kore_logs | Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's Out to Get Me

Who: The Doctor, everyone!
Where:Around the science center
What: Ghosts!
When: Day 127

It had been a couple days since it started, but the Doctor had been noticing with their new home came new friends. Or really, old friends. Friends he recalled being dead, and it only reminded him he wasn't able to do anything about it.

It brought back a panic he hadn't felt since being returned from the scientists with an unstable mind. At first, he thought those wounds were reopened as he woke the first day hearing voices from Time Lords past he hadn't heard in a long, long time, only as the day turned into the next, he saw others' minds were just as unsettled and saw what seemed like projections from their own pasts.

Crouched down under a cabinet attempting to fix an annoying leaking faucet, a young Adric chirped happily away next to him about theories of a problem the Doctor had once presented to him. The Doctor was thankful to have his face hidden as an ache in his throat lingered and ridiculous amount of guilt ate away at his hearts.

"Adric," The Doctor finally spoke, "Go find Tegan for me, will you?" He waited a while after the sink was fixed before popping out and glad to find the boy missing.

Washing his hands and splashing cold water on his face, the Doctor took it upon himself to go for a walk.

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"It's a bit... sterile or as sterile as you can get say from the 1950s." It was the time he guessed roughly was the date.

And then the hallways changed on you, sometimes in mid-stride. The Doctor recalled moving down a corridor and exploring some of the rooms when the lights cut out only to turn back on and there was then only 3 rooms instead of the 8 he originally saw. A Time Lord's vision doesn't simply become fuzzy.

"I don't like it." He says it as a simple statement, but in meaning, it had much more depth to it.

"Can't say I'm a fan either. Sure isn't very homely."

Admittedly, 'homely' wasn't something Gabriel had much of a concept of, and his idea of tasteful decor would probably be more objectionable to most people than the current blandness.

"But it does beat living in a heap of rubble or in some labyrinth of caves, so... guess I'll take what I can get."

"True, very true..." There was laughter heard down the hallway, cutting off the Doctor's response.

With a raised eyebrow, he looked to Gabriel, "There's been projections of the deceased." But this one, the laugh was unfamiliar, begging him to wonder who's projection it was.

"I know."

Gabriel didn't have a whole lot of dead loved ones, or at least, not a whole lot who stuck out. There were, however, rather a lot of people whose deaths he'd caused. It had been disturbing at first, having them haunt him, but for the most part, he stood by his decisions. They'd deserved it, even the ones who insisted they didn't. Even the ones who'd died just because he didn't like them. He didn't regret it -- only, given that the attitude of the ghosts was (unknown to him) determined by the hauntee's own feelings about their deaths, perhaps that wasn't the entire truth.

"Pretty disappointing, huh? I was hoping for some interesting ones. Shakespeare, Marie Antoinette, Marilyn Monroe... but alas, no, mine have been pedestrian at best. So far, anyway." He glanced down the hallway; he couldn't say that he was particularly perturbed by the projections, since they seemed incapable of hurting anyone, but he couldn't help being curious about what (or rather whom) other people were seeing. "How about you? Any good 'uns?"

"No." Because there wasn't a death upon his hands that he didn't regret. Very few, actually.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed and he looked around, not seeing anything. The laughing echoed around them and then came from another side. "I don't like the sound of this one..." He had to admit as he backed away and rejoined Gabriel. "Unfortunately, I have to admit I have a few deaths than I care to admit about on my hands... This doesn't bode well."

"Ah, see, what you've done is you've gone and had a conscience. Tried it once - wouldn't recommend it."

The problem, really, was that he (despite his rather impressive archangelic powers) was for the most part unable to see or hear other people's hauntings. It limited his ability to sympathise somewhat - not that his ability to sympathise had ever been his forte, but it was at least sometimes better than this.

"They can't actually hurt you, right?" It was, despite how it sounded, a sincere question. He didn't know what they could do, if their attitude was right. "So long as they can't, you oughtta be fine. Just stick some cotton wool in your ears and get yourself a sleep mask, if they're bothering you."

Oh how the Doctor wished he didn't have a conscience. It would be so much easier, or channel the Master's way of looking at things. But it was never in the Doctor's character to do so.

"I don't think so. None have tried to do that yet... But that isn't to say they won't."

The Doctor pauses and listens closely. With Martha, there was a warning someone else would be appearing that they wouldn't like and he wondered who or what it could be. Was this laughing relevant to that?

"I take it there's some might be inclined to, then."

Not a shocker. He couldn't really think why anyone would want to kill the Doctor - the guy was a little too enthusiastic sometimes, perhaps, but as character faults went the most it was likely to get him was the occasional kick in the shins - but the 'ghosts' people were seeing seemed to be of people they had very strong feelings about. Lovers, family, and people they'd hurt, mostly, often with enough overlap between those categories for a soap opera.

"And, uh, thinking along those lines - what're you listening to? Cause when folks do that in horror movies? Usually a sign someone in the vicinity's about to get their throat slit by an invisible demon, or something."

"I hear someone laughing." The Doctor's voice trailed off at the end. His eye search the halls, but nothing was coming to them quite yet.

"If you don't mind, I'd prefer to move." There's a gentle nudge to Gabriel's shoulder as the Doctor moved forward and down the hall, distancing themselves from the source. Unfortunately for the Doctor, Gabriel's assessment of the Doctor was false and far from the truth. There was too much bloodshed upon his hands and nothing he could do about it.

"You can't hear it? The laughing?" It was rather unnerving to say the least.

That got him a raised eyebrow, though Gabriel followed him without any complaint.

"Laughing? Nope. The canned sitcom type or the oh dear Lord, we're stuck in a haunted house with Chucky and we're all gonna die type?" The latter seemed more likely. "Cause, y'know... typically, disembodied laughter that no one else can hear? Not a good sign."

Paranoia, Paranoia, Everybody's Out to Get Me

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