travels of the time doctor

[4thdimensional]

Who: Doc Brown Mr. Brandt and you!
What: Fixing-up, meeting and greeting, learning!
When: Various days, late March
Where: Various places
Warnings: Possible science talk, possible angst. Will update if needed.

a: the rusty greasemonkey

Anyone who may have car trouble is in luck. Beeker's Garage is running a special: deep discounts on the services of their newest mechanic, weird old Mr. Brandt! He holds back that long white hair with a surprisingly colorful bandanna, and when someone should stop in to talk business, he's always walking around the counter with a friendly smile. Sure, he's being paid peanuts for the same work the others get paid handsomely for, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Welcome to Beeker's, nobody beats our service! My name is Brandt, how might I assist you?"
'
b. searching for sunshine

When he's not at the garage, 'Mr. Brandt' has a tendency to spend all his spare time on research. If his nose isn't up a borrowed book about the histories of various musical genres, he's reading about space exploration or psychology. Whatever he's reading, he has a tendency to get fully absorbed in it to the point that he loses track of all else.

As it happens, his foot slips, and Doc the beanpole will be crashing into the nearest bystander or bodyguard. He immediately tenses up and drops the book, quickly moving into a placating stance.

"My apologies! I allowed myself to get caught up in the story to the point that I rendered myself a walking hazard---are you injured? Do you need ice?"

In the middle of his fussing, anyone who looks to the ground might find his largely-illegible dropped blueprints. They're vehicle designs for the most part, though there's also some strange helmet device in the mix.

c. in search of clarity

When night falls, Doc allows himself to drop the bluster a little. He opts for his usual trenchcoat and hat as he walks along the lit roads. It's not until he reaches a slight hill in a closed park that he stops, pulling a small brass telescope out of his pocket. From here, in a small oasis of quiet, he turns to study the stars. It's difficult breaking through the light pollution, but a few of his own enhancements make everything clear.

He vaguely sketches a few stars in the dim light, noting the differences with his own Earth's view. It's a beautiful skyscape, and one he'd be thrilled to share with anyone.

But late at night, when he's dreading crawling back to the old rustbucket of a car for sleep, his attention invariably drifts to a certain label's headquarters. It's absolutely ridiculous, of course, playing like some Peeping Tom. He won't see anyone from here, least of all Marty. But just eyeing the building is a sobering example of the challenge ahead. His best friend's ensnared in that fortress, chained in a terrible sort of way.

Anyone who stumbles upon Doc at that point will find him with his hat over his eyes, hands balled into fists. They absolutely cannot afford to lose.

Comments

C.

[panspermia]

It's strange, how success can make you forget why you began doing something in the first place. Then again, it's not so much the success that's clouded things over, but all the mess that's somehow come with it.

So he's parked himself on a bench on the hill, reminding himself. It's been a while since Greg remembered to stargaze, and he's taking the moment to appreciate the cold, clear sky. He's got a notebook open on his lap, a few starts to lyrics scrawled down, but for the most part he's just watching.

Upon the stranger's first arrival, Greg only gave him a glance. This late, this cold a night, people don't generally come out for company or hope to be bothered. It's only after a few moments that Greg takes another look back and sees the stranger with a small telescope, aimed to the stars, and he feels an excited pulse of heat stir in his chest.

"Woah--woah! That's so cool--you've got your own--are you an astronomer?! What d'you see?!"

He's pretty much turned all the way around, perched eagerly like a child to sit backwards on the bench and give the man his full attention.

[4thdimensional]

Doc tends to lose himself in the stars. Pinpricks of light from so far away, strangely captivating. Romantic, too, and something he'd usually shared with Clara on clearer evenings. But watching the stars alone is an altogether different feeling---it's a stark reminder that in the end, they're insignificant pieces of a much bigger picture.

So that would be why he's not expecting company. It takes him a moment to lower the telescope and turn toward his visitor, but when he does? He recognizes that spark of enthusiasm and smiles.

"Glimmers of the distant past have always caught my eye. I'm no astronomer, just an amateur seeking a change of pace from my day job." He tips his hat sheepishly. "Would you happen to be an artist seeking inspiration?"

Doc's done his research on Marty's band, of course, but the dim light's impeding his recognition a little. For now, he sees a lover of the mysteries of the cosmos.

[panspermia]

Greg's eyes practically gleam in the low light, full to the brim with enthusiasm. Another casual lover of space is just as exciting as any professional--someone in the same place as him, in a way. He crosses his arms over the top of the bench.

"Eheh. You got me." It shouldn't come as a surprise that he's pegged so easily; even out of his typical rockstar duds, his look screams "art" far louder than "science."

Looking back up at the sky, Greg smiles. "I like to remember how big the cosmos is. Anything I can dream up seems easy in comparison."

