Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum

Finding Namo

Borusa gets up, applies small hands to dusty rump and smacks vigorously, the backways of her mind anxious to crawl through any shiny refuse still hiding.

There are panels, dimly outlined along the chair rails... she can just make out some oddly placed roundels dotting the higher portions of wall.

Vines play a withered brown symphony across the floor, and, she imagines, everything else; her toes find the occasional leaf or rough bit of nib as she scuffs her way around, one finger to the wall for guidance and her nose in the air.

Borusa sniffs, smelling a sudden something perhaps jarred by her entry and her movements.

It is a sweet yet savory scent, dotted with the sleepy scenery of herbal teas and the simmering anticipation of bubbling meat being stewed off the bone, the ripe apology of ready fruit hanging low on a dark, wet branch.

The smells entrance like the shine of knives against bare skin.

So sharp.

Too sharp- needles in the flesh.

Borusa concentrates on clearing the fog of dim lighting, imagining a surplus of small lamps hanging in mid-air, bobbing a little as though borne up by the surface of a water unknown to gravity.

The room begins to light... soft echoes of brightness spill suddenly into everywhere, flanking Borusa’s little body in bars of uneven...


“It’s... not a stone I would have equated with you, my boy,” she murmurs flatly as she turns around.

There is an overlarge quartz, rosy in color and point, suspended over a hole in the engine room floor.

It is quite uniform, to the eyes, this mutant crystal, and glows with a subtle, clean force reminiscent of older days beneath Gallifrey’s suns, before the stupidity.

Inside the pinkish interior, there rests the fearsome form of her former student at his most demure; arms in tweed crossed over a chestful of pale cream shirt.

“It wasn’t my idea,” claims the almost idiot in the crystal, his arms unfolding like a pile of rabbits waking from an orgy, “... but look over there.”

One of the Doctor’s peridot eyes flicker open on his former teacher, and he grins. His fingers lift from his chest, and point to another area though, lingering in the direction Borusa had come.

Another crystal beckons in the hallway Borusa just fell out of.

Old world pink with modern lines.

The same one?


Funny boy.

“I suppose these things will be popping up all over this place now? In various positions?” Borusa gripes as she tries not to skip over to the next pink stone.

She puts her fingers to this new crystal, knocking a small fist against the warm-cool glassy face.

“Room full of keys, my boy...” she murmurs drily as she picks her way back to the engine room, ignoring the ping of other crystals now zapping into place in every section, “ where’s your room? The one you sleep in?”

The Doctor’s voice falls out clumsily from somewhere as he says, “I have no room, Borusa- I don’t control this. But you know the old saying, ‘Wherever you go, there you are.’”

“So where have you been, then?” Borusa smirks, plonking herself in front of the first crystal she found, the one floating in the engine room- straight, perfect... annoying.

“Oh you know me- everywhere, nowhere. My backyard. It’s boring. I want to go places. What happens when you’ve been everywhere? What do you do?” comes the succulent voice of her former charge, pushing his fingers through the walls of the quartz.

A rainbow rose is in the man’s hands; the skin is dripping blood from where a bismuth thorn has punctured it. There are many such punctures.

Borusa looks down at the rose, then up at her student, whose chin is wobbling like a half-broken branch in a strong wind. The eyes though, are minty emeralds flecked with gold.

He is pressing against the glassy crystal’s facet, staring out at her.

“Isn’t it obvious, silly boy?” Borusa says, keeping her vocal cadences to the quieter ranges in an attempt to soothe him, “... after you’ve gone everywhere, you spend nowhere.”

“...take this. You can’t stay.”

He sets the Bismuth Sunrise Rose in Borusa’s hands, wraps her fingers around it, then folds himself back up again.

The room soon fuzzes in little shivers of glittery gleam.

Borusa sighs.

It’s time to leave.

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