He's not pleased that to enter this town, he's required to visit this one. Apparently the Soothsayer is supposed to tell if he's evil or good or whatever. He figures he'll just nod and agree with all of her prophecies and enter the town anyway, because he could really use a holiday and while this certainly isn't ancient China, it still looks remarkably interesting.
Now this Soothsayer, though, she's not quite so bad. Still a mad trickster in his opinion, but that's what he's always thought of women like this. And men, actually. And that strange multi-gender race he met on Darkon 3. Still, this woman isn't quite so bad. In this very primitive society, she has pretty good oral hygiene, can't say that for many of the other women running around here, flashing him gap-toothed smiles.
He's actually glad Martha isn't here right now. She'd probably go positively mad with all the poor hygiene. Real doctors, so frustrating.
The Soothsayer takes the Doctor's hand and runs a long fingernail across the center of his palm. He can't imagine what she's supposed to be seeing, maybe the salad he had for lunch earlier? He also can't imagine what the heavy makeup she's wearing and the elaborate nature of this temple could possibly to do enhance her "gift".
"You're alone in this town," she says. Did she see that in his palm or the lack of an adoring companion at his side?
"Yep," he replies. "Just me, doing a bit of shopping, you know how it is."
"It was not a question," she replies, her lips curling into a smile. It would almost look nice, except the black lip makeup makes her look more like a jester than anything else. He imagines without it she'd probably look rather…pretty. Well, probably. He's always been a very poor judge of human beauty.
"You have three things to look forward to in the near future," she says. "You should relish them, hold onto each moment for it shan't last."
"Shan't it? I always hope for lasting things to look forward to. Like the last Harry Potter book? Blimey, I must've read that eighteen times."
"Your words are ones I have never heard before, stranger." She says. "They are from where you are from?"
"Yes, and it's just Doctor."
"That is surely not your name," she shakes her head.
"It is!" he insists, grinning madly.
Her smile broadens. "It is not. Your name is hidden. Worry not, Doctor, I will not reveal it. Your secrets are far too dangerous for this town."
His eyebrows knit together. That was almost…well, very nearly revealing. Probably just a lucky guess. "What's your name?" he asks her.
"I am Sybil with the Sight."
"It is necessary in order to keep me from being confused with Sybil Daughter of the Butcher." There's a note of distaste to the way she says the secondary name.
"No, I understand, you don't need that confusion. Wouldn't want someone randomly asking you to read a slice of meat."
She laughs at that, and the sound is surprisingly young and tinny. Oh, Doctor. He's started doing that flirting thing this incarnation's gotten very good at and that's going to cause an issue if he's not careful. When mad Soothsayers giggle and such, that's when he knows he's gotten fairly ridiculous.
"I hope to find other women with my gift, and I can protect them from those who might seek to harm them," Sybil says quietly, almost secretively, and her lips turn downwards. He wonders if the facial makeup is actually to keep her face hidden and protected.
"Are there people seeking to harm you?" he asks.
There is a noise outside of the room like a pot being knocked over, and Sybil straightens, all business again.
"More important are the three things you are going to be looking forward to." She turns his hand over and traces out a circle across his skin. "Your loneliness will not last. You will find a Noble woman, she will travel with you. Whether you desire it or not. She will bring great change in you and you will thank her for it."
The Doctor snorts out a laugh. "Well, I'm not exactly a fan of the royals, they always seem to think I owe them something. And I'm sorry, but when you're running for your life, you can't exactly stop and put down a towel over every puddle of mud."
Sybil's dark lips curve back into a smile. "You do so enjoy running for your life, do you not, Doctor?"
She pushes up his sleeve and traces out a triangle on his wrist. "You will face many enemies, but be reunited with many friends. Many…many friends." She blinks and looks up. Her eyes connect with his and she looks strangely quite frightened. "She is returning, Doctor."
She? "Who is?"
Another noise, and Sybil's concentration is broken. She takes a breath and looks back at his wrist.
"Being a bit noisy out there, aren't they? Disturbing your…uh, gifting?"
"Reading." She begins to massage the skin of his wrist and while it feels very nice, he's reminded of the fact that he is alone in a room with a young woman. It's sort of…well, it's far from proper, he's sure of that.
"Yes, that." With his free hand, he scratches the back of his head. "You said there were three things?"
"Yes." Sybil puts a small piece of red cloth into his hand. "You will dance the Tarantella with a lovely butcher's daughter and she will tell you of many more fortunes to come." She smiles again, but this time it is most certainly flirtatious.
"Isn't the Tarantella a courtship dance? Or a…spider-bite-fixing dance or something?"
Sybil tilts her head to the side. "Have you been bitten by a spider, Doctor?"
"Then I believe your first assumption was a correct one."
He looks down at the cloth, where a location and time of day is written. He has the strangest feeling he's just been prophesized on a date. Now that is a first!
"You will be there."
"Well, I'm sure I can swing by."
"It was not a question, Doctor." She steps away from him and pulls back her red hood, revealing long waves of dark hair. She is quite lovely, he decides. For a madwoman, of course.
"You know it will never work out," he says.
"Well, you would."
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,093