#ofyorkshire

"That can't be your name." He said, half asking. Since last summer he'd retreated from damn near everything. He worked and lived in a small cabin on the outskirt of town. Neil had been pissed about it, but it also hadn't mattered. He couldn't explain it beyond feeling like he wasn't his son anymore. The rage and hate he'd filled him with had been hollowed out and now Billy was- empty.

It was sort of endearing.

BJ crosses the walk to join the man who called himself The Doctor. He isn't sure if he hopes he'll finally win him over for the evening or if he's only seeking the relative comfort of a half familiar face, but he doesn't stop himself from bumping their shoulders and winking.

"Haven't you got nowt else to wear?"

The Doctor's brow furrowed as he looked down at his new(est) jumper and grumbled: "Seriously, wha' is wrong with my jumpers?"

Which may have been a touch more 'sulky toddler' than 'dignified ancient time-travelling alien', but he was a vain person (in his own way).

"I like wha' I wear: I's comfortable, practical, an' most importantly nothing like the clown suits I used to wear." His Sixth Incarnation's taste in clothes in particular still haunts him.

A small bubble of annoyance bubbled up in Paul's chest as the light to the bathroom flipped on, the notable lack of body heat next to him fueling the annoyance crawling under his skin. He doubted it was meant as anything more than a trip to the bathroom, but it was hard to suppress the feeling of abandonment and rejection for even this small infraction of circumstances. When had he grown so dependant and needy on constant contact and reassurance that this had become a near standard feeling since returning back home?

How sad...

"Too cold in here without you next to me." Paul responded, his voice rough with sleep and overuse from the days sermon and the moment they had shared mere hours ago.

"Are you okay?"

"Hey!"

Send 🙌 to strangle my muse (no longer accepting)!

It's Reginald's clipped, nasal voice in his head.

The first line of defense upon attempted strangulation is to blind your opponent!

Klaus isn't exactly the type of person known for fighting back against adversity: not with the more conventionally recognized forms of battle. But it's even harder to fight off this spindly, bruised child who will never know the exhilaration of living in a safe skin, the way Klaus, after years of the hard-to-recognize type of fighting, has.

He can't fight a protege who, if time for Klaus were linear, would have been his mentor.

He can't push his goddamned fingers into BJ's sad scared eyes and scoop them from their sockets. Like, fuck training, Jesus. The kid's crying, right now, while assailing him.

Get with the program, Number Four!

Shut up, dad. Remember your "gift" to me: it's not like it'll be permanent.

"Beej...!"

His own voice is haggard. Dissociation tries to bleed into the corners of his thoughts, makes him wonder, not for the first time, lately, why so many people feel entitled to lay their hands on some part of his body.

"Beej--Tangy--hk!...Dream, what'd I do? Stop...!"

He smacks the young prostitute's cheeks, imploring gently, and then insistently, and then a little savagely.

Klaus begins to black out; his eyes glow a veil-piercing teal and he is out. Bright light, the same hue, his ribcage its lantern, and then an explosion. The force throws BJ back a good six, seven feet.

Klaus collapses awkwardly on his face. He sits up and gawks through a mop of curls.

"The fuck--? Did I just go into the....fricken....Avatar State, or somethin'?"

Green eyes shift toward the waif's face. Anger and grief sink in, rapidly clouding over the comical shock.

'Why'd you hurt me, man? Whatever you needed, you coulda just asked! Like, damn! I'm super fuckin' chill, okay?! "

" . . . hello there ! i'm the doctor. need to duck in ? " it's strange, and very much not a course of action he usually takes, openly inviting someone ( a very much human someone ) into his TARDIS upon just meeting , but this child seems to be running from somebody, or something. the time lord can't just leave him out here, so no questions are asked as he opens the door to the blue box further and stretches out his arm to the curly - haired young man. " quickly ; there's room, hurry along. come on in. you can trust me. " from the looks of it, this stranger sort of has to.

"And you were --" wait. No, wait. "He invited you, so you just.... went with him?" This man's friend (roommate - Adrian did not envy him) had invited him to go skydiving and Mr Anderson had thought that sounded like a good idea? "You dove out of a plane because your roommate asked you to."

Mr Anderson's friend - Tyler - had had to pull his reserve after the first chute snapped, and then the second had snapped, as well, but much later on (not sabotaged as well); a broken arm and leg where he'd landed, a few weeks in hospital, but this was being treated like attempted murder and Adrian was having difficulty figuring out why anyone would want to be voluntarily skydiving in the first place, especially for a last-minute change-of-plans.

"Hmn?" He smiled at BJ (even before he'd heard the question) and pulled his headphones off. It took him a moment to stop the music, fumbled with his phone to pause Cat Stevens' Moonshadow.

"Oh! Acourse. Which colour did ye want?" Campbell didn't have many, but BJ could pick any he wanted. "Or did ye buy some fer yerself?"