caveofsapphires | I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies [OPEN]

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I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies [OPEN]

WHO: The Doctor (William Harris Olsen) and [OPEN]
WHAT: Studying at the library, possibly tutoring, wandering the halls generally being a nuisance/target, and trying to break into the greenhouse (cough)
WHERE: Library, Living Quarters, outside the Greenhouse, wandering the halls
WHEN: Thursday 12 and Friday 13 ~~OH GOD THE HORROR~~

After some attempts to snoop about, the Doctor decided to settle into something of a routine for a couple of days, spending most of it at the library, making himself available for tutoring (if any of the students had science studies to work on, or even math) while doing his own studies of the materials available. He was a scientist and professor, apparently, and that meant he needed to know the subject matter, both for 'research' and teaching. Not that he hadn't done any reading previously, but one could only take in so much knowledge a day.

Thursday found him spending most of his day doing just that, seated at a console reading this or that, comparing notes to what he'd read before, picking apart theories based partly on what he knew from his 'dream', and partly what he read, and making notes for things to study more in depth. He considered it research, really, in that it would tell him how advanced this society was, and perhaps give him some insight into the people here. And history... well, he'd get to that in due time. It wasn't as if he were going anywhere at any point in the imediate future.

In the evening he went wandering the complex, sticking to the halls, just seeing where people wandered off to and keeping an eye on the Workers, especially the guard force, to note where they spent their time when in sight. He didn't follow them - that would be too obvious. He simply made note of their presence, offering a smile and a nod as he passed them by. Eventually he made his way back to the living quarters, not wanting to break curfew.

Friday was much a repeat of the previous day, most of it working on his studies and keeping an eye out for any students. He didn't focus on the reading as much as the day prior, however, often glancing around to see who was present, taking note of who frequented the library and for what purpose, if it were discernable. Another way to get to know people: get to know their habits.

Friday evening, however, he found himself getting frustrated with the whole ordeal. There were still Ian and Barbara to think of, and he hadn't seen any sign of them since he'd arrived. It had nearly been two weeks. It was time to start poking things.

He ventured off towards the greenhouse, determined to gain entry. It was unlikely he'd find any sign of his companions there, but it was a start, and he certainly had a better chance getting into a building full of plants than into any secure records or holding facilities.

When he arrived, he attempted to gain access with his ID as he had any other place. When that failed, he started toying with the lock to see if he couldn't get it to open.

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The Doctor did his best to ignore the casual glimpses at his work, but one could only stand to have someone peering over your shoulder for so long. Eventually, he snapped, "If you're so curious, you could always ask."

After a brief pause, he turned his head to eye the fellow, allowing the glare that he'd intended to give the man to fade, replaced by a half-smile. As much as he could be the bitter old man, it was hardly conductive to his attempts to figure everything out. His hand rose to remove the glasses he wore, and he gave a nod. "What is it you're so curious about, hmm? You never stay long enough to read more than a few words."

Startling, Aziraphale backed up slightly. "Oh, my apologies," he said automatically, before he realized that it was disingenuous to apologize for something he didn't actually feel very sorry for. The Doctor was doing this in public, after all. Really he should be more worried about other sorts of surveillance.

"Oh . . . " He wiggled his fingers, trying to explain what was so intriguing. "The general gist. You seem very determined and - focused, where others are confused. It's impressive, really."

"Ah, well." The Doctor leaned back in his seat, chuckling. "I've grown accustomed to finding myself in unusual situations, I suppose." He shrugged. "I'm a man of science. This is all quite intriguing, really. The story- ah, the explanation for what happened and what we're meant to do, how little there is about what happened- that is perhaps the most intriguing part, I think. There's barely any mention of what caused things to wind up this way." His hand waved towards the console, indicating the records and files. "All we know is something happened, and here we are." He smiled, practically beaming. The Doctor so enjoyed a mystery.

Aziraphale cocked his head. "That is true," he mused. "Quite a gap in the story." The man's smile was infectious. "And do you think you've come up with answers?"

