The infinite chaos of wonder
So, finally! The first chapter of my next Doctor who story. I actually have lots of pretty rough drafts for later chapters already, but they will need a lot of refining. I 'm afraid you can't expect very regular updates, but I am going to do my best. I suppose I can give also give you this spoiler; I am hoping to turn this into a sort of trilogy, and I do have some drafts of the third story! Its' a long way down the line, but there is more in the works! I 've been struggling to get this one rolling, then actually got it finished in pretty much the last three days, which is good, because I set the 23rd August-the start of the new series, as my deadline! I knew I would find it really hard to start this fic after I start watching Peter Capaldi, because then I would have to finally, properly admit that there is no more Eleven! sob.
So without further ado; (and please review!) ha, that rhymed!
Prologue
Grysysin, Orion, Siddian Constellation, 18'10GY (Galaxy Year).
Grsysin city on Orion, is the third largest of four satellites in the constellation. Home to 3.6 million people. just over eighty percent are indigenous species, Oritons. The remainder hail from all reaches within the constellation. The streets are broad and filled with people. The buildings are tall and elegantly simple. Today is Siet'cha day-a market of noise and colour and scents. People selling wares, herder-men bustling their animals. The pungence of burning spices and the flash of the small white sun on jeweller's trinkets. Maralim smiles as he lays out his leab-an, brightly-coloured sleeping mats. Today will be a good day, he feels. Then through the throng, something ripples. A disturbance, preceded by turning heads, voices raised in indignation. It comes closer, people begin to press aside, a path being forged through the crush.
It is a girl, running. Maralim frowns. Today is not a day for running. The people are too many, the sun too hot. Ah- but she is not a native of this planet-hair the colour of starlight! She runs past his stall, the crowd a little thinner here. People are trying to avoid being crushed against the ancient brick stands, and cluster away from his wares; Maralim wonders at her behavior. She goes past, and Maralim sees her eyes are the colour of the water that pools at the foot of the Red Hills-how strange! But then she looks behind and he sees she is afraid.
Maralim does not know it, but the girl's name is Jenny.
Then the crowd closes again and she is gone. He looks after her, and ponders.
Ci'yuah hums to herself as she settles her sack more firmly on her hip. She is walking quickly, for today is Siet-cha day. She turns out of her home alley, onto the broader side street, and is nearly knocked over by someone coming the other way.
"Siha! Watch where you step, the sun at your back! Pay heed-"
It is a man, a man from Far-off. His clothes are strange. His eyes are the colour of grass under sunlight, and deep like the pools under the bithan trees; still, where you cannot see the bottom-oh! He speaks her tongue, apologises for his mistake. She wonders how he speaks so well. He strides on then, steps long and quick.
"Wait! What is your name, stranger?" Ci'yuah calls after him. And then she wonders if he does not speak so well, for surely that is not the word of his name; the Doctor?