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[open] apples and quinces, lemons and oranges
Who: Ned, open to all
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]
Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.
He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.
Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.
Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.
What: Here be species-swap logs involving Ned the unlikely fertility god.
Where: Anywhere (preferably outdoors).
When: Duration of the event (58 - 61); put date in header, please.
Warnings: Blood, kidnapping, creepiness and general Ned-terrorizing? [will add more as necessary]
Ned wanders the town barefoot, leaving a path of fruit and flowers and vegetation behind him. There are daffodils and bluebells, hyacinths and crocuses, irises of all colors, primroses and poppies and periwinkle in profusion. When he stops to sit quietly under a tree, by the edge of the woods, the vines spread out from his body like paint creeping through water. They slowly wind their way up the trees, or else sprawl across the ground, swelling with strawberries and blackberries, grapes and kiwis, passionfuit and cherries.
He doesn't understand why it is happening, but from the sound of the messages over the communicator, everyone has been going through some strange changes. As far as Ned's concerned, being some kind of plant conjurer is better than some options.
Since he can't think of much else to do with his time, Ned lounges in the dappled shade and makes bouquets. All he needs to do is rake his hands through the soil and a few minutes later, up come the snapdragons, up come the cala lilies. He finds that, if he focuses on a particular kind of flower as he does it, sometimes it is mixed amongst the others. As he sits the hydrangeas are bubbling up around him, shielding him from view.
Ned isn't worried about resting in the woods, despite all the dire warnings he's heard in his short time here. He is at the very edge, just in the shade of the first few trees; the lions and tigers and bears can't possibly have any objections. So he lounges in his cozy bower, hazy, half-awake (he hadn't exactly slept well, the previous night), weaving crowns of camellias and garlands of gladiolus.
Morning of day 60
It was a defeatist attitude, but the last time he had looked in the mirror, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes, which seemed to summarize everything. Humans were suppose to sleep, weren't they? He was exhausted, and... OK, a bit drunk too.
He wasn't even sure where he had found the rum anymore, and he had completely forgotten that humans weren't able to control their metabolism. As a Time Lord, he could reroute the breakdown and reverse the effects of the alcohol.
Tie hanging loose around his neck, he trashed the empty bottle and... those were pretty flowers! He looked up and noticed they were in a specific path, but the planning of it was rather pathetic. If there was even city planning here. He followed them, noticing with his movements the colors blurred until a color didn't match them.
"Ned! Neeeed! Neddy-ned! How your garden grows!"
no subject
Still, the arrival of the Doctor is a pleasant and diverting surprise. Ned looks up at him, taking his hands from the soil and waving his hello. It's hard to miss the way the Doctor is weaving or, when he gets closer, the rather powerful smell of rum on him. He'd certainly gotten an early start, hadn't he? Not that Ned was judging; he'd been there, done that.
"You know, I never did really know what a cockle shell was?" he says, "No pretty maids, either. But there are plenty of bluebells." The area is littered with them; bluebells and buttercups, delicate blue and rich yellow, in the shade of Ned's little makeshift orchard. He's only managed a dozen or so trees, thus far. Trees take time, take focus. But he's pleased with his progress, all in all.
Now that the Doctor is closer and Ned gets a better look at him, a look of worry comes over him. "Are you alright?" He doesn't look like he's doing very well.
no subject
He flops on his back, rubbing at his eyes, "Right as rain! OH! Another gardening reference. Oh, I'm good!" He was anything but.
no subject
Ned doesn't know him very well, and he doesn't want to be rude, but the Doctor is drunk enough, early enough, that Ned presses, "Is that a 'yes I really am good' I'm good, or is it a 'no I'm not good but quit asking' I'm good, or is it a 'no I'm not good but I don't want to bother you' I'm good?" Ned has had plenty of experience with all three. If the Doctor is fine and just decided to live it up, well, Ned can't blame him. They're all in a cage being watched by mysterious malevolent scientists, getting drunk in the morning isn't such an irrational response. But if it's just that the Doctor doesn't want to burden him, Ned is more than happy to help him with his burdens.
After all, some of it might be his fault. He's starting to have a theory - tenuous, of course - that his presence might be doing something to people. Making them a bit more raw. A bit more wild. Have mood swings and impulse control of all sorts.
no subject
Pulling his legs up and resting his arms on his knees, he looks at the flowers around them. "How'd you do this? Lemme guess, you turned into something too, didn't ya?" The Doctor sways to the side and narrows his eyes at Ned, looking him over, scrutinizing, even, as he searched for something different to stick out, such as Mina's tailfin.
