economicalrhinoplasty | Tuck Those Ribbons Under Your Helmet [Closed]

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Current Music: Tori Amos - "Mother"

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Tuck Those Ribbons Under Your Helmet [Closed]

Eva waits on the log for a very long time, until the chill from the shoe tree leaves her shivering slightly, her teeth clicking irregularly as a replacement for her normal twitching and jerking. She's become a very patient person, she thinks - she measured her life in three-day cycles for so long that she thinks she no longer views time like a normal human being, but rather in some extended and flimsy nature, like a rubber band with all the elasticity stretched out of it.

Given that she has no watch on her - Stacy's unique perspective on time, even more distorted and deformed than Eva's, has long since made watches useless - she can't properly estimate how much time she spends sitting there waiting, but she expects it must be hours, since she feels tired and bored and tiny icicles are starting to form around her eyelashes and bangs.

Somehow it seems strangely appropriate to sit around waiting for the Doctor. He doesn't seem to follow anyone else's schedule. She wonders how many people before have sat on this log, waiting for something, maybe for the Doctor or for deliverance or for God. Or maybe she's singularly unique, the sole passenger in this log's history, and this is the one moment in time where this log not only exists but is sittable, and has been seen by sentient eyes.

She's starting to think like him. All the silence in her own head is getting to her. Maybe she should get her Yeerk back. She misses conversation.

That's a terrible idea.

She gets up and twists her back some, eking little pops out of her spine. She wipes the ice from her eyes, careful not to harm her makeup, although it did get smeared somewhat during the dumbwaiter trip and library attack. It's the principle of the matter.

Tossing her hair up into a clip again, she walks in the direction the Doctor took off towards, her feet adjusting to the sockless interior of her new shoes. "Doc?"

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"Centipedes, really. They were called Taxxons. And they were...well, the epitome of a tragic race. A complete subversion of our expectations." She looks sad for a moment. She didn't envy the Taxxons, found them disgusting, really, but out of any race she ran into, she found their decision to be voluntary controllers the only sympathetic one. "We thought they were evil and naturally, they were just scared and tortured. Much like many things in this reality."

She stares back at the Doctor. Yes, he's alien, and yet familiar, somehow. Not like the aliens in her life, the ones that tugged her around and ruined her and never once asked her permission before they upended everything she ever worked for. Before they stole her face and drafted her teenage son.

How could she ever blame him the way she blames the rest of the universe? He's like her - isolated. Carrying the wounds of pasts no one cares to delve into.

"No. I wanted to be president. But I was an immigrant." It's an honest answer. She did have quite the ambitions when she was young, but none of them involved traveling the galaxy. "I don't know that I want to see more of it now."

The Doctor nods as he takes in Giant Centipedes and Not-As-Evil-As-We-Thought. Eva’s completely right, of course. Very sensible for a human, and not in the Leadsworth Sensible way, either!

“You know they do change that. In the future. Different definitions of presidents and what counts as a human. Bit stretchy by then,” the Doctor points out. As spoilers go, he considers it harmless. It’s a future he probably would have liked to show her, if things had been different – and that, by the way, is a very human way of looking at it, as if that’s just how it will be. Why, he could still take her there! Show off the universe to her when it’s not trying to kill her or enslave her! Or…at least keep those bits away from her as best he could.

The Doctor has one of those Looks on his face, as if he’s plotting something. Maybe a scheme. His Scheming and Plotting Faces look the same anyway. Still, he’s past the days where he just pushes his companions into the TARDIS and they’re basically glorified prisoners, so it still all banks on Eva agreeing to go on an adventure or two in the end. The Doctor nods, watching the fire crackling in front of Eva. The firelight casts those scars of hers in deeper shadows, making her look old, and not just in that way humans get once they reach the end of their short lifespans.

“It’d be better off having more Eva Salazar,” the Doctor remarks. “The real you.”

She draws one eyebrow up, the other down, in a quizzical attempt to glean meaning from the Doctor's face. He's plotting something, she can tell, but what is beyond her. It occurs to her that she's not sure that she trusts his schemes - she didn't when he refused to fill her in on the killer library, and while she knows he probably has her best interest in mind, she also knows he won't keep her as up to date as she'd like to be.

"And what do you know about the real me, Doc?"

