Doctor Who (OOC|Invite Only|Now an Award-Winning Roleplay)

[Nationstatelandsville]

So there's a canon 12 now...

There's been a canon Twelve since September - Capaldi is a trick from Moffat. The real Twelve is Zombie Cushing.

[Astrolinium]

So there's a canon 12 now...

We broke from canon long ago.

[Nationstatelandsville]

So there's a canon 12 now...

We broke from canon long ago.

At Manhattan, to be precise.

So no John Hurt, unless Astro and I start bickering again.

[Astrolinium]

We broke from canon long ago.

At Manhattan, to be precise.

So no John Hurt, unless Astro and I start bickering again.

We probably won't do John Hurt unless what he is ends up being is so brilliantly mind-bogglingly incredible that it flies out of the television and smacks us both repeatedly in the face with our own legs.

So probably not.

[Nationstatelandsville]

At Manhattan, to be precise.

So no John Hurt, unless Astro and I start bickering again.

We probably won't do John Hurt unless what he is ends up being is so brilliantly mind-bogglingly incredible that it flies out of the television and smacks us both repeatedly in the face with our own legs.

So probably not.

I kind of want Twelve to meet the Hurt Doctor, though - they'd probably get along great.

"Peace and sanity? God, you have no idea. You don't want to know what Khan does to the toilet."

[Astrolinium]

We probably won't do John Hurt unless what he is ends up being is so brilliantly mind-bogglingly incredible that it flies out of the television and smacks us both repeatedly in the face with our own legs.

So probably not.

I kind of want Twelve to meet the Hurt Doctor, though - they'd probably get along great.

"Peace and sanity? God, you have no idea. You don't want to know what Khan does to the toilet."

We'll see.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I kind of want Twelve to meet the Hurt Doctor, though - they'd probably get along great.

"Peace and sanity? God, you have no idea. You don't want to know what Khan does to the toilet."

We'll see.

Oh, fuck no, I think it's a wretched idea to incorporate into the RP at this stage.

But it would be funny.

[Astrolinium]

We'll see.

Oh, fuck no, I think it's a wretched idea to incorporate into the RP at this stage.

But it would be funny.

Make up your mind, man!

Or write a damn one-shot!

[Nationstatelandsville]

Oh, fuck no, I think it's a wretched idea to incorporate into the RP at this stage.

But it would be funny.

Make up your mind, man!

Or write a damn one-shot!

It's stupid and I'm opposed to it.

But a one-shot? Hm.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Link me to any posts.

The new drugs have made me incredibly hyper and active and I can probably use that energy to throw in a few here.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Link me to any posts.

The new drugs have made me incredibly hyper and active and I can probably use that energy to throw in a few here.

Kay sighed and said, "Yes, yes, it's a minor procedure. This hospital is so ridiculously underfunded!"

He continued to stitch up Khan's heart and fixing up the bit where'd he removed the lung so that it wouldn't do a bad thing (you can tell that I know jack shit about doctoring).

[Nationstatelandsville]

"I'm going to kill them all!"

[Nationstatelandsville]

"I live in an abandoned space hospital and steal organs."

"Mumbai."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"I live in an abandoned space hospital and steal organs."

"Mumbai."

Well, yeah.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Come on lads, we can actually accelerate this plot and perhaps finish an episode in less than half a year.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Come on lads, we can actually accelerate this plot and perhaps finish an episode in less than half a year.

Which is a nice way to see "Post, you Jew bastard".

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I am not kidding. Look up Operation Blue Star.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I am not kidding. Look up Operation Blue Star.

And then she died. Listen - if you fuck with the Sikhs and post Sikh bodyguards, they will Sikh you up. I'm American and I know that.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I am not kidding. Look up Operation Blue Star.

And then she died. Listen - if you fuck with the Sikhs and post Sikh bodyguards, they will Sikh you up. I'm American and I know that.

I've fucked with Sikhs.

Literally and metaphorically.

Mind, I first learned about them, since my first martial arts teacher was one.

