- 20 - Return (revenge) of the forty-cup tea urn.

[toobravehearted]

Some may have heard my voice over the radio and journal recently, or, well, I don't know, perhaps you didn't or chose to ignore it, it wouldn't be for the first time honestly, and in that case I will actually say well done to you for taking no notice on that occasion, that was very much the best thing you could have ever done. As for what I appeared to say and for what I appeared to do... I could never and I am very sorry.

[Filter: Those that encountered the Mara.]
I have spoken with many of you already but of those where we've just missed each other... Please, I want to check that you are all right and to make my apologies and gratitude in person.

[Filter: Felix.]
How are you doing? I-- If I could have a little of your time, may we talk?

[Filter: Lady Galadriel.]
If you are available, may we speak, please?


Things have been quite... Busy, in the castle so far this year, haven't they? Not that busy is the best word to use. Frenetic, disjointed, lots of smaller things happening, isolated mostly, like squalls, touching or affecting just a few of us at a time or more, for a day, two, and longer. Residents with lost memories or other afflictions, monsters in the upper halls, rooms decorated at a whim, dragons in the dining room. Add them all up, mark them down, there's no pattern to discern so far, just random pockets of activity and where does that lead us?

[Or what follows a squall? The castle makes him feel restless sometimes. He feels restless now and yet it's not so simple a feeling to define.]

[Filter: Tenth Doctor.]
Do you have a moment?


[What do you do when it's that time in the afternoon and your mind is preoccupied? You make tea, of course. Except the Doctor doesn't tend to do things by half, especially when tea making becomes Olympic Tea Making and it is looking like he may very well take the gold.

The forty-cup tea urn is out, a beautiful, blessed machine, stoked with hot water enough for, well, we shouldn't have to say just how many cups at this point, should we? On the counter next to that are a myriad of cups, mugs, saucers, delicate china tea receptacles painted exquisitely, gaudy large and kitsch mugs with all sorts of designs and what-not twisted jokily as the handles. If anyone was guessing, yes, he did empty the cupboards looking for everything and anything that would hold that such oriental and noxious fluid known as tea.

At the other side of the tea urn, this is where the real magic is happening. The Doctor is actually blending tea. He's taken down everything and all he can find, flavours and strengths from far and wide, a little bit this of, a small pinch of that, just a dash of that one there, tea perfectly tailored for an individual.

And then there's that moment when he takes stock of what he has accomplished and the kitchen counter doesn't look that far away from pleasing John Adams for how much of a mess he has made.]


Er... Would anyone like any tea?


[After all the writing of filters, after all the tea making, there's still room for one more. What does he have to lose? Or what is he trying to prove? Nothing.]

[Filter: Crowley.]
Hello. ... I think I invited you for tea, once, and never actually made good on that. Well, there's some here, if you'd like.


[[ooc: Wide open for journal or action and those that just want to say Hi or have tea. :) ]]

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[patheticvillain]

[The invitation to tea is one that Cassel is mildly accustomed to at this point, despite coming from a culture in which tea is not really a thing as well as a family that basically never got its shit together for togetherness meal-or-tea moments. Which is why he pokes his head into the room cautiously, overtaken by curiosity and restlessness.]

[When he sees what the Doctor is actually doing, his eyes widen slightly.]

Doesn't that just take forever?

action all the way

[toobravehearted]

[He turns around at the voice and the young man peeking in. It's not a face he recognises now, someone new? The Doctor is quick to empty his hands and cross the kitchen to greet him.]

Hello. Tea should never be rushed, now. Although for this, I do have a small short-cut, but still, tea takes time, for getting just the right balance, the steeping, the brewing and, of course, time should be taken it its eventual enjoyment.

Listen to me, a mile a minute all about tea. Do you have a preference for a cup, or dealer's choice?

[patheticvillain]

[It's a hell of a lot of words about tea, but it's also kind of comforting. People who are enthusiastic about things are interesting, and often too distracted by their hobbies to poison you or try to kill you. Both positives.]

[Cassel only hesitates a moment, looking from the collection of tea things to the Doctor and back again. Then he grins.]

Always dealer's choice. [It's only polite. And again, significantly more interesting.]

[toobravehearted]

[He could lecture about tea. Or about a myriad of other things that interest him and funnily enough, that lecture if given just the right way would probably ease and inspire. He has energy and passion for those kind of interests, no matter how simple they may be. He returns Cassel's grin with a smile of his own.]

Excellent, you like for a bit of the unknown. Let's see what I have here. [He starts to move back to the counter and then doubles back on himself towards Cassel again.] I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm known as the Doctor.

[patheticvillain]

[The man's frenetic movement is soothing enough in itself. It reminds him of people he knew once, people who loved him. Love him. It makes him smile.]

Cassel. Cassel Sharpe. [A pause, then - a moment of half-remembrance.] Just the Doctor?