For that matter, what does she know about the real her? That person seems like another casualty of the war, lost behind some wall twelve years ago. It's like remembering another person, an old friend she knew growing up, maybe, from childhood to high school to motherhood, but they got separated along the way.

Or is the real her the person she is now?

What, this is seriously his innocent face, Eva. Look how innocent it is. It’s so innocent it’s almost painful.

“Enough, I think.” The Doctor looks thoughtful, reaching down with a stick to nudge at the little fire they have going. A few cinders float up into the night air, the flames crackling. Between the water and the fire, they’re safe from the library. At least for the time being. “You’re one of the special ones, Eva. Not that all humans aren’t, even the excessively reasonable ones. But you’re you. Maybe you ought to consider what you’d like to do after this. All this.”

He waves at the dark sky over them, impossible big even for being on Stacy. “All of this”, as if encompassing not just the Ohm and saving Earth (again), but what she saw herself doing if she could be back on her home world and there was laundry and…that other stuff her species did. What then? Most humans would be glad to go back to that rountine, but Eva didn’t strike him as just like every other human. Sometimes she reminded him of Amy.

And then there were the other times, where she turned wild and she had it in her to take man-eating libraries on. Suffice to say he’s impressed.

"That," she says, pointing an accusing finger at him, "is the single biggest non-answer anyone could possibly give someone. 'You're you'. And in other news, water is wet and the moon is cold!"

Of course, as much as she makes fun of it, she knows it's not true. Sometimes you're not you. Sometimes you're a villain wearing a mother's skin or an alien in human flesh. Sometimes you're a motley assortment of bruises passing yourself off as who you were. It's all in how you look at it.

So as much as she protests, it is nice to hear and be reminded.

"Not to mention it's coming from someone who I don't think knows who he is." She holds her hands out, palms forward, to warm themselves in front of the fire. Her hair is drying, naturally curlier with the humidity and tangled. "Or what he would like do when he's done doing-" she waves too- "all this."

Ooh, Eva Salazar is good! The Doctor blinks at the finger pointed at his face.

Actually, she's wrong about one of those points, because the Moon can be a perfectly lovely place to vacation in the 51st Century and he could recommend white-out dates if she ever gets it in her mind to have a holiday.

And then Eva has to go and prove that she's more than just good, the human deciding to get almost uncomfortably perceptive. The Doctor's smile is still on his face, the corners of it twitching for a second as if he's trying to fight off an even bigger grin. She's right, of course. Almost a thousand years and even he sometimes wonders. Maybe it's not even important anymore. There's a point where you can sit in your study or the console room and think and think and the silence becomes too much. When you think about yourself and it stretches out and seems to lose all meaning.

It probably explains why he keeps running back to restock on his human friends. They have a habit of making things interesting again.

"I'm working on it," the Doctor says with a half-wounded tone. "I can't be expected to be brilliant every breathing second, you know!"

As for the rest, well. He's so busy wanting to impress Eva (and get her out of the TARDIS alive) that he doesn't think it worth going into the whole...Time Lord thing. Not really here nor there!

"What about the not breathing seconds?" Eva flicks a few grains of sand at him, teasing, trying to give herself an edge in the conversation so she doesn't feel drowned in his worldliness. Or universaliness. He may have the knowledge of time and space that dwarfs her lifetime but she has spunk.

She wraps her arms back around herself, feeling that the clothing on her front is almost dry now. Wonderful. Maybe she'll even be able to sleep tonight, although she isn't fond of the idea of doing so in front of anyone besides her husband. It's not as if the Doctor doesn't surely know that she has some residual damage, but she's too proud to wake up crying near him.

"You know, at some point we need to find our way home. Marco's going to be devastated if I'm not there to cut his sandwiches right."

The Doctor gives Eva a snort at that, the sand bouncing off. “Well, I’ve been known to manage something even then.” He could list how amazing he’s been even during a regeneration, but he’s far more interested in how to sort Eva’s problems. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you out of here. You can cut all the sandwiches you like.”

It sounded a bit…dull to him but from what he’s observed of humans, sometimes they like to cope by doing mind-bendingly dull things. It seems to work. Of course Marco’s invited to come if he ever pops by to kidnap Eva for a well-deserved vacation After All This (that’s what he’s calling this Ohm thing – “After All This”, as if it’s that simple). The Doctor seems content to stay by the fire and enjoy Eva’s company for a few moments before he suddenly snaps his fingers, remembering those banana leaves. Right! Blankets! You could do worse than gigantic banana leaves!