[Nude East Ireland]

DOCTOR WHO
MATT SMITH
JENNA-LOUISE COLEMAN
THE TWELFTH HOUR
WRITTEN BY
STEPHEN MOFFAT

"Ow!" exclaimed a man who you should all recognize, the Eleventh Doctor, as the TARDIS control panel went up in sparks (it was prone to do that, he had never known why - perhaps the sparklers), "You don't have to snap at me like that!"

It is important to note that he was addressing the control panel when he said this - he was shouting at the TARDIS, and, if the other flurry of sparks were not coincidental, it had responded. Completely impossible, many would assume, but after a thousand years of marriage, you develop your own language that doesn't require any words (which was good, because the TARDIS couldn't talk).

Suddenly, the Doctor was overcome by spasms, and fell to his side with a weird jerky motion that only Matt Smith could possibly do. He fell onto a blue lever, which moved to the right (even though it was a lever that went up and down), causing the floor of the TARDIS to tip to the right ten degrees. Come to think of it, the Doctor didn't even know why such a lever existed, but he also felt it was vitally important to the survival of space and time, so he didn't touch it. But then, he felt the same way about the microwave in the kitchenette.

"Ah-ah-ow!" he gasped, suddenly throwing his head into his shoulder and scrunching his face up in pain, "Alright, never fly the TARDIS while regenerating. Unless you've got somewhere to be!"

He crumbled to the ground with a loud groan, writhing on the floor as his body began to emit a soft white light.

"Listen!" he called out to his companion, who stood back - obviously a bit shaken, but not stirred. Well, perhaps a bit stirred. But she had seen this before, a rarity amongst his companions. Normally they never had knowledge of his regenerations before seeing one for the first time. Well, knowing her history she probably had seen a regeneration before. Or two. Or all of them. She was, after all, the Impossible Girl. At least, that's what he called her.

"There's something you need to know," he continued, as he reached up and grabbed hold of the TARDIS console. "I like snow. And Christmas. Imagine it as a fetish, but in a non-sexual way."

He remained silent for a moment, slowly pulling himself up onto his feet, though he still grasped the console and used it as a support.

"That does bring an interesting thought to mind," he said, pondering. "Can a fetish be thought of in a non-sexual way? I've never really felt lust, to be perfectly honest. At least I don't think so. But-"

With another jerky motion, the Doctor fell forward, losing his grip on the console and collapsing onto the ground face-first. He turned his head sideways, to look up at Clara for perhaps the last time; in this incarnation, at least.

"Right, uh, I'm dying. Well, regeneration." He sighed. "You already know all about this, I suppose. Is that why you're being so quiet?"

Clara nodded. "There's not really much to say. I thought deaths were always supposed to be quiet."

Another stream of sparks shot from the TARDIS console, causing the Doctor to roll over onto his back.

"Haven't you ever been to a war?" he asked. "Well, I should take you some time. I remember this one time where Sarah Jane and I were on Sk-"

The Doctor jerked his body upwards, firing white energy from his hands and head. Clara covered her eyes and fell backwards, landing on her bum. She grabbed hold of the railing to remain still, as the TARDIS began rocking back-and-forth quite a bit. Her eyes remained closed, and she didn't see anything. Eventually, she stopped hearing things as well. Occasionally sparks could be heard shooting from the console, but not a peep from the Doctor.

Finally, she opened her eyes. The Doctor was no longer on the floor, instead leaning against the console looking at her.

"Finally awake?" he asked.

He was much older; well, he appeared that way in comparison to his previous incarnation. This one had short greying hair, and bags under his eyes. He looked a bit tired.

"Doctor," Clara said, rising from her position. "It's finished?"

He nodded. "Suppose so," he replied. He reached up and felt his cheeks, sighing. "Well, it's a bit wrinkly. But I wasn't always an infant."

Clara smirked. "How are you feeling?"

"Old. Then again, I've always felt old." His hand fell down onto his bow-tie, and he felt it a bit. "Oh my... yeah, this is gonna' have to go."

He unceremoniously ripped the bow-tie from his collar, and tossed it aside. Unbuttoning his top button with one hand, the Doctor tapped a button with the other. He gave the console a disappointed look.

