singillatim | there'll be oats in the water

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there'll be oats in the water

JULY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: REDUX: A storm finally arrives, and with it — Enola extends her hand to help the Interlopers once more, granting them new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — PENSIVE LOOKOUT: With the Forest Talker efforts focused on sabotaging hunting efforts, Interlopers can attempt to explore the Pensive Lookout Tower, where they can uncover secrets from the diary of Sam Bouchard — the former firewatch worker of the summer of 2014.

PROMPT THREE — A PEEK INSIDE: A group of Interlopers get their hands on one of the Forest Talkers in search of answers — and get a little more than they bargained for.

THE AURORA: REDUX

WHEN: Mid-month, for three days.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; lightning storms; potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being trapped in ice; dreams of animal death; dreams of the death of loved ones.

July brings warmer weather. The fog has lifted, and the daylight returned — but an odd kind of pressure lingers in the air, the kind that feels similar with oncoming storms but something still feels off about it all. Measurements and readings are erratic, with them often making little sense. It’s hard to predict just what might be coming, but sure enough something is coming.

Hold on a little longer, Enola told you. A storm is coming.

It comes quickly, the gathering of storm clouds. At first, it looks as if a kind of snowstorm is moving in, but there’s something else at play here. Within the grey, cloudy skies, there is a tell-tale sound of an Aurora mixed within those clouds.

And with it, in amongst the dark, the swirling colours. Greens, pinks and purples weaving through the clouds, almost mesmerising to watch. The air is alive with sound: static noise, cracks and pops: a storm and the Aurora mixed into one. For those who’ve been here long enough, it’s a worrying, unnerving sight. The storm rumbles with the low roar of distant thunder, growing ever closer. The electronics of the world begin to come alive, and in the static of it all — you begin to hear Enola’s voice even clearer than before.

After so much darkness, now there is so much light. A lightning storm — aurora colours mingling with the grey clouds, punctured with crackles of lightning. Something powerful and strange — flash forking across the skies, followed by booms of thunder.

The storm lasts three days, and even though her voice is soft — you hear it over all the noise, nestled gently in your ear.

“You're still here. It means something. This isn’t the end, I refuse to let it be the end. It can’t win. You won’t go into the Dark.” Enola tells you. ”I will make you more than what you are, more than what was stolen from you. This place will not be your end. I have to try. We have to try. Together. I showed some of you, once. I’ll show you again.”

She tells you to sleep. For some, they recognise this and realise what may end up happening. For others it feels like going out on a limb. But you sleep, and perhaps a dream may come to you.

COLD FUSION: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of a great hall of ice: as if it had been carved into some great ridge of it. You walk through it, marvelling at the beauty of it — a blue gloom, echoing with each of your footsteps. But as you take one particular step, the ground cracks and collapses beneath you, sending you into dark, frozen waters. In seconds, the water freezes around you, encompassing you in thick ice, your entire body trapped within it. The coldness burns you, and you are stuck there — frozen in agony. The pain is immeasurable, your entire body crushed and searing from the ice. There is no escape, no reprieve.

A voice speaks to you, perhaps it is the voice of a stranger, perhaps it is the voice of someone you know: Do you know how you survive the cold?’ They ask you. You do not know, and you wait for the answer: ‘You become colder than it.

Your eyes close. You believe those words, you do. You must become colder than the cold itself. And so you will. Your breathing slows, your heart slows and the cold… it stops hurting, it doesn’t burn. The ice around you begins the crack.

When you awaken the first thing you realise is despite the temperature, you are completely cosy and warmed. You do not feel the slightest chill. It is perhaps only once you are around other than you truly notice the difference to you — you are cold to the touch, lacking the heat you once had. An understanding comes: you are at one with the cold, it will not beat you, it will not cause you agony. Winter is at peace within you: perfect Cold Fusion.

MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.

The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.

You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?

You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.

When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.

INTERLOPER’S SACRIFICE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape and then fade into nothing. You dream of kneeling in a darkened, charred wood. You are not alone. In this dreamscape, you dream of a loss, or a time you have never felt more helpless in your life. Perhaps it is when someone you knew died before you, or you stood as someone was sick and injured and you were unable to do a thing. As you kneel, they are there with you: sick or dying or even dead in your arms. You cannot do anything but hold them, and the helplessness is overwhelming.

