Calix had made it her purpose to keep him from being comfortable, and regrettably she was doing a bloody good job of it. shuffling irritably he pushed himself off the chair and dragged the - well, it looked like a seriously hyped up laptop - off the console panel, so Calix could stretch herself out over his whole chair. It was just easier than chasing the damn kitten around yelling obscenities at it when he was in a fairly average mood anyway. He leant back against the organic curve of the console's support, the shape fitting into the natural curvature of his spine - sheer fluke, he hadn't envisioned sitting on the floor the day he'd given Sekhmet her name. He'd opened the doors and her consciousness was just.. was just there, and she was so ready to destroy her enemies that the name just leapt out at him. Absently, Syn patted the curve he was leaning against. Calix purred at him from his her seat.

Stupid, smug, daughter of a..

He glared up at the cat for a moment, before deciding that violence against small fluffy things was not viable from the floor, and decided to poke his email account. Since he'd - perhaps mistakenly, but that was the past.. sort of.. relativity..ness.. - given her his email address he'd gotten several emails from Anjali, quite a few of them utterly random and a few others just weird, but being absolutely shocking at replying to anything Syn had procrastinated. A lot. Reply to email.. or go get cat food. Reply to email.. or go have random alcoholic substance. But now, he'd run out of sheer randomness things to do - good knows where the hell Mutt had wandered off to - so he opened the most recent novel from Anjali. Random forwards.. list of tourist destinations.. he toyed briefly with the idea of going to Luxor, but.. later, when he found Alice.

Procrastinating! Better at it than you since 1632. Or, you know, whenever.

He balanced the warm laptop on his lap and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, closing them tightly and opening them again to focus on the email's text. He used one hand to pull the chair towards him - only to have the bloody cat hiss and drag her claws over his hand, leaving four neat little furrows in his skin. Syn swore, in several dialects, complete with local accents. Sekhmet tipped a sort of cold and quiet scorn over him and for vengeance, he kicked the controls - whereupon she decided to sulk and turned off all the lights, leaving his face illuminated with the soft blue glow of the laptop screen.Narrowing his eyes and gripping the sides of the laptop so tightly the thought that it might crack crossed his mind, Syn started typing much more aggressively than before.

An hour, Anjali. In an hour. Kyrian ice flats, okay? No guns.

It was brief and to the point, even the italics pissing him off. Throwing the laptop onto the chair, causing Calix to hiss again and spit viciously, he pulled himself up and stormed past the control panel, hunting down his jacket and various helpful blades - which he promptly found. That done he went back out to Sekhmet's main room, hissing at the controls. "You do it, or I take an axe to your personality circuit."

Sekhmet did it.

It was kind of unnerving, how fast Syn could go from in an - if not good, at least average mood - to being annoyed at a whole lot of nothing in particular. By the time Syn had stormed back from the dark corners of Sekhmet's meticulously climate-controlled interior, the laptop's LCD screen was blinking insistently at him, pretty damn close to his heartbeat - it was distracting, so with a gruff sigh he made his way over to it. It was, of course, from Anjali - Syn briefly wondered if she just sat in front of some screen in some place some time and waited for him to reply to emails. Probably not given the amount of places she'd suggested he travel to, but there you go. Calix slunk away from him, and he again wondered whether the little Abyssinian was mildly empathic to his moods. Hmm. He opened the email [oh, the shock!].

Ah, you've managed to pick a place I don't believe I've ever been. Should be fun ! Aside from the no guns, I assume all other weapons are fair game, yes? And just When in Time are we meeting at these flats? As I am currently in the 34th Century, don't know when you are....

Syn pulled the laptop towards him again, a movement that caused the little rubber grips under it's casing to squeal and protest. Shut up, you inanimate objects, you. When he started typing it gradually got faster, until the keys clicked every time he touched them, his eyes fixed on the screen. Zombie..But anyway. In the flash of anger, he hadn't planned details - he just needed a distraction, to be honest. I'd prefer blunt blades to be honest - lasers are fail, and blunt because if you kill me, I'm going to hunt you down and return the favour in a painful manner. I'll come to 34th Century. A little abrupt, perhaps - but it did get the point across, and it did it quite efficiently. With that done, he glanced down at his attire - the black jeans were comfortable, the boots were steel capped, the trench coat was long enough to protect his arms but not long enough to hinder him, and that was about it, really.

He hoped.

There were actually about six blades concealed in various pockets, all of which he'd blunted for the occasion - they might cause bruises if he got a little too aggressive, but they wouldn't cut skin.There were the two he'd taken from the weapons room, the two always held on the bottom of his boots, and two in his pockets - they were the short bladed ones. Sekhmet's engine gave an annoying mechanical hiss and they landed with a soft thud, his ship apparently trying to apologise for being a bit of a cow a few minutes ago. Syn chose to ignore it's crawling and padded out of the console room, his boots crunching on the dry ice of the flats. That was why he'd chosen it - it was stunning, and not slippery.

