LOG: The Fugitive & The Doctor

[impeccabletime.livejournal.com]

The Fugitive grinned; his teeth filthy, his face covered in grime. His ship was sailing soon. The women walking past in the cobbled street shied away from him, something in his face prompting them to change their paths. It didn't matter. Nothing could change his jubilation today. His fingers beat time against his thigh, his accordian slapped his back where it hung on its strap, his cigar jutted jauntily from his lips.

He'd seen the miser, scraping for bail, scrambling to keep his head above the water in the aftermath of the perfect plan which the Fugitive had carried out. The Fugitive's smile widened. He stepped lightly onto the cobbles of a market street, far from McArthur's shop; the other side of the city. There were a great many shops, stalls, and people a-plenty, and the Fugitive blended effortlessly into the crowd. A few short hours, and he would be gone, his revenge complete and his getaway safe. Oh yes, he was a happy man today.

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[fruitsofscience.livejournal.com]

The Doctor on the other hand, was not a happy man. A busy man? Perhaps, but a happy one? No. Not happy. The patients condition was stable, but the improvement which he'd hoped for upon the installation of the last part of his machine (Designed to re-oxygenate her blood at an accelerated pace, hoping to invigorate the patient at a swifter pace.) simply hadn't materialized in her.

The failure had dispirited him, but not so much as to cause him to surrender all hope yet. So onwards and upwards, on to the next breakthrough, eventually he'd find the key, he'd make the right discovery... he'd repair her...

But for that to happen, he must continue his work. So he walked briskly through the market, intently approaching the engineers stall at the far end of the streets. If he noticed the fugitive, he gave no sign of it.