001; entrance

[demnify.livejournal.com]

If I must state one thing, and state it concisely, I shall say this: interesting. Considering I was just moments ago on a planet that would, at random moments, burst into sectional flame, I feel this is rather apropos. Maybe I’m dead. I doubt it, I expect death is less substantial than this – filled with less coruscations.


I almost prefer the fire and the quaking. At least there was some means of constant entertainment; this seems like I’ve simply been put in a dark room with a small crowd of paparazzi. How utterly annoying.


I’ve no time for this. There are better uses for my time; this is little more than a waste of it. Perhaps if this… place offered some visible means of escape, it would be worth the effort to explore, but at the moment, no. To whoever may be hearing me – provided anyone can in this place or that there is even anyone else here – I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve better things to do than stumble about in the dark.

Comments

[demnify.livejournal.com]

[grins, why, thank you for all that information]

Perhaps you died. Wouldn't that be an apropos explanation as well, and that wherever you happened to be sent was Manchester, 1973; and then subsequently here?

[didorothy]

[oblivious to the fact that he's talking to the Master (clearly has not watched as much Doctor Who as he should), and so continuing on]

What sort of afterlife is Manchester, 1973?

[demnify.livejournal.com]

Purgatory, perhaps. You did nothing to damn yourself fully nor did you do anything to redeem yourself fully. Purgatory is, after all, supposed to be a rather mediocre and average sort of setting.

[didorothy]

Manchester, 1973 is anything but mediocre. If I'm dead, what does that make you?

[demnify.livejournal.com]

A demon, perhaps.

[didorothy]

A demon with a virus? I guess the NHS doesn't extend to you.

[demnify.livejournal.com]

Speaking in metaphor, Mr. Tyler, nothing more.

[didorothy]

'course.

[demnify.livejournal.com]

Demons don't actually exist after all.

So, tell me. What did you do in Manchester, 1973, that was 'anything but mediocre'?

[didorothy]

Neither do blokes with fangs, as far as I know. So here we are, not existing.

Solve crimes. Nearly die because of my DCIs reckless driving. Get into life-threatening situations. Meet me mum and get invited in for tea. All sorts of fun. 1973 is just a barrel of laughs. And by 'laughs' I mean 'whisky.'

[demnify.livejournal.com]

You've never heard of dental modification? Ahhhh, well, it doesn't matter.

Tsk, tsk, Mr. Tyler. You could have started a Grandfather Paradox in interaction with your mother.

[didorothy]

Yeah, or the Blinovitch limitation effect when I saw myself.