You look up and a woman in furs stands before you, her expression solemn. Enola herself. There are tears in her eyes, as if she shares the very pain you do: the loss, the grief, the hopelessness, the powerlessness. She approaches you and lowers herself to kneel in front of you and your companion, bracing your shoulders for a long, lingering moment. There are no words, none from neither of you.

Enola shifts slightly, leans forwards. She kisses your forehead, much like when a parent kisses their child: sweet and tender.

And then you feel it, as if you are set alight: an agonising pain that encompasses you whole — so painful you cannot even open your mouth to scream. You feel yourself growing weak, the corners of your vision blurring into black. It feels as if you might die from the pain, and you want for it to stop but it doesn’t.

Enola pulls away and you gasp, slumping in exhaustion, but still alive, somehow. You stare at her, sweating and clamouring for breath, and she offers you a sad smile. Never again. you feel the words inside of you. This time, it will be different. Better.

When you awaken, you can still feel the kiss upon your forehead — enough to make your fingers reach up to touch it, your entire body tingling a little. A small voice in the back of your mind whispers, reminding you as you find yourself looking down at your hands: never again. Never again, you tell yourself and the comprehension comes to you: you have chosen. This is what it means to be: this is your sacrifice. The Interloper’s Sacrifice.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: Pensive Lookout Tower, Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; possible fall injuries/treacherous climbs; themes of terror; themes of diminished sanity; themes of starvation.

The Old Hunting Lodge is located in the southern-most area of Lakeside, and its surrounding area is generally considered no-go territory with the presence of the Forest Talkers. As June turned into July, the Forest Talker’s presence in the wilds of Lakeside has begun to grow again — but their efforts appear to be focused on sabotaging the efforts of Interlopers, Methuselah and Young Bill in hunting fresh game. If anything, it could mean that with attentions drawn away — perhaps the braver sorts of the Interlopers can explore the area a little more fully.

There’s little in terms of buildings of interest in this area. The wilderness is thick and deep here. Perhaps the odd ransacked cabin once belonging to a local may be stumbled across — its contents picked clean, presumably by the Forest Talkers. Many of these buildings will be completely inhabitable due to the damage done — with some cabins being razed to the ground.

However, on higher ground, with a good hike to access it, stands a watch tower.

These lookout towers could mean a number of things: a chance to access supplies that may have otherwise been forgotten about due to the hike to get up there, a better view of the surrounding area, and the possibility of a radio — given the sign of a radio transmitter that can be found blinking a feeble red on Aurora nights.

With the snow on the ground it’s a little more treacherous, but given the circumstances, anything’s worth a shot, right? Those who attempt the hike may fall foul to slips and trips along the steep slow to reach the tower, and should take care in the ascent. Even with the warmth of July, it’s difficult. One might hope this might make the place a decent outpost, if you think about it. Somewhere hard to reach, and with such a vantage point.

Reaching the tower and climbing it to its interior will it largely intact but a mess. Someone has lived here for some time. Interlopers will find no food here, but some useful tools that belonged to the lookout: binoculars, maps, a compass, an alidade. There is even a radio sat upon a desk, and with it — a journal.

The journal, Interlopers will find, belonged to a man named Sam Bouchard — the firewatcher for the season during the previous year, detailing the months of his arrival and ending in November last year. It is unknown what happened to Sam, but his journal will perhaps offer some insight and even some information.

A PEEK INSIDE

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: The Gas Station, Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of kidnapping; imprisonment; self-starvation; blood/minor injuries; psychological torment, supernatural abilities.

The Forest Talkers have a long history in the Northern Territories, long before Interlopers started arriving in Milton. Champions of nature, they have sought to put an end to the industries and tourism-related expansions in the Lakeside area, first peacefully and then… not-so-peacefully. But with the events known as the ‘The Flare’ last year, Forest Talkers have been… acting peculiarly, disturbingly, aggressively.

There are plenty of questions to be asked. But the Forest Talkers are difficult to communicate with. Previous attempts have ended up in aggression or being ignored entirely. And now, even with the events of the previous month coming to an end — game remains difficult to find, and Forest Talkers are keen on sabotaging any attempts of hunting made by Interlopers, Young Bill or Methuselah. And more importantly: what is the yawning grave?

