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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thomas opens his eyes. "What can be done to me that hasn't already been done? I have been lost and betrayed and killed. If I die now, it is with the knowledge that I was at once enjoyed and seen. And if I survive, if we leave, then you take me on all the adventures you promised. And it will be me who saves you."

He takes his hand.

"Fortunately, we need not worry on that here. Here, there is only us, and now, this very small cot to rest on, and the knowledge that we scaled this together."

It's not unusual for the Doctor to care for others quickly. He's always been more than willing to do everything he could — even give his life — for anyone at all, whether he knows them or not. But it's something else, to feel attached like this to Thomas Jopson, where this man has such a grip and sway on his hearts already. He can believe his words with such ferocity, to the very depths of him. And to believe that anything, in fact, could be possible.

"That is a promise I intend to keep," he's quick to agree. He's about to cheekily say he doesn't need any saving, but the truth is that Thomas has already saved him in some way. A way that's only just begun. His words are soothing, though, and give him hope to continue clinging to.

He laces their fingers together, resting his head close. "I haven't slept beside anyone in a very long time so I can't promise I'm not an awful bedmate, Thomas. But I don't steal blankets."

As though they had an abundance of luxurious quilts.

He laughs; he can't help it. "Ah, well. When we return to our luxurious rooms and our fine beds down below, we shall put that to the test. But I hardly need them now." He's as warm as he should be, though his skin is cool. Blankets hardly do anything.

Eyes close again and he pulls him close, drawing the thin blankets around them. He just needs to sleep a while, just a moment. He needs to dream and finally rest so he will be ready to face the trek back. It's daunting, but he's not alone. That means the world.

It used to be that the Doctor rarely needed sleep. He could go days without it, but that all changed the moment he arrived here, his body requiring rest as much as any human would. It still takes some getting used to, though, the way the fatigue settles in. In moments like this, he almost wishes it wouldn't be there at all. They are safe here, he thinks. He's felt no threat from their surroundings, not even when he walked around a bit ago. It's fine, but he would feel better lingering awake long into the night, knowing this man who's become so precious to him really is safe.

He does fight it a bit longer, busying his mind with thoughts of those adventures, where he would take him, what he would show him. But eventually, he can't keep his eyes open any longer and he's asleep beside him, dreaming long into the night. His grip on his hand naturally slackens, but he doesn't entirely let go, even in sleep. As though it were a last measure of protection.

Thomas is used to tight quarters, small cots, and light sleep. He's used to the sounds of another person, their movements and rhythms. But he's so tired that none of that matters. Thomas drifts into a deep sleep, dreaming of all the places they might go, all the places he's already been.

And when he does wake, it's slow and foggy, a luxurious sort of transition into the morning rather than an abrupt shift. It's a chilly air, but that doesn't seem to touch him or affect him. He can enjoy it. He takes in his surroundings first, then memory hits him and he searches out the Doctor.

When he'd awoken, he'd taken care to make sure the thin blanket remained tucked around Thomas, even knowing the cold doesn't affect him now. He'd swept a lock of hair back from his eyes as he slept and carefully gotten up with the hopes of having a warm drink ready before Thomas would wake. In his most ideal, he'd have a full English breakfast for him, but...this will have to do.

He'd foraged a modest amount of berries and acorns, and just as Thomas stirs, he puts the kettle on to boil.

"Finally, he awakens!" The Doctor teases fondly, rubbing his hands together to warm them in the cold air. "If you were wondering, I'd grant you a solid nine out of ten stars for pleasurable sleeping-next-to partner. That's high marks! With only a bit of room for improvement." He's glad to see him rested.

He pulls the blanket off of his shoulders, rubbing his stuff fingers as he shakes his head at the other man, deeply amused. Thomas is still waking, but he can hear the sound of water boiling and he searches it out.

"I shall strive for perfection next time." He says with a laugh. "We should get an early start. What - are you making?"

He stands up on achy legs, but they are sore in a pleasant way, the way muscles get after a very good and deep sleep.

"The grandest breakfast I could manage in a short window of time," he laughs at himself, shaking his head. It's not the best, not nearly, but he sets out the acorns he'd de-shelled on the table, laying them on a cloth along with the berries, while he makes the tea.

"This is more of the willow bark tea for your joints, before we set out." But he nods to the acorns. "Those should be a decent variety, more protein. I did have an idea with these acorns when I have more time later. It will take days, but I should be able to make a paste from them, almost like...acorn meal. Mixed with crushed berries, oh that would be a treat!" Really probably not, but he has a way of seeing it more optimistically nonetheless.

