosts anymore.
So she's not exactly protesting when the Doctor suddenly announces that he needs to go get something, steals the Major's camera, and hares off into the night. She just makes sure to snag her umbrella on the way out the door, because it's still coming down in buckets outside. Of course, it's a little bit of out of the frying pan, into the fire. She could swear the TARDIS doesn't like her. It's just a feeling, but... of course the Doctor isn't helpful at all. He assures her that she's imagining things, that the ship is like a cat and needs time to warm up, that it's all her fault anyway for letting her umbrella drip on the floor. Doesn't do anything for the creeping unease.
***
It doesn't take her long to find out what his plan is - he plans on taking pictures, of this place, throughout time (does that mean he's an empath? Or the TARDIS is? Or she is?). He doesn't invite her outside for most of the shots - the land outside is too hot or too toxic or too... weird for quite a lot of it, which is odd, she's fairly sure it's odd, because it's also where there's a grand old manor house with two of the most adorably awkward not-lovers she's ever met.
As she watches him get the last shot, the feeling of unease conglomerates into a thought, a cold nasty chilly thought that has her blinking back tears. Of course, because it's her luck, he catches her at it as he comes back inside.
"Oh." He pauses, awkwardly, before charging forward, just as intent on fixing this as everything else. "What's wrong? Did the TARDIS say something to you? Are you being mean?" The last bit is addressed to the ship, as he slaps the control panel with his gloves, lightly.
"No, it's not that. Have we just watched the entire life cycle of Earth, birth to death?" She asks, because telling him that yes, his ship is a bit freaky (again) isn't going to answer her more important question.
"Yes." he's giving her a sidelong look, unsure and awkward.
"And you're okay with that?"
"Yes." He's very clearly confining himself to one-word answers here, which
she's found isn't a good sign.
"How can you be?"
"The TARDIS, she's time. Wibbly vortex and so on." He explains haltingly, with the wrong end of the stick and evidently knowing it, somehow.
"That's not what I mean."
"Okay, some help. Context? Cheat sheet? Something?" There's a sense of little boy and uncomfortable professor all rolled up in one in his expression, something that makes her want to answer. Confounding man.
"I mean, one minute you're in 1974 looking for ghosts, but all you have to do is open your eyes and talk to whoever's standing there. To you, I haven't been born yet, and to you I've been dead one hundred billion years." And the idea of that is just... freaky. "Is my body out there somewhere, in the ground?" He doesn't look at her when he answers. In fact, he starts walking away.
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"But here we are, talking. So I am a ghost. To you, I'm a ghost. We're all ghosts to you. We must be nothing." That makes him turn, staring at her with wide eyes and an expression she doesn't know how to read.
"No. No. You're not that."
"Then what are we? What can we possibly be?"
"You are the only mystery worth solving."
However, there was a manor up ahead, and the Doctor was rambling (not new) about ghosts (definitely new) and... well. With him, there might actually be ghosts, and she's beginning to regret a bit being so definite in her stated belief that there are no such thing as ghosts.
She hadn't expected him to rush out to prove their existence. He knew of a haunted manor, he said. One that not even birds would fly over, because of the persistence of these hauntings. She'd scoffed, and he'd taken it as a challenge.
Inside the grand manor they find only two people - older man (Major, part of the second World War) and a younger woman (a psychic empath, whatever that is), could look deliciously suspicious if it wasn't for her sober and serious expression and his almost nervous reserve, and Clara will admit that she's a tad bit disappointed that they're in the Seventies and no one has go-go boots. Frankly, she's gotten to the point where she knows to just sit back and watch the Doctor run circles around people, no matter what their objections are.
Though one objection is rather interesting.
"I will not have my work stolen, then be fobbed off with a pat on the back and a letter from the Queen. Never again." He has a nice accent, Clara decides, as they follow the Doctor, hustling down a corridor. "This is my house, Doctor, and it belongs to me."
"This is actually your house?" Clara interjects, before the Doctor can change the subject (again).
"It is." He sounds... almost uncertainly proud of the fact.
"Sorry... you went to the bank and said 'you know that gigantic old haunted house on the moors? The one the dossers are too scared to doss in? The one the birds are too scared to fly over?' And then you said 'I'd like to buy it please, with my money.'?"
Turns out he did, which is both impressive and completely balmy. The story that he tells them now that the Doctor has utterly ignored all their objections is equally balmy - all about a ghost that's been around since there has been people, one that never seems to change, one that there's actual photos of, on that evidently likes psychics and is accompanied by a knocking devil.
She'd be less freaked out if the Doctor didn't seem to believe every word. She has to remind herself - she doesn't believe in ghosts. They can all be as spun-up as they like, she will remain calm.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when he taps the back of her head to catch her attention.
"You coming?" His voice is low, as if he could somehow avoid being overheard in this small space. She found herself answering in the same pitch anyway, because that's kind of what he did to people.
"Where?"
"To find the ghost!"
"... Why would I want to do that?" Even if there was a ghost, which there isn't, because there are no ghosts, this one doesn't exactly sound like Casper.
