Subject: Green Devil's Keep (belated entry)
Author:
Posted on: 2019-07-26 05:00:00 UTC
So, this is belated because I was busy when it actually happened, but I ended up writing something for this. Very mild violence warning, I guess, in that a hand gets removed but nothing is really described past that.
Anyway, here it is:
Green Devil's Keep
I challenged approximately everyone on the Discord to a write-off: I posted a prompt, we wrote for half an hour, and then shared and discussed. This was slightly more popular than I'd thought: we had ten takers, and several more intending to write from time zones that don't make an American evening time convenient.
I fully intend to carry on with these on Tuesdays! It's been fun and it should happen again.
The prompt was: "You're actually serious, aren't you?" she asked, looking down at the key.
And the fics are:
Untitled, by Grundleplith
Party of Fools, by Iximaz
Untitled, by Eatpraylove
Scimitars, by Four Moons Watching (cw: self-harm)
You're Actually Serious, Aren't You, by Aegis
Untitled, by Cicada
Explosions, by Tomash
Untitled, by Granz the Ice Cream Monarch
Key Prompt, by Larfen J. Stocke, Esquire
Grace's Tardis, by Delta Juliette
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1IzTd2dXFXj96b-ZikhWSjKJcOoJ7aTiV6CXsvVQXtEo/edit?usp=sharing
After looking at some of the suggestions, I wrote a second draft. If anyone has more suggestions, I'd love to hear them!
So, this is belated because I was busy when it actually happened, but I ended up writing something for this. Very mild violence warning, I guess, in that a hand gets removed but nothing is really described past that.
Anyway, here it is:
Green Devil's Keep
I now have many questions!
Where is this? I'm assuming this is not World One, and yet Will has clearly spent time in the aforementioned World One. If Will's a mage, and "mage" is a reasonable mode of address for him, what's Heather? Where can I find myself a nicely-quilted suit of animated rug-armor? What has Will told Heather about the Imaginary Viewers? And most importantly, where can I read more? I rather love these peoples' interactions, and I'd love to learn more about their setting.
Thanks! And sorry, since this is all I've written of them. I considered using some of my existing characters, but decided against it to avoid continuity nonsense.
This definitely isn't World One--initially Will wasn't even supposed to be from World One, just a fourth wall breaker, but then I realized afterwards that the McDonald's coupon would mean he'd have to have at least visited, so him being a visitor from World One would be the most likely explanation.
Heather's a fighter, hence being able to sling Will over her shoulder so easily. It was supposed to come up, but it never did because of how abruptly their adventure got cut short.
Will has told Heather that there are people watching their lives as though it were fiction, and that they believe it to be fiction. He's also told her that they may as well make things interesting for them if they don't have anything better to do, which they don't.
(You can get animated rug-armor as soon as Will wakes up, at which point he will presumably make that his first order of business.)
I wrote a sequel to Green Devil's Keep! I thrive on compliments. :P
Prompts with such short time limits are not for me, sadly, but I love that you guys are doing this and I'm in awe that so many of you can actually pull it off without just, y'know, hyperventilating the whole time and coming up with maybe a paragraph in the last ten minutes. ^_^;
~Neshomeh
Along with writing furiously, we also spend a lot of time talking about the pieces and providing crit. I really appreciate your crit-giving skills, and I'd love to have you there for that, even if you don't participate in the writing!
Kind of by accident, honestly, but I started writing and suddenly it made perfect sense they'd be there. Well, half of them, anyway.
So here we go: "Continuity: Keys". Concrit welcome, especially from fellow ConCoun authors, given I kind of borrowed your characters unannounced (in, admittedly, ConCoun writing tradition. Still, if you want an apology, I'll oblige). Unbetaed, obviously.
~Z
PS: Man, more Continuity Council material has been a long time in coming. This is more of a silly little thing than a proper new interlude, but hey, maybe someone'll change that!
"I knew you had it in you." Morgan raised her bottle in salute, tipped it back and downed it. "Bon voyage!"
"Xa- Reader." The Aviator bit her lip and stepped forward. "I could... do you want me to come along?"
"I..." The Reader's gaze darted from her TARDIS to the Doctor to the key in her hand, never quite lighting on her fellow Council member. "Thank you for the offer, but I don't think you-" She winced. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Ah." The Aviator's shoulders slumped, but she managed a superficially bright smile. "Well, good luck; have fun storming the castle!" She turned to Morgan, her white scarf swirling about her. "Did you say drink?"
"I always say drink," Morgan confirmed, cracking open another bottle and passing it to the Aviator. "I'm a walking cliche." She glanced up at the Reader and gave a little wave. "I don't want to sound like I'm nagging, but the longer you stay here, the more likely he is to start poking at things he shouldn't."
"Hey!" The Doctor glanced at the readout on his sonic screwdriver, then quickly stuffed it back into his pocket. "As if I'd do something like that."
The Reader rolled her eyes and took him by the shoulder. "You know I'm just going to delete whatever you've just recorded, right? Come on, back to the timeline with you..."
Morgan and the Aviator watched her go, waiting until the thrumm of her TARDIS had faded. Then Morgan shrugged off her ornate collar and set it down on the table. "All things considered, what say we declare this meeting closed and head down to Rudi's for another--?"