"I thought that was the switch for the mirror," he said. He pressed another button, which resulted in a similar display of nothing. The Doctor seemed disappointed.

"Where is the bloody switch for the mirror?" he asked. He flipped a switch, which jerked the TARDIS sideways for a moment. Clara collapsed onto the floor and slid, while the Doctor grabbed hold of the console and held on for dear life.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

"Doctor, flip the switch!" Clara yelled, as she grabbed a railing and held on. The Doctor hit the switch a second time, returning the TARDIS to its 'normal' state.

"Well, never going to press that again." He was silent, before noticing that a mirror had been lowered from the ceiling. He strode over to it as though he had planned for it, though his face showed a clear anger. He stood in front of the glass, his hand holding his chin in that familiar pose that everyone does to look like they're in deep thought.

"I think it suits me," he said. "Not the suit; but at least it isn't a leather jacket or a rainbow coat. I'm sure you get the reference."

Clara, having risen from the ground, smiled. "So are we taking a trip to the wardrobe, then?"

The old alien sighed, and turned away from the mirror. "No, I think we're going to find something new to wear. The only things in there are puffy shirts from the seventies and a collection of bizarre hats."

He flipped a switch on the TARDIS. "And since I have two arms, two legs, and all of that, I suppose Earth would be a good place to stop. Let's London, Christmas, 2000."

"Why there?"

"Because I know that it was 1999 that the world almost blew up. And I don't want to visit that calamity again," he replied.

I AM LAZY; WHICH MEANS THAT THIS IS 'TO BE CONTINUED...'

WILL THE DOCTOR FIND SOME CLOTHES?

WILL CLARA GET INTO A FIGHT WITH A ROBOT?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME - SAME WHO TIME, SAME WHO CHANNEL!

[Nationstatelandsville]

(Image)
DOCTOR WHO
MATT SMITH
JENNA-LOUISE COLEMAN
THE TWELFTH HOUR
WRITTEN BY
STEPHEN MOFFAT

"Ow!" exclaimed a man who you should all recognize, the Eleventh Doctor, as the TARDIS control panel went up in sparks (it was prone to do that, he had never known why - perhaps the sparklers), "You don't have to snap at me like that!"

It is important to note that he was addressing the control panel when he said this - he was shouting at the TARDIS, and, if the other flurry of sparks were not coincidental, it had responded. Completely impossible, many would assume, but after a thousand years of marriage, you develop your own language that doesn't require any words (which was good, because the TARDIS couldn't talk).

Suddenly, the Doctor was overcome by spasms, and fell to his side with a weird jerky motion that only Matt Smith could possibly do. He fell onto a blue lever, which moved to the right (even though it was a lever that went up and down), causing the floor of the TARDIS to tip to the right ten degrees. Come to think of it, the Doctor didn't even know why such a lever existed, but he also felt it was vitally important to the survival of space and time, so he didn't touch it. But then, he felt the same way about the microwave in the kitchenette.

"Ah-ah-ow!" he gasped, suddenly throwing his head into his shoulder and scrunching his face up in pain, "Alright, never fly the TARDIS while regenerating. Unless you've got somewhere to be!"

He crumbled to the ground with a loud groan, writhing on the floor as his body began to emit a soft white light.

"Listen!" he called out to his companion, who stood back - obviously a bit shaken, but not stirred. Well, perhaps a bit stirred. But she had seen this before, a rarity amongst his companions. Normally they never had knowledge of his regenerations before seeing one for the first time. Well, knowing her history she probably had seen a regeneration before. Or two. Or all of them. She was, after all, the Impossible Girl. At least, that's what he called her.

"There's something you need to know," he continued, as he reached up and grabbed hold of the TARDIS console. "I like snow. And Christmas. Imagine it as a fetish, but in a non-sexual way."

He remained silent for a moment, slowly pulling himself up onto his feet, though he still grasped the console and used it as a support.

"That does bring an interesting thought to mind," he said, pondering. "Can a fetish be thought of in a non-sexual way? I've never really felt lust, to be perfectly honest. At least I don't think so. But-"

With another jerky motion, the Doctor fell forward, losing his grip on the console and collapsing onto the ground face-first. He turned his head sideways, to look up at Clara for perhaps the last time; in this incarnation, at least.