"Clever thinking for one who doesn't like to eat much himself," he points out, stretching his arms over his head and letting all of his body feel it. He could certainly get used to this, especially with how safe and comfortable he felt upon waking.

He joins him on the other side of the room, playfully adjusting the Doctor's tie and brushing fingers along his shoulders. "Add some maple syrup to it and I think you might be on to something, sir."

But he laughs. "We can gather more as we go down."

It feels so natural for Thomas to adjust his tie now, like it's already a routine. It's odd to think of it that way, but not in any way unpleasant. The opposite, actually. When he takes Thomas' hand for a moment, he busies himself with massaging a few joints of his fingers, in case they're stiff with the morning chill.

"Maple syrup!" He laughs brightly. "Of course. Now, that will actually be a grand feast." Thomas is right, though, he doesn't eat as much, though he's trying to be more mindful of it these days. His body needs more sustenance that he doesn't necessarily always remember to give it. At least in the case of sleeping, there's little avoiding it for too long of a stretch. He does note that he actually hardly moved last night, he slept well. In that tiny bed next to someone, he slept soundly. When the kettle goes off, he squeezes Thomas' hand before letting go, finishing up the last step to get the water steeping with willow bark.

"Do you know when people slept dreadfully and one look at their face says they're absolutely miserable after a night chasing sleep? You look completely the opposite." This is his...fumbling, awkward, roundabout way of complimenting his appearance.

He knows exactly what he means by that and he flushes a deep, deep red, turning to look out the window as if that might help stave it off. He sees the snow beneath them instead, happy enough with the view.

"I do. It is the look all the boys carried their first night at sea," he laughs. "They were all so ill, they spent the day on the deck, emptying their mother's last meals into the open ocean."

He smiles to remember it, how young they all were, how naive and somehow still so ready for whatever was going to come for them. "My first proper evening on the Racer, I was ready to swim back to shore."

If it's any consolation, the moment the words leave him, the Doctor doesn't give much thought to what sort of effect they may or may not have had. There's an awareness that Thomas has turned to look away, but he doesn't quite correlate (yet) that it might have had anything to do with what he said. Instead, he carries on cheerily moving about in the small space, grabbing a few berries to munch on and tucking his journal securely inside his coat pocket. He doesn't want to forget it since they'll be leaving shortly. There was enough time this morning to jot down highlights from Sam's journal, preferring to leave it behind otherwise. He'd like to think Sam might be reunited with it some day.

He goes back to the tea as he listens to Thomas, finishing up making it and handing a warm mug to him now.

"You?" He laughs fondly. "That would have been quite the experience, your first go 'round like that. So night one was a wash a bit. What about the second night? When you had your bearings more."

Was it like a dream, he wonders? Those early days setting out for the first time on an adventure being so unlike anything else. He can almost imagine a young Thomas on that first ship setting sail. For the Doctor, no subsequent journey ever really loses its wonder for him, but there's something about that very first adventure that settles in the heart.

"I was excited, then. Ready to help. I was no Marine, just a boy fetching water and stitching clothes, but the Racer chased slavers. I learned what bravery means."

He tucks his forelock behind his ear, smiling before he sits down to pull on his boots and drink his tea.

"I remember that first day so well."

He looks over. "Where did you go first?"

"Earth, actually," he smiles fondly at the memory, sipping his own tea. "76 Totter's Lane to be exact — very near Piccadilly Circus in London. Quite the bustling scene then — well, always in that area. It was all so...different from anything I'd ever seen."

There are so many memories stored away in that other life, so long ago now. So many faces that are just names in his head and hearts now. He hadn't entirely meant to land there, but his beloved TARDIS has always had a few...challenged components that make actual navigation a bit tricky. After all this time, he hasn't quite clued in that he's not the best at flying his ship, either.

"I enjoy imagining you out there stopping the injustices of the world," he pivots back to Thomas' first journey. "Was it hard — leaving that first time you set sail?"

It's familiar in a way, like most things that involve a futuristic London. He doesn't ask anything more about it, aware that he's had the Doctor tell Thomas so much since they arrived in this place. He's taken it all in, every moment, and he appreciates it, but it doesn't make it easier to talk about.

Thomas' own life is simpler now.

"Ah - yes," he agrees. "I was young and I missed my mother and my baby brother." He admits it with a smile. "But I was going on a grand adventure. Or at least it seemed that way. And I was doing something good in the world."

He stares at his boots for a moment, remembering the moment he had stopped looking back towards shore and turned to stare at what was coming ahead.