It starts as mutterings between tired and disgruntled Interlopers. They need answers, and there’s got to be a way in trying to get some. They’re hungry and exhausted and so many of their numbers are now dead. Those mutterings grow, and soon enough a plan is put into place. A small group of Interlopers embark into Lakeside and wait.

Soon enough, it bears fruit. A man is captured, bound and blindfolded — quietly and secretly brought back to Milton to be held up in the unused Gas Station to be questioned. It is not the leader, but surely one of them is better than no one at all. He is injured, but not enough to kill him. It will prove challenging in trying to get answers out of him, but soon enough the Interlopers will get him to talk.

News of the Forest Talker in their midst will inevitably spread, as most things do in small communities. Secrets are hard to guard. It won’t be just those behind the kidnapping who might end up coming across the man being held in the Gas Station.

Anyone who goes to investigate will find the man sat on the floor in quiet contemplation. Attempts of conversation will be met with long, silent stares — holding your gaze for an uncomfortably long time. He will spurn any gestures of kindness: spit on the floor at Interloper’s feet, refuse any food offered — as if the man has chosen to starve himself in protest. He says nothing, at first.

But after some time, he will look into an Interloper’s eyes and utter something. A word. A phrase. It may be a name, or a place. It may be a specific thing an Interloper has read, or been spoken to by someone. Something that holds meaning to the Interloper. It may be the name of a loved one from home, or the last words ever spoken to you by a friend. Something the man shouldn’t know.

Whatever it is that he speaks to you, it is not something that will fill you with hope or fondness to remember — but quite the opposite. A reminder of something painful, of a loss, or some other thing that caused you misery. As if he had reached right inside your mind and plucked some painful part of your past from you and spoken it to the wind.

The Forest Talker smiles, and will say nothing else. The damage has already been done.

FAQs

THE AURORA: REDUX

1. The next three Aurora Feats are unlocked! Please see the following page for more information.

2. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Feat. The only time this is available is this month. After July, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

4. This Aurora/storm will last a full three days, darkening the skies almost to night.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

1. Interlopers who dwell in the lookout for the next Aurora will find the radio works, albeit poorly. They will be able to pick up the same broken morse code message.

2. There are no signs of blood/injury that befell Sam in the lookout. It appears he made good on what he wrote on in his journal and attempted to leave to get to Silverpoint.

A PEEK INSIDE

1. While only a small number was involved in the kidnapping itself, anyone can discover the fact there's a Forest Talker being held in Milton.

2. In terms of appearance, the Forest Talker is very much your typical average white guy. Bearded, weathered by the cold, someone who's lived several years without much in the way of comforts or luxuries.

PLOTTING POST

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"Good...good. It's important to me." He would do it again in an instant, too, even now. He would always put Jopson above himself. Slowly, very slowly, he does let his eyes meet Thomas's, lingering for a moment before he offers a small smile, perhaps lacking its usual luster.

The cold from his touch is startling, but at the moment, it feels strangely...anchoring, too. A distraction from the pain settling in. He takes a deep breath, or...attempts to, and shakes his head.

"I'm fine, promise. Come on, we have soup to look forward to at the end of this hike."

If his friend knows the truth of it, he worries he'd reject letting him help again in the future, and he doesn't want to consider that thought. Though, how long he can hide it is anyone's guess.

"No," he says, strangely emotional, even now. "No, don't do that." He adds in softly, his voice dropping. He doesn't want this pleasant veil any longer. He doesn't want the cold chill of his fingers to push anyone away like the cold aloofness of his voice.

He wants to be seen and goddammit, he felt it for a while.

This is how he lost Crozier. He won't lose anyone else to it.

"Tell me."

People don't usually call his bluff like this, or push back. He's almost not sure what to do at first, though it should be obvious that he just tell Jopson what he wants to know. His clever masks and ruses all fall away somehow, he's lost his grip and Thomas Jopson has seen through him, enough not to let him get away with it. If this were a different time or place, perhaps the Doctor would just wave it off and walk away, but not here, not now, not with the reality of where they are settling in heavily.