"Right, uh, I'm dying. Well, regeneration." He sighed. "You already know all about this, I suppose. Is that why you're being so quiet?"

Clara nodded. "There's not really much to say. I thought deaths were always supposed to be quiet."

Another stream of sparks shot from the TARDIS console, causing the Doctor to roll over onto his back.

"Haven't you ever been to a war?" he asked. "Well, I should take you some time. I remember this one time where Sarah Jane and I were on Sk-"

The Doctor jerked his body upwards, firing white energy from his hands and head. Clara covered her eyes and fell backwards, landing on her bum. She grabbed hold of the railing to remain still, as the TARDIS began rocking back-and-forth quite a bit. Her eyes remained closed, and she didn't see anything. Eventually, she stopped hearing things as well. Occasionally sparks could be heard shooting from the console, but not a peep from the Doctor.

Finally, she opened her eyes. The Doctor was no longer on the floor, instead leaning against the console looking at her.

"Finally awake?" he asked.

He was much older; well, he appeared that way in comparison to his previous incarnation. This one had short greying hair, and bags under his eyes. He looked a bit tired.

"Doctor," Clara said, rising from her position. "It's finished?"

He nodded. "Suppose so," he replied. He reached up and felt his cheeks, sighing. "Well, it's a bit wrinkly. But I wasn't always an infant."

Clara smirked. "How are you feeling?"

"Old. Then again, I've always felt old." His hand fell down onto his bow-tie, and he felt it a bit. "Oh my... yeah, this is gonna' have to go."

He unceremoniously ripped the bow-tie from his collar, and tossed it aside. Unbuttoning his top button with one hand, the Doctor tapped a button with the other. He gave the console a disappointed look.

"I thought that was the switch for the mirror," he said. He pressed another button, which resulted in a similar display of nothing. The Doctor seemed disappointed.

"Where is the bloody switch for the mirror?" he asked. He flipped a switch, which jerked the TARDIS sideways for a moment. Clara collapsed onto the floor and slid, while the Doctor grabbed hold of the console and held on for dear life.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

"Doctor, flip the switch!" Clara yelled, as she grabbed a railing and held on. The Doctor hit the switch a second time, returning the TARDIS to its 'normal' state.

"Well, never going to press that again." He was silent, before noticing that a mirror had been lowered from the ceiling. He strode over to it as though he had planned for it, though his face showed a clear anger. He stood in front of the glass, his hand holding his chin in that familiar pose that everyone does to look like they're in deep thought.

"I think it suits me," he said. "Not the suit; but at least it isn't a leather jacket or a rainbow coat. I'm sure you get the reference."

Clara, having risen from the ground, smiled. "So are we taking a trip to the wardrobe, then?"

The old alien sighed, and turned away from the mirror. "No, I think we're going to find something new to wear. The only things in there are puffy shirts from the seventies and a collection of bizarre hats."

He flipped a switch on the TARDIS. "And since I have two arms, two legs, and all of that, I suppose Earth would be a good place to stop. Let's London, Christmas, 2000."

"Why there?"

"Because I know that it was 1999 that the world almost blew up. And I don't want to visit that calamity again," he replied.

I AM LAZY; WHICH MEANS THAT THIS IS 'TO BE CONTINUED...'

WILL THE DOCTOR FIND SOME CLOTHES?

WILL CLARA GET INTO A FIGHT WITH A ROBOT?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME - SAME WHO TIME, SAME WHO CHANNEL!

I loathe you for reminding me of the awfulness that was New Faces.

Luckily, Astro and I have plans to redeem Eleven's rather lackluster death. But that is a different story for a different time.

[Nude East Ireland]

(Image)
DOCTOR WHO
MATT SMITH
JENNA-LOUISE COLEMAN
THE TWELFTH HOUR
WRITTEN BY
STEPHEN MOFFAT

"Ow!" exclaimed a man who you should all recognize, the Eleventh Doctor, as the TARDIS control panel went up in sparks (it was prone to do that, he had never known why - perhaps the sparklers), "You don't have to snap at me like that!"

