"Doc" Emmett L. Brown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
4thdimensional) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552016-03-25 01:06 am
4thdimensional) wrote in interstellar55552016-03-25 01:06 am
Entry tags:
travels of the time doctor
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.
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.
no subject
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and lets himself think about the next recital, and maybe if he wants to go out in public and play for the people for an hour or two. There's so much stuff he has on his brain. He honestly has no time to be thinking about some guy who wants to make mind reading hats, or cars or whatever.
Marty just keeps walking. ]