[toobravehearted]

Cassel Sharpe, I'm very pleased to meet you. [He nods and with a smile, he extends his hand for a shake.] Just the Doctor.

[patheticvillain]

[Just the Doctor. It's strange; he feels like he's seen this man before. But then again, he's lived so many lives by this point that maybe he has. He thinks of Iris, then discards the memory. Iris isn't here. Just because she'd like him . . .]

[He shakes the Doctor's hand quickly, then pulls up a chair and leans over the ingredients the man is mixing.]

How do you decide who gets what?

[toobravehearted]

[An interested young man he thinks, as Cassel pulls up the chair. Starting to talk, the Doctor prepares a cup for Cassel as he goes.]

Now that is a very good question. Choosing a tea type for someone is done on a very careful evaluation of that person and weighing up of certain external attributes, such as star charts, barometric pressure, or whether the ducks are out on the pond. But mostly, [here he holds up a finger as if he will impart a point of great gravitas.]

Mostly, I just pick at random. [He places the cup before Cassel.] This one, black lapsang souchong. The leaves used arent thought to be up to much, in comparison with the pekoe - the bud at the top of the stem. The leaves are smoked, perfumed. The tale of this type of tea is that all things can bring enjoyment if given time and attention and this one in particular, has mysterious depths.

What do you think, Cassel?

[patheticvillain]

[Mostly, I just pick at random.]

[Cassel grins widely and nods, as if some great wisdom has been communicated here, then leans forward over his tea with utter, perfect concentration. Lapsang souchong. He breathes it in.]

[Mysterious depths, huh? He takes a sip. Then his eyes widen in surprise. It reminds him of the taste of cigarettes, a different bitter overtone but the same notes lingering underneath - of his father and Lila and Chris, and it makes him smile.]

Strong. Good strong.

Eh, I read bios sometimes, so I hope this is ok!

[toobravehearted]

[Picked at random indeed. Some things the Doctor just carries out on instinct. Hands clasped behind his back he watches as Cassel concentrates on the tea (it really is hard to find someone that appreciates it as much as himself) and his smile is appreciative at Cassel because it looks like the young man is taking a trip down memory lane.]

Good. I'm glad that you like. I think I might join you in a cup of the same.

[He starts to make another cup for himself.] I couldn't help but notice when we shook hands, but isn't it a bit strange to wear gloves inside?

yes it's lovely!

[patheticvillain]

[He's lost in the flavor for a moment before he really registers what the Doctor is saying. Then he makes a face.]

I guess it is for most people. Where I come from, it's just what you do with strangers. With people who aren't family, really.

[He takes another sip, considering. He's used to not having to explain this, back home and on the Barge, where he's well enough known that it's common knowledge.]

It's like protecting other people from yourself.

[toobravehearted]

[He makes a concerned frown at the face Cassel makes at first. Perhaps he was a little forward with the question; there could well be valid reasons why he wears gloves after all. He waits for the young man to finish.]

I see, culture and custom. I'm sorry, no insult was intended. I have an overly curious nature, which somewhat dictates my actions at times. A terrible habit I know, I will break it one day. [No, he won't. With water added to his cup, he pulls up a chair in the same way that Cassel did and next to him.]

That's an interesting way of putting things. I've heard of protecting yourself from other people, but the other way around, not so often.

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel snorts.] Bet you won't. Why the hell would you? Curiosity only kills cats.

[Worst figure of speech ever. He takes another sip.]

Where I come from, people are dangerous. [Another sip, then clarification.] Well, people are dangerous everywhere, that's what makes them people. But magically, I mean.

[toobravehearted]

[At Cassel's snort he breaks another smile and his tone is wry.] Good job I'm not a cat then, although some days I begin to wonder.

[Blowing steam from off the top of his cup, his eyebrows go up at the dangerous comment.]

Precisely, yes, but not just people. Magically? [Taking a drink of his tea he waits to see if Cassel will explain further. The Doctor isn't a stranger to magic, look where they are after all.]

[patheticvillain]

People and . . . sentient . . . whatevers. Peopley people, not just human people.

[He takes a deep breath, lacing his covered fingers together. This is always weird to explain without acting like he totally hates what he can do. Which he doesn't, not really - not anymore - but that's still how he's used to thinking about it.]

Where I come from, people have magical talents - some people do - like they can manipulate luck or dreams or memories. But they have to touch you with their bare hands to do it, right? So, gloves.

[toobravehearted]

Peopley people. I like that. [His smile turns all the wider for it.] Yes, it wouldn't do to forget those of us that have metal friends. [Sentient androids, robots, mustn't forget those.]

[He is patient, sipping his tea while Cassel explains around what seems to be hesitance at first.] I see. Is it magic though, or biology? If magic, I'd say there was a degree of control to it. The gloves however say otherwise not.

