[001 Video]

[shortsightedlove]

[Rassilon carefully rearranges his robes before switching the communicator on. He glares. Behind him one can see what looks like a fairly comfortable if foremost functional room. It reminds him of his old study.]

This place is disgraceful.

I am Rassilon, Lord President of Gallifrey and Founder of the Time Lords. I demand to know where I am and why I have been brought here.

[His glare intensifies. He really hates not knowing what happened.]

[Well, at least there's one upside to this situation. He doesn't seem to be about to die.]

Comments

Feel free to have this happen after a few responses

[rass-bestie.livejournal.com]

[Omega generally didn't spend a lot of time on the fifth floor. The only place of interest on that floor was the library and that was the Doctor's domain. If he wanted a book, he decided what he wanted, got it and left. But today he lingered.

He sensed a Time Lord, not just any Time Lord…

He headed straight towards the offending door. And just stood there. Fretting. He may have wished for Rassilon to be there… but to actually find it so, without having to intervene himself? What was the Admiral playing at? Was this just a flood?

He was jolted out of his reverie by a loud knock. He blinked in surprise and his hand which the Doctor had apparently used to knock. With a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude, he waited anxiously for the door to open.]

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[Rassilon stills when he hears the knock. He had felt a vaguely familiar presence outside his room, but had decided to ignore it because a) he didn't know where he was, so there was a good chance it was a trap and b) he had already noticed that his telepathic abilities had been tempered with, so he couldn't fully trust them.

But now the person had knocked. He hesitates for a moment, before approaching the door and forcefully opening it.

Then he stares. The Doctor? But it's a much earlier regeneration than the one he last met... Still, the Doctor is never good news.]

Doctor. [His voice is icy.] What brings you here? Do you intent to answer my questions?

[una_persson]

We're getting quite the influx of your people here, it seems.

Welcome to the Barge, Lord President. [There's just a slight trace of irony in her use of the title, stemming largely from her innate distrust of authority.] Interdimensional prison, rehabilitation centre, proving ground, and, some would argue, madhouse. My name is Una Persson, and I'm a warden here.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[He's still for a moment, needing time to process this. Then - ]

What is the meaning of this? [His voice is sharp. He'd make indignant splutter noises, but he's above that sort of thing.]

Again, I am Lord President of Gallifrey. You have no authority over me, no right to... to imprison me! Neither do I need a... rehabilitation centre or a madhouse. I demand to be set free!

[Private]

[timesbureaucrat]

[Up in Kay's room, Narvin turns deathly pale when this pops up on the network. His communicator falls out of hands that are suddenly limp and nerveless. He spends a few seconds staring at it where it lies on the floor, with a terror usually reserved for venomous snakes or plague infected pigrats.

His first, mad thought is to hide the communicator away, as if he could erase the message and Rassilon's presence here by pretending it doesn't exist. But in the end he can't ignore the message, he can't not respond. Narvin snatches up his communicator again and has just enough presence of mind to change the setting to private.

His voice is quiet, practically a rasp, when he speaks.]

My Lord President.

Re: [Private]

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[Rassilon isn't happy either. Is that not that insolent Coordinator, the one he sentenced to execution for subverting his orders? Why was the man still alive?]

Coordinator. I see you have managed to survive. How curious.

[Which means; Give him one good reason not to kill you now and correct whatever mistake is to blame for your survival, Narvin.]

[love-dont-roam.livejournal.com]

You're on the Barge. [She bites her lip] If you don't know why you're here then you may have died. People here will look after you until they can get you home.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[He frowns. So people are generally brought here when about to die or after just having died? That would fit. Gallifrey's destruction - his death - had been imminent.]

I gather from other people I have been brought here as an... inmate. Why not just let me... die? [Saying that is hard. Dying is not something he likes doing.]

[voice]

[young-idealist.livejournal.com]

I think Mme. Persson and Mlle. Tyler have covered the basics. I recommend you catch up with old acquaintances, acclimatize yourself to the routines here and cultivate patience. Surely such a superior being as a Time Lord could manage such simple things. [Only the last sounds a little ironic. The rest is very sincere advice.]

Re: [voice]

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[He glares in the direction of the communicator. Mocked by a voice! This place is just impossible.]

Thank you for the advice. [His voice is icy, despite the politeness of his words.] I think I will follow it.

[most_feared]

[Well fuck. He... can't respond right now. He has to run and stop Narvin from making a terrible mistake.]

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[You'll never make it. Nothing can stand against the manipulation skills of Rassilon! Well, almost nothing.]

[a-bit-put-upon.livejournal.com]

[What. Come on, Admiral. The 'where am I and why am I here' bit is telling enough. Have a sad Doctorface.]

...Lord President.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

Doctor.

[His voice is cold. Earlier regeneration or not, he doesn't feel very forgiving when it comes to the Doctor.]

[championoftime]

[At first he was excited but... There is some very unsteady destructive intent going on here.] Rassilon. You look quite becoming without the beard. It suits you. I've never been one for facial hair.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

Doctor. [His voice is sharp - he takes a moment to notice the compliment. If it is a compliment. Which it might not be, since this is the Doctor. On the other hand, it's yet another earlier Doctor, so...]

The beard didn't fit my current face. And I didn't want a mustache. [Because, really, how trustworthy do you look with a mustache? Not trustworthy at all. And one can't manipulate without looking trustworthy.]

[doctor-scarf.livejournal.com]

I thought I was Lord President...at least, I was in the running...oh well, thank heavens that I'm not anymore. I would say 'better you than me', but I'm not so sure about that anymore.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

Naturally it's better me than you, Doctor. [His voice is dry.] You were always far too irresponsible for the position.

[alzarian-youth.livejournal.com]

Rassilon...I've heard a lot about you.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

Have you now? May one ask for your name or would that be impolite?

[doctor-of-time.livejournal.com]

[Oh, look. The very person he's spent the past few months warning probably half a dozen people about. Ironic, really. Too ironic.]

...You can't be.

No. You really, really can't be.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[Damn. Why did the gauntlet have to stop working? He so wants to vaporize the Doctor, right now.]

It can, as you see.

[toldastory]

Oh bloody hell.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

...How very eloquent. May one know what disturbs you so, Miss...?

Laaate

[darknessb4me]

[Video - he's not looking at the camera, he's occupied with a little rubber ball he's tossing into the air.]

The founder?

[There's his best imitation of you, Rassilon. Accent and all.]

You are in hell, founder.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

[Rassilon is not pleased with this blatant lack of respect.]

Yes, the Founder.

And [He sounds rather arrogant now - ] I doubt it. I have seen worse than this place.

[veni-vidi-valui.livejournal.com]

I really couldn't agree more.

[shortsghtedlove.livejournal.com]

Isn't it? He looks disdainful.] My quarters are utterly inadequate. They can't compare to the presidential ones on Gallifrey.