"Sarah and William," he remarks aloud, tipping his mug back and downing the rest of his tea in one last big gulp. He wouldn't forget their names, not ever. "They must have been proud. Excited for you. Missed you, of course, that's a given in the reverse."

He remembers Thomas speaking of caring for his mother, too, and he holds that truth close to him. It told him so much about the man even then, a fact only reinforced the more he's come to know him; how much he does for others. The job, but more than that, something so embedded in his nature. He didn't ask before what happened to Thomas' mother — he can guess, but...he doesn't want to turn the tone of the morning too darkly. Perhaps another time.

He pats Thomas' shoulder briefly before moving to the small table and popping a few acorns into his mouth. Then he offers to Thomas, "Do you want a bit before I tie this up?" He'll knot it securely and stuff the rations in his pocket so they can munch on their way back down.

"Now if you don't eat quickly, I can't promise I'll show continued restraint around this lot," he nods to the acorns and berries. "I'm an absolute nut for acorns, Thomas." He manages to say it with a straight face somehow. It's a terrible joke, but he does love his puns.

He's a little slower with his own tea, wanting to savor the happy warmth for what it is. "Save the berries," he tells him. "I will enjoy those in a moment."

He's not in a hurry at all, but he watches as the Doctor gets everything together. "How is your side today?" he wonders, because the Doctor had unfairly burdened himself with that injury. So Thomas must remind him to take it easy. To be careful.

He finally does stand, taking a handful of the berries and tossing one up to try and catch in his mouth, though he misses and it tumbles to the floor.

He shouldn't, in theory, need to be reminded to take it easy and move carefully, but...it seems Thomas is a step ahead in knowing better because yes, he's terrible at it.

The sharpest edge of pain has dulled, but he feels it in every quick movement. He doesn't like letting things like this slow him down, of course. "My side! Yes. It's been a good side. Sturdy. And just where I left it."

— The art of the non-answer. He grabs a berry himself, though, trying to mimic Thomas and catch one in his mouth, which he also misses. But then he takes another, holds it between his index finger and thumb and tries to catch Thomas' eye. He doesn't throw it yet, but he makes a silent gesture like he will, to see if Thomas wants to or can catch it when it's thrown this way.

It's a terrible deflection, but he doesn't mind it as much anymore. He's seen under the mask, knows the reason for it, and he can appreciate it for what it is now and what it does for him.

Thomas laughs fondly, popping another into his mouth while he watches the Doctor fail with a smirk. The second berry, though, gets his attention and he laughs, opening his mouth.

Apparently this is a silly game that transcends communities and races and species, because Thomas knows exactly what he's doing. And he's ready to catch it.

"No pressure, but this one's for the championship," he teases, knowing full well he won't know at all what he's talking about.

The Doctor will do his best to aim with a sure and steady hand; just the right amount of propulsion so the berry doesn't fall to the ground before it's barely moved. He could undershoot or overshoot, it's anyone's guess. But like with many things, he does random mental calculations as though he could determine the perfect velocity and angle of pitch. He doesn't leave Thomas waiting more than a second or two, though, grinning as he launches it towards him, and —

- it's good!

Thomas manages to catch it, losing his balance a little and knocking against the wall with a laugh. But it's a victory, and he raises a hand in the air.

"You did it!"

And The Doctor gets a playful acorn at his head for the trouble.

He's quick to stick his tongue out at Thomas for the acorn maneuver, tucking it into his pocket now. God knows what will happen to it from here.

"Pleasant surprise! I didn't have a speech prepared, I'm sure I have cue cards somewhere though it was a group effort," he makes a show of patting his pockets briefly and grinning playfully before he shifts and sticks his own hand up in the air, moving closer.

"Put your hand up — this warrants a high five."

"I know what that is and you cannot make me do it," he laughs, folding his arms across his chest and stepping back. He's never going to see that acorn again. Thomas has made his peace with that fact.

"There is no speech you can give me that will change my mind."

"Thomas! You're actually denying me a high five? Me, really?"

He drops his hand and he pretends to be offended, though his expression shifts to something decidedly poutier as he folds his arms over his chest in return.

"Even when I make this face, you can say no?" It's a very exaggerated pout now that he tries to pull. "You're immune to this?"

He looks slightly apologetic, ducking his head and averting his gaze. "Unfortunately, sir, I have seen sadder and more put-upon faces in my years." He tsks softly, hiding a smile as he starts to pack their bag to leave.

"I'm afraid you might have to do without."

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