He cares too much about Thomas to ignore what he's asked. He owes him this. More than that, he deserves the truth.

" — okay. Okay, I...it's not only fatigue I feel if I use this ability. I quite literally take your pain and it's...mine now. I feel what you felt." So he doesn't have to carry it anymore.

Something twists on Thomas' face and there is no reverence for the alien Doctor with the bowtie and the not-sonic screwdriver and all of the rambling stories. There is nothing but Thomas' annoyance and frustration and admiration for a friend who is being a particular brand of foolish.

He keeps his hands on him, fingers around his arms, and lowers his head, letting his hair fall in his face.

"You are a fool, sir," she says softly, but he doesn't actually mean it. Jopson is the one who should bear this burden. Not the Doctor, not anyone else. Jopson is the steward, the holder of pains and secrets and strife. "Why would you do such a thing?"

It's to be expected, he supposes. In the reverse, his reaction would be much the same, but there's a soft look on his face; not quite a smile, no, it's not the moment for it, but he's still trying to make light of it while honoring the emotions this has conjured in his friend. "Well, I do try."

It's perhaps not the usual response to being called a fool, but in his view, he'd rather be the fool a thousand times over if it means the safety and well-being of others is assured. Though he loves dashing about the stars and the exploration of it all and the thrill of new things and experiences and people, it's not the only reason he does what he does. There are people and planets and things that need helping and saving and he must, he always must, he can't stop. His name is a promise to the universe — it's why he chose it. He has a duty of care.

"Listen, please, and look at me." He shifts one hand a moment just to lightly pat Jopson's cheek in an attempt to awkwardly reassure him. "Why would I not? There's little I can control here and I'm very cross about it, it eats away at me. People suffer — they have and they will again, and if I had any power at all, it would be to fix this all in an instant. But there's only this right now, this ability, and I'm not going to watch you take another step in pain if I can fix it, Thomas Jopson. At least this one thing. I'm not going to let you hurt."

He understands it, he does, and there are so many arguments on his lips. He sighs, shaking his head again, feeling the fight leaving him.

"You do too much for a dead man, Doctor," he says firmly, standing up straight. "And if I say I would rather spend eternity with a pain in my side than see you harmed for me?"

"Now who's the fool?" It's said softly, though. "By your logic, you'd hold onto your pain for my sake and I could be dead tomorrow."

He's aware on some level that he's being purposefully obtuse for the sake of his own point. Yes, he absolutely is. But his point is important and Thomas Jopson is important, and he won't let go of this easily. He doesn't like to consider the fact of Jopson's death, nor anyone's. But the closer he gets to someone, the more he's forced to confront the reality of their fragile lives. In this case, the very real knowledge of what's waiting for his friend beyond this world. The Doctor doesn't like endings of any sort, he avoids them, he runs from them, he cleverly-not-so-cleverly dodges getting too close.

"You're not a dead man here, not yet. Not to me, and I have a duty of care."

There's logic and hard facts and truth that says otherwise and it's madness to say it perhaps, but then he's always been a madman. And he would gladly bear a thousand pains if it meant not allowing his friend to bear even one more.

He considers and he argues mercilessly in his head, but it's as if he's arguing with an older, wiser version of himself who often says wild, weird thing and he can't argue it. He can't even begin to.

"As you wish," he says gently, then outs a hand on his side, where he knows the Doctor should be feeling the pain. "Then I believe I should carry the pack from here on."

He tucks his hair behind his ear.

He works his jaw a moment, not really happy with that arrangement necessarily, though he supposes at least in this, he has no real argument left. He'd wanted to carry the pack to ease Jopson's pain and with their situations reversed —

Fine. He'll relent on this. The few seconds he starts a circular argument in his own mind, he realizes how pointless and frankly idiotic it is. It holds no weight. So he hands the pack over. There's a relief the moment the weight is off him and he stretches carefully for a moment, sucking in a breath before he smiles softly.

"I believe you'll be an excellent pack-bearer for the rest of our journey, Thomas Jopson."

It's his way of saying thank you for taking it without...saying it.

He shoots him a faux-cross look out of the corner of his eye, but can't actually be upset with him over this. It's impossible.