"Because you want to. Come on." And he turns and goes, taking her following as given.
"Well, I dispute that assertion." She hisses after him, holding her ground.
"Eh? I'm giving you a face. Can you see me? Look at my face." It is certainly a pleading face, and she finds herself following, despite herself. Despite the talk of screaming ghosts that unnerved soldiers and priests, the one that has actually showed up on photographs.
"Dare me." She instructs him, staring out into the dark hallway.
"I dare you." He replies without having to ask the whys of it. "No takesies backsies."
She takes his candelabra instead, and marches out into the dark.
***
They go to the music room (the heart of the house), and everything starts to go a bit... wrong. This is the bit of the horror movies she hates, the creeping around, hairs on the back your neck going all prickly, fear with nothing to focus on. There's cold spots and odd creaks and she finds that suddenly, all of the fun has gone out of the situation - she isn't happy. And then the Doctor runs off, leaving her to trail after like every horror movie heroine ever.
She catches him in the hallway, just as something crashes into something else below, making an ungodly noise. Then her candles flicker out, and frost forms on the windows, and the Doctor fails at being reassuring because he's fluttering around the corridor as if enough frenetic movement will explain the whole situation.
"Oookay, what is that?" She demands, proud of how her voice doesn't shake. Much.
"It's a very loud noise. It's a very loud, very angry noise." He replies with extra flutter to his hand gestures, trying to casually lean against the wall and failing miserably.
"What's making it?"
"I don't know. Are you making it?" He demands, but before she can get properly outraged, the crashing resumes, and he scurries to her side, abandoning his attempt at cool. The grip on her hand is nearly crushing.
"Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"I may be a teeny, tiny bit terrified. But I'm still a grownup." She points out, and seriously, the floor is rattling when that crashing rings out.
"Mainly, yes, and?"
"There's no need to actually hold my hand."
"... Clara."
"Yes?"
"I'm not holding your hand." He holds up both unoccupied hands, and lightening crashes behind them, and there's a something in the corridor behind them, and...
She's not ashamed to admit it, she's the one to break and run first, but she'll just as happily point out that he beat her back to the light and warmth of downstairs by a mile. Not that things are any better down there - there's an actual ghost and writing on the wall and everything, and frankly, she doesn't want to hunt ghosts anymore.
So she's not exactly protesting when the Doctor suddenly announces that he needs to go get something, steals the Major's camera, and hares off into the night. She just makes sure to snag her umbrella on the way out the door, because it's still coming down in buckets outside. Of course, it's a little bit of out of the frying pan, into the fire. She could swear the TARDIS doesn't like her. It's just a feeling, but... of course the Doctor isn't helpful at all. He assures her that she's imagining things, that the ship is like a cat and needs time to warm up, that it's all her fault anyway for letting her umbrella drip on the floor. Doesn't do anything for the creeping unease.
***
It doesn't take her long to find out what his plan is - he plans on taking pictures, of this place, throughout time (does that mean he's an empath? Or the TARDIS is? Or she is?). He doesn't invite her outside for most of the shots - the land outside is too hot or too toxic or too... weird for quite a lot of it, which is odd, she's fairly sure it's odd, because it's also where there's a grand old manor house with two of the most adorably awkward not-lovers she's ever met.
As she watches him get the last shot, the feeling of unease conglomerates into a thought, a cold nasty chilly thought that has her blinking back tears. Of course, because it's her luck, he catches her at it as he comes back inside.
"Oh." He pauses, awkwardly, before charging forward, just as intent on fixing this as everything else. "What's wrong? Did the TARDIS say something to you? Are you being mean?" The last bit is addressed to the ship, as he slaps the control panel with his gloves, lightly.
"No, it's not that. Have we just watched the entire life cycle of Earth, birth to death?" She asks, because telling him that yes, his ship is a bit freaky (again) isn't going to answer her more important question.
"Yes." he's giving her a sidelong look, unsure and awkward.
"And you're okay with that?"
"Yes." He's very clearly confining himself to one-word answers here, which
she's found isn't a good sign.
"How can you be?"
"The TARDIS, she's time. Wibbly vortex and so on." He explains haltingly, with the wrong end of the stick and evidently knowing it, somehow.
"That's not what I mean."
"Okay, some help. Context? Cheat sheet? Something?" There's a sense of little boy and uncomfortable professor all rolled up in one in his expression, something that makes her want to answer. Confounding man.
"I mean, one minute you're in 1974 looking for ghosts, but all you have to do is open your eyes and talk to whoever's standing there. To you, I haven't been born yet, and to you I've been dead one hundred billion years." And the idea of that is just... freaky. "Is my body out there somewhere, in the ground?" He doesn't look at her when he answers. In fact, he starts walking away.
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"But here we are, talking. So I am a ghost. To you, I'm a ghost. We're all ghosts to you. We must be nothing." That makes him turn, staring at her with wide eyes and an expression she doesn't know how to read.
"No. No. You're not that."
"Then what are we? What can we possibly be?"
"You are the only mystery worth solving."