It is important to note that he was addressing the control panel when he said this - he was shouting at the TARDIS, and, if the other flurry of sparks were not coincidental, it had responded. Completely impossible, many would assume, but after a thousand years of marriage, you develop your own language that doesn't require any words (which was good, because the TARDIS couldn't talk).

Suddenly, the Doctor was overcome by spasms, and fell to his side with a weird jerky motion that only Matt Smith could possibly do. He fell onto a blue lever, which moved to the right (even though it was a lever that went up and down), causing the floor of the TARDIS to tip to the right ten degrees. Come to think of it, the Doctor didn't even know why such a lever existed, but he also felt it was vitally important to the survival of space and time, so he didn't touch it. But then, he felt the same way about the microwave in the kitchenette.

"Ah-ah-ow!" he gasped, suddenly throwing his head into his shoulder and scrunching his face up in pain, "Alright, never fly the TARDIS while regenerating. Unless you've got somewhere to be!"

He crumbled to the ground with a loud groan, writhing on the floor as his body began to emit a soft white light.

"Listen!" he called out to his companion, who stood back - obviously a bit shaken, but not stirred. Well, perhaps a bit stirred. But she had seen this before, a rarity amongst his companions. Normally they never had knowledge of his regenerations before seeing one for the first time. Well, knowing her history she probably had seen a regeneration before. Or two. Or all of them. She was, after all, the Impossible Girl. At least, that's what he called her.

"There's something you need to know," he continued, as he reached up and grabbed hold of the TARDIS console. "I like snow. And Christmas. Imagine it as a fetish, but in a non-sexual way."

He remained silent for a moment, slowly pulling himself up onto his feet, though he still grasped the console and used it as a support.

"That does bring an interesting thought to mind," he said, pondering. "Can a fetish be thought of in a non-sexual way? I've never really felt lust, to be perfectly honest. At least I don't think so. But-"

With another jerky motion, the Doctor fell forward, losing his grip on the console and collapsing onto the ground face-first. He turned his head sideways, to look up at Clara for perhaps the last time; in this incarnation, at least.

"Right, uh, I'm dying. Well, regeneration." He sighed. "You already know all about this, I suppose. Is that why you're being so quiet?"

Clara nodded. "There's not really much to say. I thought deaths were always supposed to be quiet."

Another stream of sparks shot from the TARDIS console, causing the Doctor to roll over onto his back.

"Haven't you ever been to a war?" he asked. "Well, I should take you some time. I remember this one time where Sarah Jane and I were on Sk-"

The Doctor jerked his body upwards, firing white energy from his hands and head. Clara covered her eyes and fell backwards, landing on her bum. She grabbed hold of the railing to remain still, as the TARDIS began rocking back-and-forth quite a bit. Her eyes remained closed, and she didn't see anything. Eventually, she stopped hearing things as well. Occasionally sparks could be heard shooting from the console, but not a peep from the Doctor.

Finally, she opened her eyes. The Doctor was no longer on the floor, instead leaning against the console looking at her.

"Finally awake?" he asked.

He was much older; well, he appeared that way in comparison to his previous incarnation. This one had short greying hair, and bags under his eyes. He looked a bit tired.

"Doctor," Clara said, rising from her position. "It's finished?"

He nodded. "Suppose so," he replied. He reached up and felt his cheeks, sighing. "Well, it's a bit wrinkly. But I wasn't always an infant."

Clara smirked. "How are you feeling?"

"Old. Then again, I've always felt old." His hand fell down onto his bow-tie, and he felt it a bit. "Oh my... yeah, this is gonna' have to go."

He unceremoniously ripped the bow-tie from his collar, and tossed it aside. Unbuttoning his top button with one hand, the Doctor tapped a button with the other. He gave the console a disappointed look.

"I thought that was the switch for the mirror," he said. He pressed another button, which resulted in a similar display of nothing. The Doctor seemed disappointed.

