A/N: Time to meet the acquaintance of yet another one of the Doctor's regenerations! I hope you enjoy. :)
Ch4
She had been drawing again. She now knows what it means. He is near. Grabbing her backpack and hat, she sets off, stuffing her latest drawing into her pocket, sprinting down the busy street and turning into a deserted alleyway. Not just any deserted alleyway though. A specific one that her fellow blogger's just posted about, warning her to his prefered mode of transport's current position. There, hidden in shadows and crammed between the walls of two competing buildings stands a large blue police box. She grins, hiking her bag up higher on her shoulder. She made it in time, before the mysterious man disappeared yet again. This is the closest she has ever made it. Finally she is fast enough to catch him. She holds up her hand, positioned to knock when the sound of someone clearing their throat can be heard from behind her. Spinning around, so fast that her hair slaps her in the face, she faces him. Face alight with joy at seeing yet another strange man with a bizarre fashion sense. It has to be him.
A bowtie in this day and age. And a fedora no less. Who else but this odd man does that these days? No one, she answers her own question in her mind, a large smile spreading across her face.
"It's you!" She exclaims, pointing to his confused face, eyes going crossed staring at the point of her finger mere inches away from him.
"Do I know you?" He asks, moving her hand to the side and gazing at her curiously.
"Do you know me? You? Know me?" He simply nods at her incredulous look, playing with his hands and moving around, unable to stand still, "Does this mean anything to you?" She asks, pulling out the piece of paper from her pocket and shoving it into his face. He fumbles around for a few seconds before grabbing it from her outstretched hands.
"A piece of paper? This is what brought you to me and made you yell at me frantically?" The man asks, not even glancing at it.
"Not the paper you idiot. It's what's on the paper!" She sighs exasperated.
"Oh." He stares at her for a second or two before he finally looks down to examine it, but stops, freezing not even a second later, "Where did you get this?" He asks, not taking his eyes off of it.
"I didn't get it from anywhere." She says simply, shrugging her shoulders as though it's obvious.
"I'm being serious. Where did you get this from and tell me right now?" His serious face startles her a little bit, but annoys her at the same time.
"I told you, I didn't get it. I drew it."
"What?" He just stands there, dumbfounded. Not believing her at all.
"I drew it! In that stupid trance I always go into when you are near! It's your fault I draw them." She mumbles the last of it, but the man doesn't care about that part as he stares incredulously at her.
"You? You drew this?" She nods, looking at him as though he's stupid for not believing her. How else could she have possibly gotten them? Was this man even saine, she wonders while eyeing him with worry.
"That's what I said. And I want you to make me stop." Getting to the point seems to be the best thing to do in this situation. At least, she hopes it is judging by the conversation so far. But her hope is slowly dwindling as the seconds pass by.
"Stop?" It's at this one simple one worded question that most of her hope drops dramatically.
"I won't stop drawing them." She admits, pulling her backpack down from her back and dumping the contents of bag out on the ground, "They're different all the time. It's crazy. I still have almost every single one." There, on the ground now, lay hundreds of different pieces of paper, scattered around, even a few loose pieces of fabric blow in the wind, weighed down by the sheer weight of all the other light objects. All with strange symbols drawn on them, of circles within circles. Strange lines jutting through them randomly, drawn with all forms of utensil, even blood. Some blow away in the wind, blowing down the alleyway, towards the exit and into the busy street.
The strange man stares down at them all in wonder and slight traces of fear.
"They aren't different. They just look different. It's the language of the Time Lord's. Gallifreyan."