"Unfortunately, nothing definitive." The Doctor chuckled. "Theories, mostly the musings of an old man. You see, whatever it was had to have given them time to build all this," he explained, his hand motioning about them. "Yet it was still devistating enough that they had to. And despite all that, they didn't keep records of what it was." He paused. "Unless, of course, those records are confidential, being kept from the rest of us. I wonder why they'd do that? Perhaps to not frighten people?"

Aziraphale doubted very much if these ideas were 'merely' the musings of an old man. He was clearly far cleverer than he was giving himself credit for, at least out loud. After all, he made a very good point: there was crucial information missing and a number of logical gaps in the story as it had been presented thus far.

The only reason Aziraphale could see for keeping that information out of the public eye was if it would make them more difficult to contain - as Owen had said, herding cats - but he didn't mention this aloud because it was too cynical for him to be even thinking. Probably a result of too much contact with Bad Sorts. Instead he asked, "I wonder if any more information will be available once we get to the City?"

"It's entirely possible, yes. Though it seems foolish to leave information as vital as that out in the City when they took such care to make sure everything here was suitable for reintigration." Another pause, the Doctor pondering such implications. "Unless, as I said, they wished to avoid frightening people. Perhaps they wished to ensure we were able to properly adjust before giving us the full scope of the situation to us. To be better able to accept what had happened."

"Is that the most likely theory?" Aziraphale asked, trying not to sound skeptical. Still, if it had been him he would have given the option to get more information. The choice was always nice, even if you had to work for it. A benefit of being human, perhaps.

"The most likely theory?" The Doctor laughed, clearly amused. He wasn't about to say what he thought was the most likely theory, but... "Oh, no. There are any number of theories behind it all, and while any one of them might make perfect sense, there's no way to say for sure which one is more likely without more information. Which we seem to be lacking." He made a tch sound. "As you said, perhaps once we reach the city we'll be able to find more."

"Perhaps." Aziraphale considered the man in front of him before asking, "Might I be able to help in some way? Two pairs of eyes bein better than one and all that." It would give him the opportunity to learn more about these cursed 'books' as well. He honestly had no idea what he was doing at the moment, and it made him uncomfortable. The better he was at living this life, the safer he'd be until he found either answers or Crowley.

The Doctor motioned towards a nearby console, chuckling. "Be my guest. Though as I said, there's little if anything about what happened. There is a lot of other history, and plenty on the sciences. Many technical things." That was about all there was, too. "I suppose it makes sense," he mused, turning back to his own console. "Stick to the fundamentals during reintigration. I wonder how much of other topics survived in the City... Ah, well, I suppose we'll find out eventually."

"The fundamentals are never enough, though," Aziraphale said seriously as he sat, eyes flicking up to the screen. "Fundamentals aren't enough to - to restore humanity, as they've said they want to do. For that you need art and words and - more," he finished, a bit lackluster, unsure if he wanted to end with beauty or love and finding both melodramatic.

"At the very least I can catch up with you," he murmured, scrolling with some difficulty.

"Perhaps not," the Doctor agreed. "But when your options are limited, it makes sense to focus on the technical aspects, doesn't it? Reintigration is only the first step. Focus on how everything works so you can ensure it keeps working." He gave a shrug, slipping his glasses back on. "Once you're sure things won't fall apart on you, then you can look into the other things, hmm? With any luck, much more will have survived the passing of time out in the city." The more he spoke of it, the more eager he was to see just how much had survived in the City. There would likely be far more of interest out there than in this cave.

"You're right, of course." Not that Aziraphale was much for city planning, or planning in general, but he understood the principle of the thing. Infrastructure was an important word, apparently. Keeping things running. But there was a utilitarianism about that philosophy that unsettled him. No one could claim that anything about Aziraphale was utilitarian.

"The more, the better," he agreed fervently. He wanted to see people living their lives again, more than anything else. Actually living, not running about scared and uncertain. Not like this.

He gave the fellow a smug smile. "Of course I am," he agreed, in a matter-of-fact tone. While he would have made some attempt to archive much more than just history or science, humans had a tendancy to categorize things by importance, and facts were in greater need of saving than fiction or fun. Sadly. "At least there's a bar," he commented, musing at his own thoughts. Funny how alcohol was more important than poetry, but not really surprising.