[Setting his cup down, he wonders if he can help Cassel feel more at ease.] Take me for instance. My talents are down to biology. Of those you've mentioned, what can you do?

[patheticvillain]

[He grins a little, a grin that's all teeth.] Well, that's the question. It's probably magic, but it's inheritable, so maybe it's biology. You can control it, at least after some practice, but people just don't trust each other. Uncovered hands get up to evil work. [It has the sound of a saying to it, a common wisdom.]

I can't do any of those. I'm a transformation worker. [He wiggles his fingers.] Presto, your teacup's an elephant. Only not right now. Maybe sometime. What are your talents?

[toobravehearted]

Ah. [He nods at the expression.] So you're saying that there are enough people that have the gift of this inherited magic that abuse it?

[He looks between Cassel and his own teacup, pondering what Cassel can do.] ... I like elephants.

Me, I'm a-- I have some telepathic ability. Hardly worth mentioning, really. Stronger with touch.

[patheticvillain]

Yeah, most of them abuse it. We're the criminal element.

[He laughs out loud at that - I like elephants - and it's that more than anything that makes him decide what he does. He doesn't really like telepaths, never has, but, well. Something about this guy.]

[He likes elephants.]

[Cassel takes another sip of his tea and holds his hand out, wrist up.]

Show me.

[toobravehearted]

[Criminal? And he includes himself of that number. Interesting.]

I wouldn't immediately have you pegged to be the delinquent sort. [Careful word used for Cassel's apparent youth. He reaches for his cup again and is surprised by Cassel's laughter. He tries to hold back a smile of his own as he goes to take a drink, not fully succeeding, but then--

Then nearly misses his mouth as he turns his head.]

What? Show you? [Yes, that's very apparent with Cassel holding his hand out.]

[patheticvillain]

Well, shows what you know.

[Cassel grins, broad and thrilled at having surprised him.] Show me. Your telepathic ability. I want to see what you can do.

[He's trusting this guy. God knows why. Call it instinct.]

[toobravehearted]

I suppose it does. I'm usually a fair judge of character.

[His look to Cassel is a little guarded and he carefully puts down his cup again. The Doctor debates if he should show Cassel or not. He down plays his abilities, cards kept close to his chest and he's more powerful than he appears. Besides that, the last time his abilities were used (not by himself, mind) several of his friends were hurt.]

I'm not a performing monkey, you know. Put your hand down, Cassel.

[It sounds like a 'no'. Another moment of debate, the Doctor knows he is in control of what he can do and that he would never intentionally hurt anyone. He reaches out a hand to Cassel's head, fingertips going towards his temple.]

Pick a memory of yours. Show me.

[patheticvillain]

[Cassel always expects to be the more vulnerable one. In this case he finds himself surprised when it seems like maybe he's not. His hand falters, then falls, his fingers twining together in his lap and his eyes half-closing in sulky apology.]

[He expects the Doctor to leave. But then there's the ghost of touch at his temple, and he glances up hesitantly.]

. . . Okay.

[He thinks for a moment, trying to pick something happier; more recent. But all he can think of right now is eating pizza on Tuesdays with Barron, the mixture of pleasure and queasy guilt at the knowledge that he's lied. Again. Barron smiles at him in the memory, and Cassel smiles back, but in reality, in the castle sitting in front of a cooling cup of tea and the Doctor, his hands clench in his lap.]

[toobravehearted]

[The Doctor sighs. Cassel's sullen look and body language is familiar, like he's seen it all before in another. Turning in his seat with Cassel's assent, his other hand comes around to Cassel's head too, fingers on temples, thumbs on cheeks. The Doctor closes his eyes to concentrate; gently feeling along his mind for what thought is at the front of it.

He can smell cooked cheese, sauce and pepperoni and--]

Hot pepper flakes. Garlic. Miniature jukeboxes. Can't smell those. Is that a diner? Tuesday's aren't interesting. Well, that's my opinion.

[The Doctor flits along the memory, looking for Cassel and smiling when he finds him.]

That's... you're with your brother. It's a routine you have and it should be good, but...

[The Doctor opens his eyes and his smile fades.] You lied to him. What makes you feel ill? The fact that you did or that he might find out?

[patheticvillain]

[Grinning despite himself, Cassel nods down at his hands. Hot pepper flakes. Garlic. Miniature jukeboxes. Things that should be good.]

[He would like to convince himself that the question is an impossibly complex one to answer, but it isn't, not really. He can't fool himself that well.]

[He sighs.]

That he might find out. And what he'd do when he found out.

[Which he did: another memory floats to the surface. The two of them in a car, Barron grinning not so nicely, words that taste like blackmail floating in the air between them.]

[There was a time when lying was just . . . the way things were. He was not sorry for it. He is, now. But he remembers the fear better than he ever remembered guilt.]