[The transmission starts with silence, then a muffled humming and finally a male voice speaks. It's quite the attractive voice, but it sounds like he’s trying to control his annoyance and failing.]
There's a moment in your life when you say to yourself ‘things can't possibly get better’…[By his tone of voice, it’s clear that he's being sarcastic.] …and then the universe proves you wrong. A new Cybertron, uh hum… I’ve heard that before. Really charming.
[>Suddenly, video! Enjoy the view of a cherry red robot with no visible faction symbol on him, sneering at the camera.]
I want to know who thought it would be a good idea to mess with my chassis and give me that horrid tattoo, of all things. [Tattoo, glyph, practically the same thing. Knock out didn’t really pay much attention to the acolyte, he had other things to focus on than a new planet. Like his paintjob.]
We should have a talk. [There’s a clear promise of pain in that last sentence as he waves a hand with very large, very pointy, claws. ]
When the communicator activated, it was to the Doctor buried from the waist up underneath the TARDIS' console, suit-jacket draped over the back of the seat nearby and shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he busied himself working away at something inside. One hand is stuck out, pointing a small silver object at the device before pulling his hand back away and going back to work. Apparently he's activated the communicator by way of sonic screwdriver.
You see, he's been rather absent for the past oh, month and a half, because it wasn't long after he'd made his first post - only a few days - that he had managed to find all of his belongings. Including the TARDIS. But she won't work right. He's stuck on this planet and in this time, and he's been trying his damnedest to figure out why. He's been a little hyper-focused on that sole task, too, so you'll have to excuse his obliviousness to certain things.
In the meantime, he's managed to park her on one of the little cliff-faces in the canyons that isn't connected by any bridges. Sure, it won't keep them safe from flyers, but keeping the land-based creatures at bay for a little while seemed like the wise thing to do at the time. So the instant he'd found he could still move through "space" but not "time," he had scooted her to his little eagle's-nest ledge.
"I wouldn't suppose any of you would know anything about helmic technology, would you?" Because surely he's not that lucky. He pulls his head out from under the console, holding up what looks to be a bicycle pump, staring at it imploringly as if that will make it do what he wants it to do. "I think I've pinned down my TARDIS's malfunction t'this little bratty thing here. Shouldn't be surprised. Thing seems to enjoy failin' on me when I really need it. But as it is, TARDIS won' go anywhere because this seems t'have just gone completely kaput!"
He drops the thing gently into his lap, holding it with far more tenderness then one would expect of a man wielding a broken part. And don't mind him if he seems to pet it while he continues to address the screen, reaching up with one hand to wipe an oily smear across one cheek without even realizing it.
"Oh yeah, an' I think I forgot t'introduce myself properly last time." He grins rather brightly now. Almost too brightly, it almost looks somewhat deranged underneath everything. "Hello. I'm the Doctor. Pleased to meet all of you."
And then the smile drops to something a tad more believable. A subtle frown.
"I'll do my best to forget any wrong-feet that were gotten off on the last time I spoke with any of you out there. I like playin' nice, so I'll do my best t'keep it that way."
((OOC: Sorry sorry for the late replies to the first post! I promise to be getting back to them shortly! I just knew I should probably work on getting some new activity up in the meantime. 8|))
[The first place he went when he woke up in this strange, barren, mechanical world was right out to that junk pile he'd been told non-living things were dumped once they were brought here.
He's been searching for hours, and by the time he sits down to rest, he's covered in grime and filth and looking tattered and grouchy when he activates the communication device he was given.]
So. I wouldn't suppose any of you great, big, metal blokes would've seen a comparably-tiny blue box layin' about, would yah? About 7, oh, 8 feet high on the outside, much much bigger on the inside, with two little doors and a few windows all around, and a light right on top. She's my TARDIS, an' I'd really like 'er back. Don't go anywhere without 'er - well, guess you could say I can't go anywhere without 'er - she's my ship. Been together a long time, me an' her.
Oh. An' if Donna Noble's muckin' about, I'd really like it if someone could direct her to me, or vice versa. You out there, Donna? If you're in the TARDIS, send me a signal if you please. Be nice t'get back home. Oi, an' don't go muckin' with the controls! Don't want you gettin' lost in time an' space, you hear me???
[Gruff demeanor aside, it's obvious whoever, where-ever, and whenever Donna Noble is, he's actually pretty worried about her. He huffs softly to himself, glancing around the junk pile, and then back at the datapad after a moment of contemplation.]
Don' suppose any'a you great, big, metal blokes would have any bananas would you? I'm feelin' a little peckish and I ain't had anything to eat since I got here.