Mommy, Where do old Doctors go After Regeneration?
by
Martyrzade
Angry.
Upset, irritated and deeply disillusioned.
The small man sat alone watching the gentle curve of the immense cafeteria. Sure there were magazines, carefully placed five to a table and maintained up to date by unseen hands. It wasn't enough.
The small man had watched stars die and civilizations arise. He had seen the epic struggle fought and had fought in it. He had watched a young girl grow into a fascinatingly violent young woman.
He rested his chin morosely on the handle of his umbrella. It was all he had left. That and untold miles of cafeteria. He had walked the length, it was all identical. A row of vending machines followed by a buffet, condiments, receptacles, a washing up area, a series of restrooms followed by a notice board with information on tomorrow's meal service. Then it would repeat. Back came the vending machines.
He had walked the circuit, each set a little different. A snickers bar here, china buffet there; always a subtle change. More sports Illustrated here, less astronomers monthly there. Never had there been an exit, never a way out, just a continuing circle of pointless meal service. All of it bigger than Paradise Towers, and just as relaxing, and a whole lot less fun.
He held his handprint to a machine and dialed a packet of crunchies. The spindle rotated and the crunchies perched up against the window. It was all too much for him. Countless days spent wandering this pointless cafeteria, he couldn't take anymore.
The universe needed him, needed his stabilizing presence. He couldn't stay trapped here in this circuitous maze of unending minimalist hospitality. And he wanted his crunchies. Sure, he could just key them in again and get both packs, but he was stuck with all of this and at least the damn machines should work.
He took a small step back and began having at it with his umbrella. Time and again he rained blows down upon the frustrating psuedo-appliance. He smacked the front again and again, repeatingly unable to dislodge his crunchies.
"Woah, there." A soft voice spoke behind him. He reached back mightily to give the thing one final whollop and was frustrated as someone took his umbrella away.
He turned, a quite hostile series of retorts and service complaints queuing up for a go at whomever had taken his umbrella. "Listen, I am a guest here and I demand..." He quieted immediately upon seeing her.
She was tall, the word statuesque seemed to have been destined for this woman. She had long, brown black hair, tied back in a tail. Intelligent blue eyes greeted him with mirth from a beautiful face, framed by a series of leopard spots descending from both temples. She wore an odd uniform, vaguely reminiscent of an old human design, molded on a fantastic body. She looked like the first Romana, only, well, more so.
She walked with a soft catlike grace. Examining his umbrella as if evaluating it's usefulness as a crunchie retrieval system. She sidled up to the machine and testing the pliancy of the facing with her hands, tapped it gently with a soft twist of her hips. The bag fell obediently and instantly into the dispenser. "You just have to know how to treat it."
The Doctor fetched his crunchies and looked up at her, raising his hat. "Pleased to meet you, I'm the Doctor."
"Jadzia Dax, at your service. I'm new here, I was wondering if you'd care to show me around."
"It really is a most fascinating place." He offered his arm and led her down the soft curve of the Cafe. She twirled his umbrella as they walked.
Things were really very nice here.