It is a rather hefty blow to hear all the things she has treasured and created in the past weeks are gone for good, no matter how gently the Doctor is breaking it to her. But he isn't wrong - entry into a different plane of reality tends to have this effect, doesn't it. Hardly the first time she's lost all her belongings, only this time she gained something wonderful in return. She sighs, dejection mingling with acceptance. Pity about the troll horns for the Doctor she'd been working on, though, they were almost finished. And she is going to miss her suit, the one she'd painstakingly sewn herself, learning the hard way that her brother isn't to be trusted with needles.
Apparently she's still looking alarmingly crestfallen, as the Doctor keeps talking and then Ianto joins in. It is quite nice to hear that her works are going to endure in the other TARDIS, actually, it's a charming thought to think someone may one day stumble upon the cartography room with a great number of sketches and illustrations pinned to the walls. They shall fare better than her artwork and possessions back home, anyhow, either burned to ashes by the sun or torn to shreds by her brother. Actually, moving on and looking ahead into their bright thrilling future sounds quite appealing right about now.
Instead, she receives an unexpected shoulder pat and more sympathy than she knows what to do with. The touch to her cheek renders her motionless, glancing hesitantly at his hand. She knows humans touch things they are fond of, but being on the receiving end of the gesture is still a bit confounding; she can never remember what's expected of her on the spot. Frankly, she's not terribly interested in wardrobes or bedrooms right now, all she wants is to see her dreams come true at last. But that seems frustratingly off the table for the moment and she huffs, resigning herself to slinking off towards the stairs. Not even the Doctor understands.
"I suppose I shall go get a hold of a kitchen, then," she announces just a bit resentfully. "For your bloody tea," is muttered at the nearest smug bookshelf before she's out the door. And while she's here, she may as well go sulk in a room that isn't hers while the universe continues to be out of her reach.
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Apparently she's still looking alarmingly crestfallen, as the Doctor keeps talking and then Ianto joins in. It is quite nice to hear that her works are going to endure in the other TARDIS, actually, it's a charming thought to think someone may one day stumble upon the cartography room with a great number of sketches and illustrations pinned to the walls. They shall fare better than her artwork and possessions back home, anyhow, either burned to ashes by the sun or torn to shreds by her brother. Actually, moving on and looking ahead into their bright thrilling future sounds quite appealing right about now.
Instead, she receives an unexpected shoulder pat and more sympathy than she knows what to do with. The touch to her cheek renders her motionless, glancing hesitantly at his hand. She knows humans touch things they are fond of, but being on the receiving end of the gesture is still a bit confounding; she can never remember what's expected of her on the spot. Frankly, she's not terribly interested in wardrobes or bedrooms right now, all she wants is to see her dreams come true at last. But that seems frustratingly off the table for the moment and she huffs, resigning herself to slinking off towards the stairs. Not even the Doctor understands.
"I suppose I shall go get a hold of a kitchen, then," she announces just a bit resentfully. "For your bloody tea," is muttered at the nearest smug bookshelf before she's out the door. And while she's here, she may as well go sulk in a room that isn't hers while the universe continues to be out of her reach.