[4thdimensional]

"That's one way to consider our cosmic insignificance," Doc answers with an approving smile. "No matter how large the problems we face...they're little more than stardust. Bright, beautiful, fleeting...but all life is, and that makes it so precious."

He's gone down these tangential roads before, but they're always a fun trip. He leans back to get a better look. "At any rate, it beats the view from under yet another truck."

i will not make this easy on you doc also b

[heymcfly]

[ Marty's hardly expecting to run face first into some old guy with weird white hair. Or having the weird old guy run into him! He's lost into his own thoughts, which are muddled. A perfectly convenient time for someone to slam into Marty hard enough to at least make him stumble back a few steps.

When he looks up to face Doc...there's a spark of recognition. Something about this old guy, as weird and dangerous as he looks, is familiar. Marty's eyes narrow, giving the stranger an odd look. There's something he's missing, like a puzzle piece that's long since gone.

But something interrupts his thought process. A hard metal table after a rescue, something bending his wrist so hard it snapped bone. The brainwashing did its job; Doc is unrecognizable. Curiosity turns into annoyance, and it bites in his tone of voice. ]

Jesus Christ! Watch where you're goin'!

oh boy here we go

[4thdimensional]

[Doc's fairly quick to gather his books---a history of time, a personal favorite---and to sweep his notes back into a pile. He's hardly looked up from his spot on the ground until he hears that voice, and when he does, the world seems to stop turning.

Naturally, it hasn't, as gravity is maintaining its normal hold. But Doc sure feels that it's all upside down. His head shoots up, taking in the sight of---

Marty. For all the changes, for all his annoyance, it's unmistakably Marty. Doc has to force himself to remain still and suppress his smile---lunging forth to lead him away is not an option. He's prepared himself for this, hasn't he? He'll have to act natural.]

Ma---ah, Mr. McFly! Yes, of course. My apologies. You're not hurt, are you?

[heymcfly]

[ Mr. McFly. This was going a little better now.

At least this old guy was apologetic when he needed to be. He shrugs, rolling his shoulder dramatically, as if he hurt it somehow. ] Guess not. [ Marty keeps it short, quick and to the point. There was something in this guy's eyes that was a little unsettling. Shit, the guy himself seemed unstable to begin with.

He looks down...only to see blueprints. A car, a helmet that was way too familiar. All of a sudden, he was getting a headache. ]

What's that?

[4thdimensional]

[Good. The last thing Doc wants to do is hurt him...any more than he already is by being a nuisance in this space, at least. It hurts Doc to think about, but there's work to do.

He pauses in his paper-gathering when Marty asks about one of the drawings.]

Merely the theories of a madman, in this case a device to allow nonverbal communication.

[He says it all with a self-deprecating laugh, but he's revisited his old mind-reader for a very specific purpose. If he could somehow reverse-engineer it to get at the brainwashing...that would be something.]

A

[losingherhead]

Talk to me about motorcycles. What am I looking for?

[It'd be easy to assume the woman in the motorcycle helmet was already a motorcycle owner, but apparently no.

Talking with her phone apparently too.]

[4thdimensional]

[Doc leans forward to read the message, a bit puzzled to be honest. Motorcycles aren't exactly one of his strongest points, but he's the budget mechanic here. It's all up to him to sell one.]

That depends on where your priorities lie, but I'd always look at the tire build, brakes, and steering first. It should be precise and resistant to wear, as steering's quite a bit more critical for a motorcycle than a four-wheeled vehicle.

After that, I'd look at the comfort of the ride, though I'd of course adjust the angle of the seat. And of course we won't let anything out of the garage without the essential safety inspection.

[losingherhead]

[Hmmm. She taps the chin of her helmet thoughtfully.]

What kind of models would you recommend to a novice biker?

[Americana probably has a whole history of different brands then Doc's used to probably maybe.]

[4thdimensional]

That's a fair question. Doc motions for her to follow on a quick tour through the garage, where a few current motorcycle projects are positioned on one end.

"If you're after speed and style, the Viper 1200 is your best bet. It has an aerodynamic build and a top speed of 170 miles per hour."

Indeed, the build has sleek angles and a vaguely serpentine appearance. He then shuffles to a second bike.

"Precision and stability are the forte of the Wolf 387. It has thicker tires, off-road options, and excellent turning with a top speed of 130 miles per hour."

This motorcycle's blockier in appearance, almost tank-like. It looks like it could really take a beating. Finally, the last one:

"Our third option, the Jaguar 640, is a hybrid of the two. It can handle a few dirt roads, yet it also has excellent acceleration, topping out at 150 miles per hour."

The Jaguar's build is fairly average, but the bright spots like its animal namesake's help it to stand out a little. He leans forward to polish its headlights.

"What do you think?"

B

[notcivilion]

[Now in a uniform as well as her hologram disguise "Clair Lacombe" can't help but drop her packages after getting rammed into. Oh hey, its that guy. She rubs her forehead in irritation.]

