( ataraxion. ) IC INBOX

[postscriptum]

TEXT | VOICEMAIL | VIDEO | ACTION

Comments

text; oswin locked.

[cliver]

Morning, Amy. This is Clara Oswald. If Rory didn't mention me, hello, we've met before — or we will meet, I suppose. I'm a friend of the Doctor's and a fan of your book, if you've written that already.

I've got something for you, since the network is dangerously accessible. Use it on anything you want private.

ATTACHMENT: pond.exe

[ and if amy runs it, an additional option will appear on her communicator screen: ENCRYPT. selecting it will encrypt her conversation, and any attempt to hack the encryption redirects here — though amy won't know about that last bit. if someone looks into the doctor's lot, clara wants to know. ]

If anyone tries to spy on you, you'll know.

text; pond locked!

[postscriptum]

I'm gonna write a book?

[ isn't that spoilers? ] Hi, Clara. You travel with the Doctor, too? [ after her and rory, she guesses — and that means she and rory stop, but she knew that they would eventually.

she's glad the doctor's not going to be alone. he gets stupid when he's alone. ]

Thanks for the thing.

[cliver]

[ ah, it would be then. oops.

well, river shared worse. ]

Yes to both. Not sure when the book comes in, though.

And you're welcome. There's still some unsavory sorts among us, but I don't think there's a passenger it can't keep out.

[ the ship and its crew, however... ]

[postscriptum]

[ could be far, far worse, yes. ]

Right. We should get drinks sometime, swap stories, yeah?

[cliver]

Absolutely, but fair warning: I know the best bartender on board and even she can only do so much for the poor state of the drinks.

[postscriptum]

We'll manage, yeah?

[cliver]

Cocktails are key.

[ taste > alcoholic content. ]

[postscriptum]

I defer to your knowledge.

probs backdated a bit

[expect]

( he first notices in the shower, one evening a couple of days after they've arrived. maybe he should have noticed it earlier, but he usually wears long sleeves. upon reentering their room a little later, damp and with his sleeves pushed back, he sits down on the bed next to amy without prelude, turning his arm. )

My creepy tattoo changed. ( there's a lovely new SCI designation. )

[postscriptum]

It did what?

[ but her hand is already on his arm, turning it a little further and pulling it in to look at. she's in a shirt that's too large on her because it's one she's stolen from his already limited supply of shirts. ]

SCI — science?

[expect]

That'd be my guess. ( he frowns down at it as well, and has to fight the urge to touch it. he knows it doesn't feel like anything, but it looks wrong on his skin. ) Yours hasn't done anything?

[postscriptum]

Nope. [ but she still turns over her arm to make sure that it really hasn't. it's still just numbers, no letters. ]

[expect]

I guess I'm just special. ( his lips thin. )

I did speak to Petrelli about helping out in medical.

[postscriptum]

So they change when you get a job, 's that it?

[ no one's mentioned that. ]

[expect]

I dunno. When I first arrived I spoke to a woman who said they changed for… departments, or something like that. I didn't think it did it on it's own.

[postscriptum]

So that's what's happened, you think? That'd explain it, at least.

[expect]

Yeahh… ( he gives in to the urge to run his hand over the tattoo, feeling for anything under the skin. ) But how? No one could have broken in while we were asleep and changed it.

[postscriptum]

Maybe it's not actually tattoos.

[expect]

Maybe. ( he rubs rather hard at his skin with his thumb. ) It's not sore, and I can't feel anything underneath. I met a woman who more or less wanted to cut hers off.

[postscriptum]

I saw that. [ actual network stalker amy pond. ] Wasn't just more or less, was it?

[expect]

She did still had both arms last night… ( giving her a quizzical look at her admission of stalking, and btw he totally slipped out at 2 am last night to meet strange women and probably hadn't thought to mention it. )

[postscriptum]

Going 'round meeting other women behind my back, Mr Pond?

[ well, she's got nothing better to do, does she? than stalking. ]

[expect]

You know me, I love mad women. ( dryly, and he gives in to a growing urge to flop — okay, more like list — until he's lying on his back sideways on the bed. despite the joke, there's evident frustration in his voice. )

Her name's Johanna, and she's a mess. But she might've been right about the tattoos.

[postscriptum]

[ more quietly: ] You're not going to try and hack your arm off, are you?

[expect]

No, ( he says thoughtfully, ) But if it is more than a tattoo, I wouldn't mind being rid of it.

[postscriptum]

Looks like it's more. [ a beat. ] How?

[expect]

I'm not sure. ( he frowns. ) I don't even know what it is properly.

[postscriptum]

We can find out. [ probably, hopefully. ]

[expect]

Someone might know.

[postscriptum]

So we ask around, yeah?

[expect]

Yeah. ( with a little less determination than amy. )

[postscriptum]

[ at least they're in agreement, then. not that amy expected anything else. her hand returns to his wrist, though, thumb tracing back and forth over the tattoo. ]