"We shall see, we shall see." Eventually. He was in no rush to leave the cave, still concerned with his missing companions and his ship, but... Oh, the chance to explore and try to solve this mystery! And learn more of this society! It had the Doctor practically giddy with excitement, and gave him something to think about that wasn't dwelling on his predicament.

Aziraphale's eyebrows flickered upwards, just for a second, at that brief show of arrogance. Not that he wasn't used to it - living with angels, one became used to impressive shows of arrogance - but seeing it in apparent humans was always an experience. It didn't bother him, precisely, but it did make him even more curious about Olsen.

"They always need a bar," Aziraphale responded, smiling and thinking along approximately the same lines as the other man. Things could be terrible, Biblically so, even, and humans would cope in one way or another.

"Oh, I suppose." Humans always needed somewhere to sit and drink themselves silly, plus it made for a good social spot, and humans were a very social species. "I popped by the other day, and the bartender- a Mister Gates, I believe it was- charming fellow, he was." Sidetracking himself made him forget where he'd been going with that, but it didn't seem to bother him. "Ah, they don't have much business, but such places do tend to be rather good places to find information, hmm? Sadly I'm not much of a drinker."

"Bates," Aziraphale said absently. "I'm Gates." Charming, indeed. Turning slightly in his chair, Aziraphale glanced at Olsen curiously. "And what did you find?" He wondered if anyone had been there he might've known. He did remember David Mathis (ha!) from the night before and hoped there were no more surprises in store.

One brow quirked in frustrated surprise. "Of course you are," the Doctor confirmed, brushing off his mistake with a shake of his head. "Oh, not much. He's a chatty fellow, though. Invited me back, in fact." He had no plans of spending a whole lot of time there, but he might pop by to check in, so to speak. See if Owen had picked up anything. Not likely, if everyone was as lost and confused as those he'd spoken to seemed to be, but who knew?

"What of you? Have you spoken to many people here, yet?"

He laughed a little. "Of course he did," he murmured. "And no, not many. A few, but I've mostly been working and trying to keep my head down." He doubted he'd tell Olsen about Sable. It was a bit much to believe for anyone, even this man, who appeared quite above average.

"Hmm," he mused. Not a very social bunch, this group. Then again, given the situation, he could see most people not being very sociable. Woken up and told your entire life was a lie and that nothing you knew was real... For him, it was quite interesting, after the initial shock.

He turned to look at his companion, peering over the rim of his glasses. "Anything of interest? Unusual or out of place." Though what could be considered out of place here, he wasn't entirely sure.

"How do you mean out of place?" Aziraphale asked. "There have been . . . familiar things, I suppose, things that remind me of the dream. But nothing explicitly odd, beyond that and the fact that we're currently living in a cave."

The Doctor laughed with unhidden amusement. "Oh, now, that's not really so odd, is it? Humans lived in caves long before they learned how to build houses." He failed to notice, let alone correct, his pronoun use. "It's either a cave or some underground complex of metal walls and small, sterile rooms. I rather prefer the cave. Far less confining." And less like a lab, where they'd be the test subjects.

"I suppose they did, but the majority don't anymore, unless I've completely missed a memo," said Aziraphale - who noted it but wasn't surprised, and didn't deign to hide his own. Olsen had merely confirmed a suspicion. It appeared the Cave was riddled with non-humans, or ex-non-humans, or - well, something along those lines.

He blanched a bit at the next comment. "Do you have experience in . . . that sort of environment?" he queried, brows furrowing. How bleak.

"Oh yes. Well, dream experience, I suppose. Not sure what good that would do us here." Not that he believed they were actually dreams, but he wasn't about to test the limits of that particular rule too far. "Not that they were all underground. Some aboveground, some in space." He shrugged. "Different societies use such sterile environments for a variety of purposes."

In space, Aziraphale thought. Like it was so commonplace. He and Crowley had once gotten into an argument about whether or not aliens existed. Aziraphale had argued that God in His infinite wisdom and majesty had created one perfect species. Crowley had argued that that was stupid, and if God was so infinitely wise and majestic he wouldn't have wasted all that space. It seemed this man might have . . . dreamed proof, one way or the other.

But his curiosity was quickly overwhelmed by horror. “A variety of purposes,” he said slowly. “Such as?”

