Realistic blue TARDIS police box tattoo with the words Allons-y in black script beneath it, placed across the upper back near the shoulder blade.

TARDIS and Allons-y script on upper back

Realism · Back · Colour · Photo

A realistic blue TARDIS police box sits on the upper back, with its doors, windows and the words POLICE PUBLIC BOX rendered in fine detail. Dark shading along the edges gives the box depth and a slightly three-dimensional look against the skin. Black script reading Allons-y sits below the box, and the photo is taken from directly behind the wearer.

Realism Lettering Back Tardis Police box Doctor who

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The box lands in the cargo bay of Halvard Reach at a quarter past four, which is the wrong hour for anything on a station that runs on ration clocks. You are the only one awake down there because you are the only one who signs for deliveries nobody ordered. Its paint is the blue of a harbour at dusk, and the lamp on its roof blinks twice before going dark, like a man checking his pockets.

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The door opens inward without a sound. Inside is larger than the outside has any right to be, a corridor of brass rails and humming glass, and a woman in a coat the colour of burnt sugar is leaning over a console with her hair tied up in a pencil. She does not look at you. She is counting under her breath. "Forty-one stations," she says, "and every loading bay smells of oranges. Why oranges?" You tell her it is the hydroponics. She nods as though you have passed a test you did not know you were sitting.

She asks for the registry of every ship docked in the last nine years. You give it to her, all of it, because the box is patient and so is she, and because you have spent your working life waiting for someone to ask the right question. She finds one name, goes very still, and taps the glass twice. "Allons-y," she says, to the console or to nobody, and the corridor lights rise one by one toward a hum you feel in your back teeth.

When you look up again the bay is empty and the orange smell has gone. On the manifest, where the signature line should be, someone has written a single word in neat black script: here. You sign beneath it. Then you open the hatch and find only stars and the dark beyond the dock, and somewhere in it, a long way off, a small blue light still blinking.