Work Text:
It was cold, inside his odd, metal tree, he woefully called home. An unpleasant lowness filled it, from the gaps in the floorboards to the highest point in the loft. No fire could make this dreadful place any warmer. The Doctor, Julien, had naively chosen a life of seclusion. A life free of people to distract him from his work. A life he now came to regret.
His “home” was littered with small scrapped inventions and messy blueprints and sketches of machines he’d yet to find the motivation to make into real animated creations. In his mind, the best way to work was to work alone, so no one would get in the way of progress. Or at least, that’s what he thought when he left his real home, his friends, his family, in seeking the perfect place to settle down and build. And build--what?
He growled from the chair he was sitting on, the back of the chair at his front, and legs on either side. His chin found itself leaning on his arms, which were resting on the top rail, as he chewed on the cuff of one of his sleeves. He remained seated, soaking his jacket sleeve for too long of a time to recall. His brain was wracked as to what to do, what to build, what to eat--since apparently, he was hungry? Or so his stomach just implied.
Rising vacantly from his position with an aggravated exhale, he grabbed the chair he had been sitting on and moved it back to the table where it should have been, before lazily rummaging through shelves and shelves and shelves of different soups he’d compiled for his long days of anti-socialising until haphazardly deciding upon a plain, grey, mushroom and spinach can.
The lack of energy in his body was made apparent the moment he realised he’d need to retrieve the wood from outside, start the cooker, set up the table and wait for the soup to warm up. So instead, he decided to eat it cold from the little can.
“Another day…” Julien sighed slowly. Wasted breath prolonged by the still, icy air, as a cloud of sad condensation fogged his glasses and his tired glazed eyes were all that held back tears.