#conn-ar

“I didn’t know you’d met the little one with the recorder. What did you think of him?”

“He’s an ugly one, isn’t he?”

The words were uttered in a soft, almost playful tone, but were nevertheless rather sudden in the otherwise atmospheric ambience that the TARDIS console room had to offer. His expression was one that fitted his style of voice, a rather coy smile accompanying a noticeable glint of mischief in his eye.

He had not long returned from conducting some business outdoors, the exact nature of which was a mystery, although judging by the splattered blue paint on his hands, most likely involved some sort of maintenance conducted on the ship’s exterior. He had been missing for most of the day, having vanished long before Connar had risen that morning - the weather had apparently been amicable throughout, too, for his black jacket had been left on the nearby coatstand, the Time Lord himself sporting an unusually casual look without it. His sleeves were rolled up, the excess material of his oversized shirt hanging over the waistband of his tartan trousers, themselves held in place by his tight red braces.

Having allowed himself a break for a spot of lunch, he’d wandered in to find his young companion fondly reflecting over old photographs - involving his future self, no less. That had triggered a somewhat childish reaction on his part, although it was only in good fun.

“I’ve told you before, my dear, he’s all blonde hair and no common sense.” He remarked, still keeping a teasing smile as he strutted over to his jacket, pulling out his red handkerchief, “Very impudent, as well. Age might have mellowed him, but he’s far from wiser, I can tell you that!”

Stuffing the handkerchief into a ball, he proceeded to wipe his hands with it, concentrating on his actions.

The funny thing about death in most parts of the universe was that one did not get to choose how or when one was going to die. Technology has, of course, defied the randomness of death in very defined corners of the universe, and in this one particular corner, an entire euthenasium had consumed the surface of a planet called Terminus Prime.  This was the place people went to determine how they died - in the fashion of a martyr, by leading an army against overwhelming odds - against metaphorical death in a chess match for the ages - perhaps through a sacrificial ceremony at the hands of a native tribe of aliens - the scenarios were endless, it seemed, and despite that fact, River and Connar were here for one particular purpose.

“Now remember,” River whispered to Connar, having made it to the lobby of the entrance of the euthenasium, “The Doctor mentioned the fact that there have been several ‘patients’ on this planet had been run through the system several times, and even an oversight on the part of the faculty has lead to multiple death certificates bearing the same names.” This is why they were here - how could multiples of the same person had died in several different manners on the same planet, all within weeks of each other?

Connar eyeballed the man who approached her. This is not the first time that she had been approached by a man, especially a soldier. Even in her attempts to stay in the back of the room and not to talk to anyone, she always somehow caught a man’s eye. What made this gentleman different from most was his accent. Was he from America as well? She tilted her head slightly to his question, looking the man over once more.

“That’s entirely up to you. I will not force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

She gave a polite smile.

His smile widened when he heard the accent in her voice. “Well, as your fellow countryman it’s practically my duty to not let you to thirsty, isn’t it?” he grinned and peeked at her glass. “What’re you having? Ah. Be right back.” With that he turned to head for the back but not without a small wink in her direction. 

He could have picked any girl in the bar, really. Well, any of those that weren’t already occupied by other men and that wasn’t so easy nowadays. Somehow there always seemed to be more soldiers than lovely little ladies around. To spot one in the back of the room, and so pretty at that, was a lucky find. 

This is my sweet, handsome man Louie. He’s 13 years old we believe. He’s a Persian and Himalayan mix. We rescued him from the pound when he was about 2 years old. He’s my little furry roommate and he looooooves tuna. He does this cute little thing were he will think he’s meowing, but he’s just opening his mouth like he is.

〔?〕➝ The Riddler had spent long periods out of Gotham before, but this time, a strange air hung over him as he silently walked through the dark streets, his shadow enveloping his face whenever he made his way underneath a glowing streetlight.

He pondered over the possible reasons why he was experiencing such an unusual feeling. It wasn’t as if his journey had not yielded results, nor was he knowingly returning to full-on gang warfare as had been the case so many times before. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing different now than from the last trip he had made.

Swiftly brushing away the heavy aura surrounding him, he arrived at his office and reached into his overcoat pocket with a gloved hand, pulling out a set of keys and using one of them to unlock the door. Opening it, he silently stepped inside and immediately closed the door behind him, before switching the lights on and removing his overcoat, hanging it on the nearby stand. Underneath the coat his entire outfit was almost the same colour - his waistcoat, tie, jacket and slacks were all emerald green. Only his white shirt, black lace-up shoes and dark purple gloves offered any exception.

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Only doing this because otherwise I’d spam people’s dashs and we can’t have that aye?