[Before you ask - Yes. This is a Doctor Who RP. This is a fan version, however, where the main Timelord is called the Author, so no canon characters please! If you could, please play his companion, whom he has not yet met. I restarted my version because I noticed there were more Doctor Who fans coming onto the board, not because I was copying. Just remember, this is advanced! So only people who can match my posts in length can join. c: Thanks for looking!]
The Author was bored. Insatiably and irrationally bored. This seemed to be a common occurrence as of late, and one that he wished dearly to rid himself of. But how? How exactly was he going to rid himself of such a relentless plague? He was a timelord, for crying out loud -- he knew all of time within his head, everything in the universe was there to be used. So there was almost no way he would be able to think of something that wasn't already there.
The only thing that wasn't completely certain in the timeline was what he did; he was the one who changed it. He was the one who affected changes. But why couldn't he think of anywhere to go? Something to do? Just now, he was drifting through the time vortex, trying to find something -- anything -- that he could do that he hadn't already thought of. And yet...
Wait! He thought of something! He jumped up from his seat, running over to the controls of his TARDIS with glee. Yes! This was going to be absolutely wonderful! Once he did this, he would no longer be bored; once he did this, he would finally have someone to promote ideas to him, someone with a fresh mind.
And oh, how fantastic that would be.
He pulled on the final lever, which finally brought his TARDIS into a somewhat unexpected movement; he was shooting through the time vortex, heading towards the one place that might bring him excitement -- the planet earth, the place full of people so much like him, yet so different.
The loud screech of his TARDIS echoed through the streets, landing with a loud thump as it finally landed, and, in all of the places, in the middle of a crowded plaza. People turned to stare at it as it materialized out of thin air, amazed at it; as soon as the Author himself stepped out, they all handed him coins and bills, and other forms of money. He stared at the bills for a moment, but shrugged, placing it in his pocket as more and more people handed it to him. It would probably come in handy later, and it was quite nice to be paid for something that wasn't all that special to him.
He squeezed his way out of the crowd, searching for someone that might be alone, and open-minded enough to tell him where exactly he was. That was when he spotted someone sitting on a park bench, an old man who seemed to be quite friendly to the pigeons around him. He quickly walked up to him, tapping the man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir?" he asked, his british accent the right tone to express his excitement, "What date is it? And what city am I in?"
The old man didn't even blink. "You're in London, and it's 2013. I believe today is the seventh of April. Does that work?"
The Author grinned, patting the old man on the shoulder. "Thank you very much." He then turned around and left, searching for the perfect person who would join him in his travels. Although it was highly unlikely that he would find them so soon, he might as well try, right?Template © AuthorE