Fine, really. Yourself?

[4thdimensional]

[His old acquaintance! Doc flashes an apologetic smile as he re-gathers his research on the mind-reading device. He needs to hide that quickly.]

I'm just doing some everyday research, looking for openings. How did you manage settling in?

[notcivilion]

Well enough. Conditions here are different from what I'm used to. [What with not being the French Revolution of 1848.

She pulls on the collar of the uniform demonstratively.] Found myself a delivery job, at least.

[4thdimensional]

Yes, drastic changes. Great for throwing us off-balance when we least need it to happen.

[He nods approvingly. It's certainly better-looking than his coveralls.]

Excellent! Stability and opportunity. What are you delivering?

C

[determinate]

Doc may or may not have seen Frisk around various Rescuer locations. But they certainly know that he's one of them, even if they've never really spoken. That's enough to make them actually act on their curiosity and approach as he's gazing up at the sky through a little metal telescope.

They used to talk to strangers a lot more. But here, in this city, they don't exactly feel like they can trust people so well.

They're not making any effort to approach quietly, but they don't say anything either as they go to Doc's side, leaning up on their tiptoes to get a look at his sketches. Stars. Yeah, that makes sense.

[4thdimensional]

Doc has made it a point to be familiar with his allies: there are more than enough enemies to be worrying about, Doc doesn't need the strain of raising his guard at all hours of the night.

So he's fairly relaxed when he recognizes Frisk. That was the name he saw others use, right? He smiles and passes the book over.

"I'm comparing it to my own skies on Earth," he explains. "Wondering about any local constellations. Those five stars, for example, look like they might be a dog's bone."

He moves his finger to draw a vague bone shape between five particularly visible ones.

[determinate]

For reasons of their own, Frisk bursts into a grin at the comparison. They crane their head back, following his gaze to the bone stars and tracing out the shape for themself for a moment.

Taking out a pad of paper, they scribble something down without looking and hand the slightly messy result over. My friends had a bone constellation in their stars! They weren't really stars, just shiny crystals on the ceiling. But they still wished on them.

B.

[liarmonstersnappydresser]

Not one to miss an opportunity, Bill wastes no time in disguising the removal his fake eye with an over dramatic shriek.

"OH GOD, MY EYE!! WHAT HAVE YOU--?"

Oh, now, but what's this? Breaking character, Bill scoops up the blueprints with renewed interest. Now that his eye is visible its clear the wound has been closed a long time. He pops the prosthetic glass back in with the flash of a smirk.

"Oho, quite the 'story' you got here, pal."

[4thdimensional]

Way to scare the living daylights out of him, Bill. Doc jumps back in alarm, prepared to call for help if required.

"I'll call for help! I'm sure you can sue my workplace for damages somehow---there's not any money to my name, unfortunately, but they'll fire me and you'll be on your way..."

His apologies trail off, and he tenses just a little. Those blueprints are important secrets. And unfortunately it looks like the man with the glass eye is sharp enough to glean information from them.

"Those are mere pie in the sky dreams," he denies, pulling that old brown coat more tightly around himself. "Ramblings of a lunatic, nothing more. But are you sure you're all right?"

[liarmonstersnappydresser]

"Whoa, whoa, ease up, big guy! Where's the fire? HUH! wouldja look at that?- It AIN'T on me- So I guess that means I'M FINE! Anyway your pipe dream's not a complete hackjob- I mean this equation's all wrong--"

Now it's Bill walking with his face buried in papers. Sorry buddy, his own bandmate's can't get him to hand over sheet music or a takeout menu, you aren't getting your stuff back until he is good and done!

"--but THIS lunatic says, you're not gonna get any serious mileage outta this unless you add a few more 0's to that voltage count-"

Well, maybe for a safe design you could; but where would the fun be in that?

C

[eba02]

J has taken to heading out at night; it's easier to wander and get lost in the music than it is to worry about the people that have disappeared and the people they still have yet to save. He doesn't remember doing this too much at home, but at home, the mission is different.

He's not really thinking about it when he picks one tune out of the music - quietly distressed, worried, unhappy - and follows it to its source. "Hey. Rough night?"

[4thdimensional]

Doc takes in the sight of his visitor. Another from the rescue team, he believes---he's seen that hair before. He can't quite hide all of his weariness, even without the music giving him away, but he'll try to smile anyway.

"Hardly rougher than any other. The difficulty's all in my head---but all I have to do is set aside the troublesome thoughts."

Easier said than done, though. His gaze keeps drifting back up to Virgo's tower, his mind flashing back to an earlier encounter with his not-quite best friend.

[eba02]

He smiles back, though it's definitely not full strength. Happy thoughts. Right "An' it's just that easy, huh?"

He follows Doc's gaze up to the Virgo tower. Okay, that makes sense. "One of your friends up there?"