Leela remembered the way the Matrix door was closing, the fast footfalls, the way the roof was coming down on a place that did not exist. She remembered all these things, especially the narrowing door as she ran for it. Now, now, she felt the sting of a blow she did not remember, her bones had been jarred. She sniffed and scowled; all dust, strange scents, unusual, and very wrong.
This was not Gallifrey.
And then she was sliding and moving and-- It was not right for something to be flinging her around like a child's plaything. The hallway was bright and she brought a hand up for a moment to shield her eyes and reached for her knife only to find it missing. So were her Janis thorns. This was unpleasant, but she would do her best to fend whatever creatures this place would send her.
☛ A
She turned the key over in her hand; 407 it read, scowling at it before she moved out the door and nearly fell over the luggage. Leela stood staring down at the handle with her name on it: Leela, just that. Just her name stamped as if she was expected.
Luggage. A room key. It meant someone wanted her to stay in the place. Perhaps that meant that Narvin was here as well, or Romana. She caught no familiar scents, nothing to suggest otherwise. It remained to be seen. It was true, she could have been interecepted, these things happened. And if it was a hostile thing, she would kill it or demand her answers.
Leela kicked the case as if it were to blame.
"The dead do not have suit-cases," she said, folding her arms.
☛ B
After she had found this room of hers, Leela prowled, circling floor by floor, moving and mapping her new surroundings. It was easy to see there were no doors leading out. It made her uneasy, wary, cagey, and many other words that bit and snarled. There were others here, she knew them by their evidences. Things out of place, a chair pushed to one side, she moved in their spaces, learning, listening. Everything about this place felt wrong like the way the fine hairs on the back of her neck raised as if in protest, and definitely in warning.
She expected danger, almost wanted it so she could fight something. Turning the corner, she flinched as she nearly collided with a body. Another occupant, surely. Her hands went out to steady them as much as herself, her reddish brown hair flying, as she found purchase. If she were lucky, it would not become a tangle of limbs...or a face full of punches, or something equally unpleasant.
All Places
This was not Gallifrey.
And then she was sliding and moving and-- It was not right for something to be flinging her around like a child's plaything. The hallway was bright and she brought a hand up for a moment to shield her eyes and reached for her knife only to find it missing. So were her Janis thorns. This was unpleasant, but she would do her best to fend whatever creatures this place would send her.
☛ A
She turned the key over in her hand; 407 it read, scowling at it before she moved out the door and nearly fell over the luggage. Leela stood staring down at the handle with her name on it: Leela, just that. Just her name stamped as if she was expected.
Luggage. A room key. It meant someone wanted her to stay in the place. Perhaps that meant that Narvin was here as well, or Romana. She caught no familiar scents, nothing to suggest otherwise. It remained to be seen. It was true, she could have been interecepted, these things happened. And if it was a hostile thing, she would kill it or demand her answers.
Leela kicked the case as if it were to blame.
"The dead do not have suit-cases," she said, folding her arms.
☛ B
After she had found this room of hers, Leela prowled, circling floor by floor, moving and mapping her new surroundings. It was easy to see there were no doors leading out. It made her uneasy, wary, cagey, and many other words that bit and snarled. There were others here, she knew them by their evidences. Things out of place, a chair pushed to one side, she moved in their spaces, learning, listening. Everything about this place felt wrong like the way the fine hairs on the back of her neck raised as if in protest, and definitely in warning.
She expected danger, almost wanted it so she could fight something. Turning the corner, she flinched as she nearly collided with a body. Another occupant, surely. Her hands went out to steady them as much as herself, her reddish brown hair flying, as she found purchase. If she were lucky, it would not become a tangle of limbs...or a face full of punches, or something equally unpleasant.