support group one: no one left behind

[hearnospeakno]

When: Friday 6:00 p.m.
Where: Attic Observatory
What: Community Support Group

As Nick promised on his open advertisements, there are chairs and coffee in the Attic Observatory. There's even a table laden with what food products Nick and co could round up.

The process of setting up for a group meeting felt enough like Boulder that Nick took a short break to lean, palms first, against a wall. It was a short, easily displaced moment, and he has no intention of lingering on it.

This is about everyone, one way or another. For all the people stuck here, and everyone new, and all those in-between. Nick left the purpose of the group intentionally vague. In the future, he assumes it'll have to be narrowed down and split up for the sake of different needs, but for this first coming together of the displaced in any non-official capacity he wants it to be open for everyone. It wouldn't be right, otherwise.

So all newcomers will find Nick by the attic observatory door, nursing a cup of black coffee next to a clearly printed sign:

Hi, I'm Nick. Welcome to the first Nexus Hotel Support Group. Whatever your problem, we'll listen. Help yourself to coffee and food.

Underneath the words, Nick has drawn and crossed out a mouth and ear, leaving an arrow pointed at himself. His pad of paper and pen are obvious on his lap.

Comments

[legendthatwas]

Martha made it to the wardrobe--again, much more open, this TARDIS space, she rather liked it--and began rummaging around for something to wear to the beach. A maxi dress, perhaps, that would be suitable, and some sandals, and a wrap because knowing the Doctor, things would probably end up not being what was expected.

"I'm glad you're not stuck," she called back. "Wait, a minotaur? Was this some sort of misguided metaphor for Crete, or...or are you not able to tell me because of spoilers?" That was going to get a bit awkward. "My parents're fine. Still back together, shockingly, though they do occasionally have huge blowouts. And Tris is doing well, just started a contract with the BBC."

[themadmanwithabox]

"I don't think telling you would do anything," he muses idly as he takes a seat and crosses his legs, fixing his bowtie absently in an effort to continue to impress her. He could rely on the TARDIS to do it for him, but there are other laurels he can rest on just as easily. "As best as I can tell, it was a prison that fueled your fears to feed upon your faith," he says. "There was a room there for everyone. Unfortunately, the whole thing was defunct. We made it out."

"Not quickly enough," he adds, thinking of Rita and of Howie and Joe. And then, losing the Ponds to the monotony of real life. The Doctor's smile is weak, empty; hollow and filled with the loneliness that's started to seep in, given the last while of travelling alone. "I'm rubbish at taking care of my companions, at times, Martha Jones. I'm sure I don't have to tell you twice."

[legendthatwas]

By this point Martha had found a suitable red maxi in light fabric (not quite chiffon, probably futuristic) and had put it on, along with a wrap, and was digging about for footwear. "To feed upon your faith?" she echoed, poking her head up before finally settling on some not-very-stylish-but-comfy Birkenstocks.

She was about to rummage some more, maybe ask if she could take some away to the hotel (asking him to take her home seemed wrong, like crossing the streams), when she detected the very familiar change in tone. Heading back down towards him, she said, not unkindly, "Well...I hope you don't want me to lie to you, Doctor."

[themadmanwithabox]

"No, I think the time for lies is well over," he assures her, his hands folded in his lap as he offers her a polite smile. "Lovely choice, the TARDIS hasn't lost her touch, now has she?" he praises fondly. "Though, she is rather terrible about not giving me a fez when I ask for it. I think she's well aware how short a time it would last, given the predilection of my companions to shoot hats off my head," he scowls.

[legendthatwas]

"She hasn't," said Martha, who usually would have badgered him further about this sudden remorse--she wasn't sure why she wasn't. "Though I think she just has a fashion sense of her own that she wants you to stick to, perhaps. Or maybe she's just taking the piss."

[themadmanwithabox]

"She's sulking, is what I think," he accuses with his very own sulking expression, hypocritical to the extreme. He handles this with aplomb, however, making his way to the zig-zag plotter and wheeling the screen over with him. "Space Florida for Dr. Jones and some silver sand!" he says, slamming his palm down against a shiny bright red button on the console, forgetting the earlier serious conversation all-together.