He gets to his feet, seeming to unfold up like scaffolding than just standing like a human, and turns on the spot, surveying their little campsite. After a pause, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a terribly antiquated mobile phone, looking like something from the 90’s.

“Try using that to see if you can contact anyone on the outside. I’ll be back in five.”

"You know, the boy's sixteen. He can cut his own damned sandwiches." Eva pulls the banana leaf up to her waist and takes the brick-sized mobile phone. You could bludgeon a large dog to death with this sort of thing. It weighs as much as her head. After a few screechy reminders of how far out of range they are from anything resembling a modern cell tower, she sets the mobile phone down on a rock. Wouldn't do to get sand in the stupid thing.

She lays down on the sand and stares at the sky, a dark black void with the stars bleached out by the fire burning down next to her. With her head so close to the flames, it feels as if her curling, twisting locks of hair are hot lengths of metal wire, but it doesn't occur to her to move herself out of the immediate heat.

She closes her eyes and waits for the Doctor but, as always, he's late. Unlike last time, she doesn't go looking for him. Instead she rolls over to her side and curls up into a fetal position, clutching the crumpled edge of the banana leaf close to her breast. As she exhales deep grains of sand skitter away from her breath. She trusts the Doctor to come back, and so she's relatively relaxed and slips into dreams easily.

It's still dark when she wakes up, muscles tense and fingers twitching. She's clutched the banana leaf so hard that her fingernails have ripped through it and dug red indents into her palms. The side of her face that was on the ground has sand outlining where her tears and snot were while she slept, dried to her face. She sits up and wipes it away, along with whatever dream plagued her. Lost to the beach, another tiny, incidental piece of a greater whole.

She shakes sand out of her hair and looks over the firepit, long since burned out.

"Doc? Did you make it back?"

The Doctor’s a dark shadow a few yards away, facing the sea. He turns at her voice, just an outline. There’s stars alright, bright and alien and none of the constellations match but after Stacy, that’s really just a given.

“I’m right here, Eva,” the Doctor’s voice is gentle.

It’s about an hour or so before it should get lighter out – dawn in the TARDIS, basically! It’s been awhile since he’s gone this deep into the old girl and seen her stars, and he’s glad that he’s doing it with a friend. There’s something far too lonely about doing it by himself. Even if Eva has a habit of drooling into the sand. Well. Crying, mostly, but there’s some drooling too. The Doctor reaches into his pocket to pull out one of his typically hideous handkerchiefs, flapping it in the air like he means to put out a fire as he walks back up the beach. The handkerchief is offered to Eva as the Doctor bustles about the remnants of their little campfire, kicking sand over it with his boot.

“So I think maybe we ought to make a detour. Just a little one.” The Doctor glances up at Eva, having given her plenty of time to get cleaned up. Some humans are fussy like that (he knows Amy is). “I’ve been having problems with the time engines since the TARDIS landed on Stacy and I think if we can get to them, maybe we could fix them.”

He lets that sink in, as if Eva’s been with him every step of the way to know what that means. After having so many humans with him, sometimes it blurs together which ones have been there long enough to know and which ones haven’t.

"Oh, good. I was partially worried I'd wake up to you a few inches away, staring at me. Or chewing my toes or something."

She takes the handkerchief - purple and brown paisley, really? - and cleans up her face. Puts her hair back up. Straightens her shirt and shakes a little to get the sand out of her clothes. The dawn light filtering in is soft and calm, and it seems like even the forest and the waves lapping on the beach are hushed in reverence for it. The inside of the TARDIS feels sleepy and calm, and for a moment Eva begins to really understand what the Doctor means when he refers to the TARDIS as if it's a person.

"Mm." She has no idea what time engines are, but now seems an inappropriate time to pester him for information when he's been so reluctant to give it. Not that that will stop her in the future, but for a moment she just wants to enjoy the rising light and company with a friend, no matter how infuriating. "Is that all you were thinking about all night?"

The Doctor only laughs. “Unlike some species, I don’t find humans to be very tasty.”

He’s pleased to see she’s putting that handkerchief to good use (yes, paisley, really!), the Doctor already dressed and brushing off the sand from where he’d been sitting. His expression smoothes out for a split second at Eva’s observation. Right, sometimes he forgets that she’s got a good set of eyes on her.