"You dooooon't look very different!"
no subject
"I don't look any different," Ned confirms, with a small smile, "But I normally can't do this." And with that he runs his hand across the ground in an arc and, slowly, over the course of a minute, the path that he touched on the ground is marked by budding tulips, red and pink and coral and bright orange. "You wouldn't happen to know of any kind of something that can make things grow like that, do you?"
The Doctor is pretty drunk, but it's worth a shot. Plus, it's something to talk about other than whatever is clearly upsetting the man.
no subject
"BUT you," The Doctor prods Ned in the arm, "Don't quite resemble one, so I'm noooooot sure what has made you cause this."
He looks over, and plucks a petal from a flower and sticks it in his mouth, making a face, "Oh... Not Time Lord! Bleh. Is that how you humans really taste things?"
no subject
"Here," he says, setting it in the Doctor's hand. "So you're a human?" Well, as far as Ned's concerned, there's nothing wrong with that. It's a hell of a lot better than what a lot of people got landed with.
no subject
"I'm quite worthless now. Can't even read my notes about this place." And then he laughs, "It's Donna that has all the knowledge now. Imagine that? Donna..." And his eyes look wide for a moment, "She is ginger." His poor sodden mind was bitter.
no subject
Ned... kind of has no idea what being ginger has to do with anything, but he works with what he can understand. "So normally you're some kind of super-genius, and that's gone now that you're human?" If it's just that, Ned isn't sure what the fuss is. "May I make two unsolicited suggestions? Human to human?" Ned is probably still human, just with some... arboreal complications. "If you're one of those guys who has to feel useful all the time, you can help pick fruit and find places to store it. I'm trying to make as much I can. Stock up for when all this goes away." If it goes away. Ned's certainty has started to fade. It's been days - who is to say they'll ever go back to how they were? "And if you aren't one of those guys, call it a vacation, I guess."
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"Got a basket?" And he sort of wanders off in the wrong direction of the trees. Pauses, then turns and goes in the right direction. "If nothing else, we'll get plenty of fiber!" Which was probably exactly what Ned wanted to hear.
"And I'm plenty useful! Always useful!" And he stands looking confused at the trees, scratching his head.
no subject
"Best I could find, for the time being." Not that he'd looked very hard; he doesn't much like being indoors, right now. Just darting in to snatch these from House 20 had left a trail of azaleas peeking up through the floorboards. Ned sits back in the same place, cross-legged, and sets his hands to the earth again, thinking of tall, tall trees with broad dark leaves soaking in the sun, drinking up water from the ground, all the delicate chemical processes which go inside this organism, so that it can take the air and the sun and the water and use them to make more of itself, to make sticks and leaves and bright green apples.
There is a soft creaking of wood as the tree goes back to growing at its accelerated rate, pale pink blossoms unfurling, new pale green leaves following them. For a second or two Ned forgets the Doctor is there entirely, but then he snaps out of his trance - that is happening more and more often, this morning.
"Can I ask... and there's no judgement implied, but, why are you drunk so early in the day?"
no subject
The alcohol helped numb his anger, but only temporarily, and now he realized it wasn't the best decision he's made. Turning around and leaning against the tree, "I'll probably regret it later when the headache kicks in." Because he's human and that's what happens after consuming large amounts of alcohol, right? Even that will be a new experience for him.
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The way the Doctor slumps against the tree just looks so defeated that Ned can't go on focusing on apple trees. His mind has been fully wrenched back to the present, to the predicament that the Doctor seems to be in.
"I know I keep asking questions and you're going to think I'm nosy and rude, but did something... happen?" Ned only wants to help, if he can, and it doesn't seem out of the realm of possibility. Plenty of somethings have happened to him these last two days, and a few of them have been very not good. If the Doctor's been attacked, or hurt, or if he's hurt someone else without meaning to (perhaps some complication of the Time Lord to human transition), Ned wants to let him know he isn't the only one.
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"I spent so much time on Earth, I never expected to actually become human myself. Tried it once, when I went into hiding, but all my memories were dormant. This time, they're not, and I feel rather insignificant." He realizes he's dumping alot of information on Ned, and remotely felt guilty about it. Rubbing his eyes, "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear all this nonsense."
no subject
"I guess it's hard for me to understand," he says, head tilting to one side, "I've always been different and wished I were like everyone else. So insignificant sounds like a good option, to me." He shrugs, crosses his arms. "But it doesn't sound like we're coming from the same place on this one." From the way the Doctor had said it, being a Time Lord - being the last one - is something very significant. An identity the Doctor doesn't like having taken away from him.