Video 1 § Arrival

[givessweetness]

 [Wynter is no stranger to technology, though more so to public speaking. Still, he's done it and even done it under stress, so his nervousness has little to do with his message. He is nervous though and troubled.]

Hello. My name is Tungwynterestemont. But you can call me Wynter. I'm a Time Lord from Gallifrey and I'm here as a warden. The Admiral took me from my death because he believes I can help. So he says. Whether he does or not, that's what I plan on doing to the best of my ability. 

[He pauses.] I can sense I'm not the only Gallifreyan. [His jaw tightens.] I'll need to speak to them. Urgently.

Comments

[routemistress]

Great stars, are you even out of nappies? I didn't think they let 'em off the planet this young, petal.

I'm probably not actually Gallifreyan. Just so's you know. Where you at?

[givessweetness]

[He gnashes his jaw.] I'm old enough.

If you can regenerate, you're Gallifreyan enough. I'm on level eight. I'll meet you [he hesitates, it's probably not a good idea to be in the common room discussing Pandora.] Room eighteen.

>spam

[routemistress]

Old enough that summat killed you, any road. I'm sorry about that. Be there in two ticks, lovey.

[She's knocking two minutes later. Iris specifically, aggressively, didn't get dressed up to meet this Gallifreyan, and she's still in her spa work clothes, which today are a hot pink zebra print bikini, pink fluffy mules and a burgundy satin bathrobe. It's probably entirely coincidental that it billows around and behind her like a priestess' robes, and the great prick-eared dogs flanking her like acolytes are probably even more so.]

Coooeeeee! Wynter, did you say? I'm Iris. Iris Wildthyme. If you've 'eard of me I'll be ever so surprised, and so will my CIA contact when I go punch 'im. What's up?

spam

[givessweetness]

[He killed him. Not that he had much choice in the matter.

If he was scandalised or embarrassed by Iris' clothes, there's no sign of it. This is too serious and he's thinking too hard about what he has to say.] I'm told regeneration doesn't happen here. But regardless, precautions need to be taken.

The circumstances of my death involved a... powerful dose of a virus that affects regeneration. I don't understand what, exactly. But sufficed to say, it's serious and triggered by my regeneration.

spam

[routemistress]

[She got used, when Rassilon was on board, to a much higher degree of constant mental communication than is typical for modern Gallifreyans. Iris wasn't brought up in Rassilon's culture any more than Narvin or Wynter, but it felt right to her, it satisfied a bonedeep need in her for intimacy, for an audience.

She doesn't reach to touch Wynter, but this close he may be able to feel how she's holding herself back. How the dogs' minds are bound into hers - they, at least, are reaching forward to run their noses over unfamiliar, exciting scents clinging to his robes and person.]

This is from Narvin and Romana's time, am I right? That Free Time business?

[She does actually know about this from Narvin when he was here, if not all the details - not, for example, Wynter's place in that story.]

[keeps_a_cool_head]

Hello, Wynter. A pleasure to meet yet another member of a space-faring species.

[Anything if it will level the playing field against humans]

[givessweetness]

...Isn't this space? [Not normal space, but space.]

[keeps_a_cool_head]

It is. But most creatures aboard this Barge have never been to space before in their lives.

You can see where one might crave a more advanced level of communication.

[givessweetness]

[Wynter... does not see, honestly. They're here now, in a place apparently designed to add experience, and he has no clue how not having been in space before affects their communication?] Oh. I suppose so.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

You said you were from Gallifrey. I don't know of this planet.

[strangehistorian]

Hello, Wynter! Welcome to the Barge! My name is Chromie.

[givessweetness]

Thank you.

[strangehistorian]

I am not Gallifreyan, but I have been told my species bears similarities to your habitual partner-race. Is something the matter?

[givessweetness]

Habitual partner-race? Not really, thank you.

[strangehistorian]

Your TARDIS machines. I have met a few, they were very friendly!

[fireincarnate]

[She gazes at him for a moment, clearly concerned, before smiling.]

Welcome to the Barge, Wynter. I'm Jean - I've been a Warden for...a while, on and off.

If there's anything you need to know, just ask.

[givessweetness]

Hello, Jean. Um. What is the ratio between the wardens and inmates, can you tell me?

[fireincarnate]

It's hard to keep track of - people can leave any moment, or come back. But I know we've got more Wardens, right now.

[givessweetness]

Hm. Thank you. [It would be easier to keep to whatever order is expected that way.]

[fireincarnate]

No problem.

Did you find Iris?

[voice]

[logistical]

Commander Spock, of the U.S.S. Enterprise.

Welcome aboard, Mr. Wynter.

[voice]

[givessweetness]

Thank you. It's... Castellan, if you want a title.

What's the U.S.S. Enterprise, exactly?

[voice]

[logistical]

Castellan Wynter.

[A beat.]

It is a spaceship, its objective is to explore new worlds.

[voice]

[givessweetness]

[He considers that. Gallifrey doesn't do much in the way of exploring any more: been there done that is the general view.] And who... well, I don't know if 'owns' is the right word... 'sponsors', maybe? Who's behind it all?

[voice]

[logistical]

Starfleet, which is maintained by the United Federation of Planets.