"I've got you, sir," he assures him. "Even if that is only carrying the pack I had meant to set out taking in the first place."

But now that he's sufficiently burdened and the cold won't touch him, he continues on their little journey across the snow. It's slow-going for him, the scurvy and poisoning of his other life still impacting his bones and joints, but without the pain in his side, it's much more manageable.

"In your travels, have you come across a creature like the one who plagues us here?" he wonders.

The slower pace takes a bit of getting used to for the Doctor, though to move faster would aggravate the pain and though he lacks self-preservation at times, he's not going to be that foolish.

"Not quite like this, no, but just like what you've been through, the universe is full of horrors and hope all tumbling about everywhere you go. Good and evil. More good than not — I will believe that, I always have, I will continue to." Until and unless the dark consumes him, but he has little fear for himself.

"I've seen...monsters made of polycarbide and steel who feel no emotion, no mercy. They exist only to obliterate all life. I have fought them for years, and what hunts us here isn't that, but they're all the same in one way or another. They win sometimes, it's true, but not always. And we keep going and going, that's what we'll do."

It's a good answer, though he can't imagine an enemy like that. Jopson nods, continuing on, looking up at the steep hill in front of them.

Damn. It looms over them, the biggest obstacle by far, but the tower at the top offers a promise of answers and, perhaps more importantly, the promise of mushroom soup.

He runs his fingers through his hair again and starts up, making sure he always has good footing for fear of tumbling down the ledge.

"I believe we are cursed," he eventually admits. "The other Terrors and myself."

A steep climb they'll have to navigate carefully, and the Doctor's own steps slow a bit more, but he's deliberate and careful in how he moves as he follows close behind. "No...no, I don't believe that," the Doctor is quick to say. It's not derisively, not meant to imply that Jopson is foolish to believe it. He can think him wrong for it, but not more than that. "I don't blame you for thinking it, wondering, assuming that must be. But a curse means a dead end, it means you can't go forward from here, it means you're all helpless, or anyone affected by the curse. But while you draw breath here, there's always another way out — even if it's the long way 'round."

They need not necessarily agree on it, he can believe it enough for the two of them.

The thing that's hard to explain is something the Doctor has turned over more than once — those here, brought from the point of death — have already disrupted the balance of life in some way. Fixed points in time being rearranged. What does that mean? He hasn't figured that out yet.

He looks back over his shoulder, adjusting the pack to fix his weight. "There was a creature hunting us at home, too. A great bear - though it was so much more than that. It hunted us, drove the game and the fish away, and killed our men, playing games with us."

Thomas shakes his head. "Some believe that the same sort of entity has followed us here. That we are unable to escape it."

"There's some overlap, yes. Similarities," he notes thoughtfully. "So let's chase the thought a moment." Even if the Doctor doesn't think much of curses, there's no harm in the consideration of it, particularly when everyone was brought here carrying the weight of a past filled with their own horrors.

"If you all were cursed and you brought it here, and now there are others here from different places and different times and we're all just trying to survive — does its origin matter? The point of a curse is there's something, some...key trigger to break it, yes? Do this thing on this day and you're free. Turn in a circle, spit over your shoulder, get your life right, everything's golden. But if you were hunted then and you couldn't stop it, now there's more of us...perhaps — perhaps we all together figure out how to break the curse. Suppose that's reasonable enough, but that brings us to my original point, that in the end...we need to overcome it, whether it's a curse or not. And the question of whether it is a curse matters far less than figuring out how we survive it."

He's been looking down at the ground intermittently as he chatters, mindful of his steps, but when he gets going like this, his hands fidget more excitedly. He's mindful of the pain in his side, having to temper his movements, but it's nice to preoccupy his mind like this.

Jopson lets him talk, lets him fill the silence with his rambling and thinking. He's spent so many years following a man of so few words, a man who only allowed himself to be open on rare, private moments. The Doctor is private in his own way, in a way that challenges Jopson to try and find those secret pieces.

He pauses at the top of a small rise, letting them both have a rest. There's a rock he sits on, brushing the snow from the top, and takes out the pack.

"And how do we overcome fear itself?" he wonders softly, digging through for water.

"Poke it with a large stick."

