He'd been avoiding the matches for some time; call him mad, but watching people he knew and haven't met yet die for no reason other than to satisfy some sick game just wasn't his cup of tea. Not when he knew there was nothing he could do to immediately stop everything. He couldn't stop Oliver from dying, after all. Between his initial conversation with Weber and the letter from Shay, he couldn't help this feeling that things just weren't lining up. There had to be something he'd overlooked so far, but what?
That was how he turned up today, of all days. He didn't know the two combatants, though one instantly set off a latent warning bell in his mind, one that said, "That's a vampire; do your duty, Time Lord," but since he was always the obstinate type when it came to such things, he simply chose to ignore it and continued on his way to the Emperor's box. Neither of them had to die today.
But it seemed he'd been beaten there. His ninth self was there with coffee of all things, but he decided, that he'd leave things in the hands of the other Doctor. After all, he was still far away enough from the Emperor's box that perhaps he'd stay there and observe the exchange for a bit.
The last thing he expected was to see what he saw next. It was very surreal to watch his previous self run through like that. He had been that man not too long ago--well, not exactly the same one, no, not from their varied travels during that particular incarnation--and couldn't help gasping when the sword went in. A hand involuntarily flew to his chest before he realised he was just being ridiculous and removed it.
He was on his feet stalking over to the box before he even realised it, and knew there was no turning back. He knew that any time he faced down his enemies, and he didn't know where he stood with Weber--the other man, at least, was easier. Anger coursed through his system, but he'd seen what happened and knew not to make the same mistake, so he kept his expression neutral, forced it to be. He had to stay calm.
And so, he finally arrived at the box, hands out of his pockets, no devices visible in his grasp. Just him and his masked fury. No doubt his approach had been noticed, but just in case, he gave a single knock and waited.
no subject
That was how he turned up today, of all days. He didn't know the two combatants, though one instantly set off a latent warning bell in his mind, one that said, "That's a vampire; do your duty, Time Lord," but since he was always the obstinate type when it came to such things, he simply chose to ignore it and continued on his way to the Emperor's box. Neither of them had to die today.
But it seemed he'd been beaten there. His ninth self was there with coffee of all things, but he decided, that he'd leave things in the hands of the other Doctor. After all, he was still far away enough from the Emperor's box that perhaps he'd stay there and observe the exchange for a bit.
The last thing he expected was to see what he saw next. It was very surreal to watch his previous self run through like that. He had been that man not too long ago--well, not exactly the same one, no, not from their varied travels during that particular incarnation--and couldn't help gasping when the sword went in. A hand involuntarily flew to his chest before he realised he was just being ridiculous and removed it.
He was on his feet stalking over to the box before he even realised it, and knew there was no turning back. He knew that any time he faced down his enemies, and he didn't know where he stood with Weber--the other man, at least, was easier. Anger coursed through his system, but he'd seen what happened and knew not to make the same mistake, so he kept his expression neutral, forced it to be. He had to stay calm.
And so, he finally arrived at the box, hands out of his pockets, no devices visible in his grasp. Just him and his masked fury. No doubt his approach had been noticed, but just in case, he gave a single knock and waited.