“One of the things,” the Doctor says with a shrug. He wrings his hands together, thinking outloud. There’s thinking and then there’s thinking with an audience – he’s always loved the second one. “The TARDIS is already hooked to Stacy. If I could fix the time engines and use Stacy as a boosting board, it’s entirely possible to sort All of This. Provided the library doesn’t get us first,” he adds as an afterthought.

If they stick to the water – any oceans, lakes, rivers, or ponds – the chances of that happening are rather low. Besides, they made it this far and Eva has proven herself to be very anti-library, so he thinks they’re off to a good start, relatively speaking.

"I don't know. If you had toe-chewing as a hobby, it wouldn't really surprise me." She laughs back, always pleased to have convinced someone else of her undeniable wittiness. Take that, Daniel Jackson.

And of course, the Doctor doesn't elaborate on what those other things he was thinking were. Eva will get used to being blocked out, eventually. It's still a difficult thing to adjust to, and sometimes it drives her crazy, not being linked in to someone else's thoughts. Sometimes she forgets people aren't reading her mind. Sometimes she's angry that she can't read theirs.

"Then let's make that a plan. I'm afraid I don't know anything about the technical side, but point me in the right direction and I'm your lady." And if anything's true, it's that her stubborn streak can come in handy, every once in a great, great while.

She folds the handkerchief up on her knee, so it's flat and even, and hands it back to the Doctor. "Here. Have some snotty sand."

The Doctor takes the handkerchief with a scrunch of his nose. Despite having been used to…slimy encounters, both Stacy and pre-Stacy, he still isn’t a fan of things like getting a handful of bogeys. He’ll probably toss it over the side of the dinghy when Eva isn’t looking.

“That’s the spirit!” The Doctor is, if anything, double-pleased. It’s like being pleased but better. “First we’ll have to get there. Have you ever seen a TARDIS time engine? Of course you haven’t,” the Doctor answers for her. “You really should, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen one in person. C’mon!”

He spins on his heel and stalks off down the beach toward where they beached the dingy last night. It’s going to be a beautiful day, that dawn creeping on the sky and casting the island in a comfortably warm glow across the palm trees and the stretch of sand. He pauses once he’s got one foot in the dinghy to lick his finger and stick it in the air like a lightning rod, waving it around until he gets his bearings. Eva might not be technical – he suspects she can still manage better than Jamie McCrimmon, although that isn’t terribly hard to begin with – but he appreciates her willingness to help.

Eva's boogers are classy boogers. Come on now.

"Sailing again?" She hops into the dinghy and readies herself at the bow. It surprises here that there's actually wind in the TARDIS. She assumed that, since it was enclosed, there wouldn't be, but it occurs to her that she's not entirely sure why wind exists on Earth either because she's never had much of a head for science. She can feel the direction of the wind on her eyes when she turns her head in the right direction, no spitty finger needed.

"So what should I expect when I see my very first time engine, Doc? Is it shiny? Does it glow? Or is it some boring artless metal contraption that happens to be very big?"

She expects it's shiny. The Doctor seems to like shiny things, although she wouldn't be surprised if the time engines were plaid or something.

Sailing again, yes. He hasn’t quite mastered the natural teleport, so sailing it is and anyway, a lovely day like this deserves dragging your feet!

The Doctor began pumping at the cranks in the dinghy like the day before as steam whistles at the seams of the mast. He works at it furiously like he meana to bicycle with his hands. “Oh, it’s very shiny and glowy! I wouldn’t have it any other way! Although,” he seems to have second thoughts even as their little boat begins to slide away from the beach. “Maybe you ought to be careful in there anyway. First time and you haven’t had enough temporal touristing to get used to this sort of thing, I’d imagine. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you.”

Whatever she sees in there besides the time engines, he has faith she can manage. Eva is exceptionally tough. Frail, too. Oh so frail. But something in her has gotten her this far and he thinks it will still keep going, throughout the rest of her short human life.

The Doctor turns to cast a glance at the island they’re leaving. It, like much of the TARDIS internals, doesn’t have a name yet. It probably won’t until he has time to come back and unlike Eva, he has loads and loads of time.