Potentially a bit of gallows humor there. It is a terror, what plagues them, and it's not to make light of it or dismiss the fear, but...he always seeks to find the little bits of light where he can. He's slow to sit, but perches himself on the edge of a rock close to and opposite Jopson, to be able to see him easier.

"I'll find a way, I always do," he adds, a softer expression on his face.

In saying that, he doesn't mean to suggest there aren't very clever minds here — there are — but it's difficult for him to consider that anyone else should be responsible for figuring this out and fixing it. That's what he does. And yes, it's true, he's always been helped along the way by others, he wouldn't deny that, but it's not a burden he wants anyone else to bear if he can help it.

He takes a drink, staring up at the walk still ahead, then hands the water bottle over to him.

"Ah, then you best have a very big stick," he points out, dry as a bone, though a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Because I have seen you with an ax, sir, and you make a very poor showing of it."

"Look, you, we all have to start somewhere." Said with amusement, of course. He can laugh at himself easily enough. It wasn't his best showing, admittedly.

"You're never letting me live that down, are you?" Good, he thinks, as he sips from the bottle, nodding in thanks. It's good to see Jopson smile a bit, though, and he hands back the bottle. He would normally be inclined to jump back to his feet quickly, but another moment or two to rest here is helpful. The rest of the walk seems a bit steeper, as he looks up at the same path as Jopson.

Jopson's glad to see him resting. That sort of energy he carries always makes Thomas think that he's going to flutter off somewhere and get lost or get into trouble. "No, sir," he answers, smiling as he replaces the water in the pack.

"And how old are you? Have you never done any hard work?"

He takes a breath then stands, starting up the snowy hill.

He's skilled in hand to hand combat, he's handy with a sword (though he avoids weapons as much as he can) — more darkly, he'd fought in a centuries-long war for all of creation. But it's rather difficult ascribing all of that in terms that might be easy to digest.

"More along the lines of practical tasks — carrying around loads of equipment, mending things, many things. I worked for a time with a military and scientific unit with all sorts of tasks. But chopping wood, no, that's...newer to me."

This is where he gets a bit more private, though there's something that's been easy about talking to Jopson from the very start. The Doctor may hold things close, but...he can share this and he does, while he follows his friend up the hill. "I'm old," he laughs and shakes his head. "It's unique, I suppose. When I die, or when I have before, I regenerate and go on living." This is his last life, though. There's nothing else beyond this.

What a strange way to live, he thinks. Regeneration. He wonders, for a moment, of Goodsir and what he might make of the entire situation. It is no wonder, then, he thinks, why the Doctor would be so blasé with his own safety, but he is rabid about Jopson's. Jopson cannot regenerate.

He would simply die.

He looks behind him, waiting for the Doctor to catch up. "One would think you would have had more time for such things," he responds. "Ah well. There's plenty of time now."

"I kept busy in other ways! Stuff any retort you have, I can already hear it coming," he teases, though, a smirk on his face. His steps may be a bit delayed, slightly slower, but he does close the distance between them eventually.

"There's all the time for a lot of things now. I never really stopped moving, ever. This is new to me, too." He's essentially never settled in one place before. It would be hard to think of this desolate world as being a place one could lead a more domestic life, but it's the closest the Doctor will have ever come to it, odd as it is.

He hums a little, looking up to the sunshine for a moment, letting it warm his face as best it can.

"I think that's the sort of life I would enjoy the most," he agrees. "Exploring and traveling."

He starts up the hill again, though his own steps are slowed. The scurvy and poisoning and starvation have all taken their toll on his joints and bones, a toll that cannot ever be reclaimed, so the more tired he gets, the more he feels it.

"But it is difficult to be trapped anywhere."

"Then I would take you," he says simply, as though it's something easy to accomplish. Standing on this hillside in a world so unlike he's ever known — it's not fair, perhaps, to toss those words around like he can do anything about it, trapped as they are. And there are other implications to consider. That's never stopped him, though.

It's when the distance closes between them more quickly than he would have expected that he frowns a bit in concern once more. "You're hurting again. Tell me?"

He suspects that, at least — the life he lived before will be held in his bones, plaguing Jopson in ways the Doctor can't heal.

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