"Where is the bloody switch for the mirror?" he asked. He flipped a switch, which jerked the TARDIS sideways for a moment. Clara collapsed onto the floor and slid, while the Doctor grabbed hold of the console and held on for dear life.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

"Doctor, flip the switch!" Clara yelled, as she grabbed a railing and held on. The Doctor hit the switch a second time, returning the TARDIS to its 'normal' state.

"Well, never going to press that again." He was silent, before noticing that a mirror had been lowered from the ceiling. He strode over to it as though he had planned for it, though his face showed a clear anger. He stood in front of the glass, his hand holding his chin in that familiar pose that everyone does to look like they're in deep thought.

"I think it suits me," he said. "Not the suit; but at least it isn't a leather jacket or a rainbow coat. I'm sure you get the reference."

Clara, having risen from the ground, smiled. "So are we taking a trip to the wardrobe, then?"

The old alien sighed, and turned away from the mirror. "No, I think we're going to find something new to wear. The only things in there are puffy shirts from the seventies and a collection of bizarre hats."

He flipped a switch on the TARDIS. "And since I have two arms, two legs, and all of that, I suppose Earth would be a good place to stop. Let's London, Christmas, 2000."

"Why there?"

"Because I know that it was 1999 that the world almost blew up. And I don't want to visit that calamity again," he replied.

I AM LAZY; WHICH MEANS THAT THIS IS 'TO BE CONTINUED...'

WILL THE DOCTOR FIND SOME CLOTHES?

WILL CLARA GET INTO A FIGHT WITH A ROBOT?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME - SAME WHO TIME, SAME WHO CHANNEL!

I loathe you for reminding me of the awfulness that was New Faces.

Luckily, Astro and I have plans to redeem Eleven's rather lackluster death. But that is a different story for a different time.

Hopefully Eleven doesn't actually die that way.

Because not explaining his death at all would likely be worse than how Seven died.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I loathe you for reminding me of the awfulness that was New Faces.

Luckily, Astro and I have plans to redeem Eleven's rather lackluster death. But that is a different story for a different time.

Hopefully Eleven doesn't actually die that way.

Because not explaining his death at all would likely be worse than how Seven died.

I killed Eleven with solar radiation.

It was a cop-out, but I didn't want to spend any time elaborating, nor did I just want Twelve to just show up.

[Nude East Ireland]

Name: Weston Josephson
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Description: Born to humble settlers on the Australian frontier, Weston has a height of six feet. He is lanky, though has some resemblance of muscles. He has wavy red hair, though it doesn't extend lower than his neck. His mutton chops are thick and manly, as is the rest of his body hair. He often wears a suit and top hat when out-and-about, and carries a cane - not because he has a limp, but because he finds it a good weapon. Often times he wears his grandfather's lucky monocle, simply because he enjoys the look of it. He also wears white gloves, and has a large supply of them in case the others get dirty. He has bright blue eyes, and is quite ugly; the mutton chops just cover most of it.
Picture (Optional): No.
Background: He was born in the family cabin, in the wilderness. His father was killed during an unfortunate hunting trip around the time of Weston's first birthday. His early years were quite boring. He hated school, and left when he was only fifteen. It was around that time that his mother died, and since no other living family member could be found, Weston inherited the property.

He often found himself hunting for a living, though when he became twenty-three he was given his father's position in a gentleman's club in Brisbane; the Rotten Club. He frequented the club, which had a reputation of being the most violent, unattractive, and sex-crazed men in all of Australia. It was a den of iniquity since its very creation, and Weston often found drinks, fights, and women plentiful there.

He was asked to become part of an expedition for lost treasure when he was twenty-five. He took the opportunity to travel as the bodyguard for several wealthy Englishmen searching for the treasure; they found it, but died on the trip back to Brisbane due to animals and bandits. Weston, however, returned to the city and became wealthy. He often adventured and hunted at his leisure, and spends the majority of time either at the Rotten Club or the family cabin - which he has 'upgraded' into a large manor since his economic rise. However, he longs for dangerous adventure, and more things to mount on the wall of his study.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I am working on a very stupid project to bide my time - not the 50th one-shot.

I will only post the Very Stupid Project (as it shall now be known) once Astro has posted and examined Weston Josephson.