"Oh, so when I need information about the giant bookstore trying to devour me, you're suspiciously silent, but when you don't trust me to figure out a giant spacey timeboat you've got my my back. Gotcha." Eva points a gun-finger at the Doctor and makes a clicking sound in the side of her mouth. "Don't worry, I won't touch too many things. I'll even ask permission before I press buttons."

She helps to unfurl a sail, although the sudden gust of wind (honey-scented!) helps her rather than hinders her in that regard. The white canvas floats out ahead of them and acquiesces to be tied down in all the right places to get them going east-ish, if the sun rises in the same place in the TARDIS as it does on any self-respecting planet.

Then she up and seals the Doctor's honor in naming the island right from him, blowing an exaggerated kiss to the shore and citing a famous Spanish short story when she says, "thank you for the bed rest, Xiros!" The sleep really has done wonders for her mood.

“That’s the spirit!” He grins, looking impish. “The library is nothing compared to what a time engine can do to you. Besides, what does knowing about the library matter when it’ll still try to chomp you while you’re waiting for another one of your human explanations?”

He means well. But if he cared about silly things like money, he’d probably be rich for all the times he’s had to slap a human’s hand from constantly putting it where it’s like to get zapped, chopped, burned or otherwise mutilated. At least Eva is kind enough to give him some warning. The Doctor rolls his weight with the dinghy, his legs slightly bowlegged and he looks for all the world like he would desperately love to have a sailor’s hat on right this second. Of course he’ll probably have to pay more attention to where Eva steps or even looks when they’re close to the time engines, especially if there’s some…glitches, but he supposes he can worry about that when they’re back on land.

By now they can no longer see Xiros, the island long ago fading into the distance, first a dot, and then the blue ocean stretching out into the horizon line. The dinghy chops through the small waves, sending some white foam spraying up every now and then over the low-slung railing.

"I wouldn't need to stand around pestering you for explanations if you'd just give them to me readily, you know." Eva refuses to concede this point. In a world full of killer libraries and fire-breathing space bugs, 'trust me' may work on impressionable twenty-something with wide eyes and fiery spirits, but only gives her a reason to frown at him. He isn't dealing with cute little girls here, he's dealing with someone who raised a child and bears the stretch marks to prove it.

For a while she sits at the edge of the boat, staring out over the ocean, letting the spray of salt get in her eyelashes and her hair. She looks serene for a bit, as if the rollicking of the ocean has stolen all her inner turmoil for itself.

At least, so it appears, until a storm appears on the horizon. Eva looks up and sees that birds - or, it appears, strips of rags in the form of birds - are fleeing away from some dark reddish cloud on the horizon, like a blood stain on the sky. It begins to occur to her how completely massive the inside of the TARDIS is.

"Doc, do you see that?"

The Doctor frowns, as if a little startled that his usual hasn’t quite…had the same effect on Eva as it usually does on most humans he pops in on. But her knowing the intricacies of the time engine won’t help much, if any, in the end and he decides if she absolutely needs to know something that will save her life, he’ll be sure to tell her. The thing is even he isn’t entirely sure what they’ll find there. There’s a strong possibility he doesn’t want Eva to know he doesn’t know either.

He’s been watching that storm cloud growing from an ugly smudge in the distance to the low-hanging wall, fast approaching. Their dinghy is fast but not that fast and there’s simply no way to outrun it.

“I see it!” He has to raise his voice. The cloud promptly dumps a bucket of water at them, rain slapping at the boat and their faces. The Doctor wipes his hair out of his eyes and tries to blink paste the water as lightning flickers across the underbelly of the cloud. “I’ll need you to take over the mast for me, okay?”

The Doctor doesn’t have time to look for the mast’s manual, instead hoping that Eva can sort it out on her own. He drops to his stomach and tries frantically to sonic the base of the mast where a jumble of wires and other alien bits and bobs have come loose, trying to add in some extra power so they can try to scoot to the side.

"Already on it!"

If the truth of the matter is to be told, Eva's simultaneously peeved and excited at a good storm. She's always down for a storm, but the TARDIS has tried to kill her in some remarkably unpleasant ways in the last 24 hours and as such, she'd be fine with just a little more rest and relaxation on the sea. Her jaw grits and locks into a steely expression of determination that's going to either become trademark or give her TMJ if she keeps it up, and she leaps over to the mast and starts to tie and untie the appropriate ropes with both precision and a bit of pent up frustration.