Awesome.

The sky was a deep, dark indigo colour with milky swirls of stars crawling over it, and the trees scattered in little copses over the pale blue ice were translucent and lit from within by a dim blue light. Syn sat down under one such tree, folding his arms loosely over his knees and resting his head against the tree's smooth glassy surface to wait for Anjali to arrive.

For a few minutes Syn sat there, his back right up against the cool surface of the glassy tree gazing at the strange moon, looking (quite oddly) the picture of peace. The moon was like Saturn, a pale beige ringed planet unnaturally close - it loomed in his vision, lit from behind by the swirling spirals of pale white stars glimmering fiercely against the indigo sky. It made him look like the alien he really was, giving what visible skin there was a pale indigo glow, almost like he was translucent.He had what could be classified as a half smile, only adding to the peaceful and collected air of the situation. It didn't look like someone who was spoiling for a fight. But he was, he could feel it coming - the definite shift when people didn't look like people, just like the paper cut-outs you found on target ranges - right before they riddled with bullet holes.

So many ways I could kill you.

Even when he heard the familiar gutteral whine of TARDIS engines, he didn't look up for a minute - instead he drank in the sight of the solar system stretched out in front of him, before he turned his head to study her. That was when he started analysing angles, like the predator he'd metamorphosed into - like he had in Shada. When all his happiness and pride in his race had bled out and formed a thick, suffocating shell around him. Then he'd cracked it the night of the power cut and stepped out, with everything darker. Like the Death's Head moth - now there was a skull on his black, ragged wings. Syn was careful not to move, not to drag unnecessary attention to the fact that he knew she was there. He stayed curled up, resting his elbows on his knees.

But his left hand tightened on the grip of his long black serrated knife, and he pulled it a little further out of it's sheath - the metal made a soft protest, and Syn ground his teeth slightly - but stayed watching the sky, analysing the distances between them. Twenty meters. He could jump now, he was willing to bet she wouldn't expect a full on assault - he drew the knife a little further out of the sheath, still watching the sky. Briefly, he wondered how heavily armed she was - she was wearing trousers and a bright red bandanna, that was going to help him spot her. Whereas he was wearing plain dark colours, and she'd gone with the obvious saturated hue - ? Something seemed a little off about that. At least he didn't have to worry about that with his perpetually spiky hair.

So, he waited.

Ten meters.

Syn had never really been much of an art person - he wasn't one to look at a bunch of lines and squiggles on a page and say 'Hey, that looks like a representation of the effect Western consumerism is having on the world!' like some did. Syn looked at art and thought stuff along the lines of 'It's a can of soup.' .So while Anjali may have looked at him and thought he looked like an artist's subject, Syn sat there and thought he looked like a Syn. His spirit, too - rather than considering how peaceful the place was, Syn was counting her footsteps on the ground, the tell-tale glints of metal about her frame. But his attention was inevitably drawn up to the skies - the planets enthralled him, in their beige prestige. I belong to the stars. And in a way, he mused - he did. There was no other force in his life, no family he wanted to see, no 'home' other than the dark interior of Sekhmet (he was okay with that), just the stars and his desire to see them all.

What else was there that could keep him still?

She was closer now and although Syn was shielding his mind, he still got glimpses at hers. She was a little bit uncertain, and to him that was like tipping a bucket of blood into a small shark's tank. He was acutely aware of every muscle in his body, the angles between them, how long it would take to reach her, whether he could risk throwing one of the slighter knives at her... He wasn't sure how he could have once hated this feeling. Predator and prey - all they were doing was playing with the natural order of things. Maybe, he mused, he only liked the hunting thing when there was enough adrenaline charging through his veins to make the great Lump of Belzar want to get up and go for a run. She'd slowed down a little now, paused to take in the situation and it's risks - frankly, he would have been disappointed if she didn't.

She was so close, so close that he could close the distance before she'd realised what was happening. He kept his green eyes fixed on her, while his left arm shifted ever so slightly - the blade he was holding now free of it's sheath, yet hidden under his jacket. He leant forwards a little more, so that he was ready to stand - Anjali spoke and only then did his eyes flicker up to her, though he remained silent for a moment after her words faded into the otherwise silent night. He was thinking over her statement - it could well be a mind game, to humanise the target and prevent him from performing at his best. That was why rather than answer in words he pushed himself upwards and forwards, so there was just a measly 10 centimetres between them. So close.

"Why don't we just start on the count of three?" He purred, flicking the blade deftly between his fingers.