"Ah, well," he started, pondering a vague explanation. "Laboratories, for the most part, though some actually prefer to live in such environments. Civilizations evolve in such different ways. The comforts of one might be completely alien to another." The Doctor easily adapted as needed, but many others wouldn't, or couldn't. That had him pondering just how different this society would be to some of those waking up.

And, of course, his curiosity got the better of him, as he tilted his head to squint towards this fellow. "The world you... dreamed. You'd said there were familiar things, didn't you?"

Aziraphale stared at Olsen as he spoke. It was all so . . . foreign, which was something of a new sensation for him. "I suppose you know more about the subject than I do," he said. "My dreams were mostly of Earth."

Glancing away, Aziraphale drummed his fingers on the table the console sat on. "Well." He cleared his throat. "I had. Enemies? I suppose you could call them. In the dream. And I thought I saw one of them the other night."

That was not what the Doctor had expected, his brows shooting skyward. Something about the arcitecture, or the technology, or even the cave itself, perhaps, but that?

"Enemies?" he inquired, growing ever more curious. "Someone here who looked like one?" Either they'd both been captured and brought here... Or, if this was some sort of reality, remnants of their 'dream' reality seeping into this one, perhaps...

"Yes, someone who looked like one." He wanted to say, no, you don't understand - it was him, but that would be reckless. Still, he had no doubt. It had absolutely been Famine.

Which, again, brought up the problem of how to explain it to - well, to anyone. 'Why, yes, I came across the anthropomorphic personification of one of the Four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse in a bar, and we chatted amiably about our surroundings. I had a lovely red wine.' That simply wouldn't do.

"Interesting. Quite interesting." That only furthered his belief that people here hadn't just been dreaming. While it wasn't entirely impossible for people to have the same dreams, it was very unlikely for them to last long enough to form firm relationships, such as becoming an enemy. "Did they happen to... ah, have the same dream as you, do you know?" he inquired. It was one thing to make vague inquiries, and another thing entirely to blatantly announce your disbelief.

And he wasn't ready to do the latter just yet.

"Ah, we didn't . . . speak of specifics." Because Aziraphale had been afraid, as a matter of fact. They'd exchanged pleasantries, yes, but had skirted entirely around the important points, such as: we are both here, are we meant to work against each other again?

"I believe I was recognized, however," he added as an afterthought. "If that's helpful."

A flicker of disappointment crossed the Doctor's face. "Right, of course." While he couldn't fathom not bringing it up, even with someone who wanted him dead, this fellow was most certainly not him.

"Ah, recognition." His face lit up a bit. "That is something, yes. Unless..." The Doctor pondered over that. If they had been taken, their memories of it were gone, which meant these people had some ability to manipulate memory. Oh, but this was still all conjecture, just theories, none of it really based on fact. "Oh, nevermind. I'm sure we have plenty of time to sort all this out, hmm?"

"I suppose we do," Aziraphale mused. "I can't see any of us going anywhere . . . other than to the City, eventually." He glanced sideways, then back to his screen, wondering if Olsen was concerned at all about that trip. It would be a whole new set of new things, and Aziraphale was still not entirely acclimatized to this set of new yet.

Ah, well. It would be an experience, he supposed, and there were worse things he could do than experience new things.

"Ah yes." The Doctor smiled, and spoke with wonder in his voice. "The City." And whatever lay between. He was so looking forward to it, even if it would mean leaving the cave, where it was possible his companions, and his ship, were stowed away. Ah, well, it wasn't like he couldn't return once everything got sorted.

He shook his head and returned his attention to the console. That would come when it came.

"Yes, I suppose it will be fairly revealing," Aziraphale said, mostly to himself, as Olsen turned back to the console. He couldn't help feeling that he was missing some connection and that there was so much more to be explored in the Cave, and yet there wasn't much he could do about it now, ordinary and fairly powerless.

He turned back to his own console and allowed a companionable silence to fall. This, for the moment, was his best option, and he had no real choice but to take it. And there were worse things in the world than research.

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I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies [OPEN]

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(that was totally unintentional yet oddly in-character 8D)

(i love when that happens!)

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