It feels good to sweat, honestly.

"¿Que estas haciendo, Doc?" She can't tell why he's worming around on his belly, but she hopes he has a good plan. The wind is kicking up, and soon the waves will be too great for them to rely on the boat's base to stay put.

“What am I doing?” The Doctor doesn’t look up from his worm. “I’d like to think I’m saving both our lives! And – oh! There we are!”

The dinghy suddenly scoots to the side with an extra burst of power (yes, that might be part of the dinghy on fire like a jet – the inverse-flux pattern may have just blown), sending the Doctor sprawling on his back. He flops in the bottom of the boat, wriggling over to try to grab Eva and stop his friend from tumbling right off the side. Maybe that inverse-flux wasn’t a good idea to stick in there. He’d basically forced it in with good will and a hammer, after all! The Doctor manages to pull himself up against the low slung railings just in time to get a good second look at that storm. Lighting cracks over head and dances across the clouds, Eva’s cutlery fish leaping up in schools out of the water and heading away from the storm.

The first chunk of hail is baseball sized. It thuds into the deck only feet away from Eva with heavy dull think. The Doctor winces as he gets a smaller one right upside the head before he can duck away.

“Press that, then this!” the Doctor’s hands are blurring all over the mass. Maybe he ought to have built a proper shelter for the boat. He will, assuming they get through this with it intact.

Eva sort of shoves the Doctor off her after his daring rescue. It's not that she doesn't appreciate him intercepting her tumble into the sea, but she's not a fan of feeling restrained, either.

When the hail starts to fall, she looks up at it in a sort of turkey-like fashion, before one hits her square in the face. She drops to her knees with a yelp and brings her hand to her mouth. When she tastes blood on her teeth, all bets are off - the pottymouth the Doctor was bemoaning before is there in full force, as if it's the hail's fault for existing and not hers for not moving out of the way of something dropping straight at her.

Sometimes she forgets to move. It happens. It's apparently fairly common with hosts, and part of why they need to be retested for their driver's licenses and need to be careful around crosswalks. All it takes is one moment of forgetting that you have agency.

Thankfully it's just a ball of hail.

The Doctor’s surprisingly easy to shove – being distracted and being a walking scarecrow probably didn’t help either. He glances over at her yelp, turning as if he’s been shot. Oh dear! It seems she’s taken a ball of hail right to the face, which…sounds right for a human and their instinct to downright attract this sort of thing. You’d think they would have evolved out of this stage by now. The Doctor scurries over, looks her over to make sure she hasn’t lost any teeth – and yes, Eva, his ears are red at the sheer language -- and satisfied she’s more or less alright, hands her another one of his typically awful handkerchiefs and scurries back to his post.

For how busy he looks, it doesn’t look like there’s much to be done about getting out of the storm. Hail contains to clatter onto the deck. More splashes into the often, the waves choppy and sending up big white sprays.

The Doctor has time to wonder if this might be another glitch in the TARDIS.

It takes him a moment to realize there’s a roaring sound, even over the thunder and the lightning. The Doctors squints against the gray rain slapping against his face, wiping his sopping wet fringe out of his eyes as he yells at Eva.

“What’s the noise?” It’s one of those human failings he’d picked up. He thinks he knows exactly what it is, he just hopes he’s wrong.

Through the gray murk, there’s a foaming line of mist up ahead, water churning, the ocean rushing toward that line where it simply drops off. Odd, he didn’t remember a waterfall being here…

Eva barely has time to take in the atrocious pattern on the handkerchief (pink and brown plaid) before she has it to her bleeding lip. She would be shaking her other fist at the skies, except she needs it to grab the railing and keep from getting bowled over by the rock of the dinghy again.

And then she just comes right out and says it, because there's no use denying it. "It's a waterfall!"

What can they do? They can't abandon ship, the waves are too volatile and either way, they'll still end up sucked over the edge. The human body, or a Timelord body, she imagines, can't fight that sort of current.

"Hold tight and let go at the last minute!" She can't tell how much of that he hears from her, but she holds the railing now with both hands. The handkerchief goes whirling off into the mist somewhere, and she hopes to God that the water doesn't go as far down as it sounds like it does. Or that Timelords can fly.

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let's time skip to morning? :3a

sure thing!

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i'm sorry I am slowbro this month D8

Re: i'm sorry I am slowbro this month D8

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