The door slammed back open, and the Notary stormed in like the wrath of spellcheck. "Did one of you do this?" she demanded, knocking Morgan's collar aside to drop her paperwork on the table. "Because it is not even slightly amusing."
"Hey!" Morgan ducked down and picked up her collar, checking the points for damage. "These things are... well, I guess they're not expensive, replicators being what they are, but-"
"Tigereye Castellan Morgan," the Notary chided, "someone has been meddling with my papers and you're worried about fashion accessories?"
"I'm sure that sounded much more scathing in your head." Morgan grabbed one of the sheets of paper and flipped it round. "Stupid questions, meaningless trivia, circles everywhere... this looks pretty much like normal."
The Notary somehow gave off the impression of scoffing without actually deigning to do so. "And if that were actual Circular Gallifreyan, you might be forgiven for thinking so. But-"
"But it is." The Aviator looked up from her own sheet, her face ashen. "This is... this is how we wrote it back on- on my Gallifrey." She bit her lip, looked at Morgan. "This is Xan's handwriting. And... and it says 'help'."
"Oh." A dozen emotions flashed across Morgan's face, and then she put her current drink down with a click and tapped a hand to her ear. "Pink? Blue? I need you to come in." She waited a few seconds, then tried again. "Blue? Pi- Purple?"
There was a quiet buzzing sound, and then the Disentangler's voice came through, tinny and filled with static. "We're, ah, busy right now, Orange."
"Is that Morgan?" the Agent's voice asked in the background. "Tell her we're busy."
"I did tell her we're busy," the Disentangler said, her voice growing fainter. "You just heard me [crackle] busy."
"Yeah," the Agent shot back, barely audible, "but I [crackle] really liste[crackle]..."
"Damn," Morgan said, tapping at her ear again. "Red? Are you there?"
"Welcome to the Department of Floaters Special Operations Division hotline," a digitally-tinged female voice came back. "We are very, very pleased to take your call. We are throwing a party in honour of your call. After the tone, please assume the party escort submission position and-"
"Okay, this is in seriously bad taste." Morgan slapped her communicator off and looked at the other two Time Lords. "It looks like we're on our own. Who's got a TARDIS?"
The Notary looked up from her attempt to salvage her papers. "I can-"
"We're not taking the photocopier," Morgan interrupted. "No offence, Grey."
"That is actually quite-"
"What about you, White?" Morgan turned to the Aviator. "Or has yours been confiscated again?"
The Aviator grimaced. "It's a bit of a mess right now... Ellie, you know..."
"Oh, fine, we'll take mine." Morgan picked up her collar, snatched another bottle from the minibar. "I warn you, she's not going to like me waking her up."
"I'm sure Dee would-" the Aviator began, but Morgan waved her into silence.
"No, no, I've made up my mind now." She started for the door, readjusting her trajectory on realising that she was likely to miss. "Come on, she's parked in the Courtyard... says she enjoys the sun, daft old thing..."
[Notes for the further story: Morgan's TARDIS is probably a Type 40 or something close to it. It's old and somewhat crochety, but doesn't talk to anyone except Morgan (mentally). I have no idea what the Reader's gotten herself into, but it clearly involves some timey-wimeyness.]
hS
“Why the hell is she coming along?” the Aviator demanded as she fell into step beside Morgan.
“‘She’ is coming along to make sure your antics don’t land the continuum in even more trouble,” the Notary said haughtily. “Especially after Yellow had to go and make a mess of things.”
The Aviator whirled on her. “You leave her out of this!”
“Why? She’s the whole reason we’re even going—”
“If you two are going to bicker like children the whole time, I’ll rescue her myself,” Morgan said testily, and unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’d snatched from the minibar.
The Aviator fell silent, fists clenching at her sides. The Notary simply smiled and folded her hands serenely in her robe sleeves.
Morgan’s TARDIS was right where she’d left it, and she opened the doors, stepping up to the control panels.
“Hey, old girl,” the Aviator said, putting a hand against the wall. “Look at you, aren’t you lovely—”
The TARDIS grumbled and did the mental equivalent of slamming a door in her face.
“She’s a bit grumpy,” Morgan said, flicking several switches. “And unsociable. You’re welcome to try flying her with me, bur you won’t get as good a performance.”
“Take the lead, Orange,” the Aviator said.
“I don’t know why you insist on talking to these things like they’re people,” the Notary said, sitting down in the pilot’s seat and crossing one leg over the other. “Then again, perhaps it’s a human thing.”
“She’s on the Council, Grey, she’s as good a Time Lord as the rest of us,” Morgan said. She pulled a lever, and the grinding of engines resounded as she initiated dematerialisation. “Alright, White, when are we headed?”
“Earth. London Soho, 2023,” the Aviator said, pulling the now-crumpled paper from her pocket. “She just wrote one thing: Watch the mirrors.”
“How ominous,” the Notary drawled. “Would it have killed her to be a little more clear on this matter?”
The Aviator scowled at her. “She’s probably just trying to prevent a paradox, Grey—”
“And you’d know all about those.”
“—and I know she’s got her reasons for doing it!” the Aviator continued, raising her voice.
“I will turn this TARDIS around and kick both of you out if you don’t shut it!” Morgan snapped.
She’d barely finished speaking when the TARDIS landed with a gentle thump, and the Aviator sprinted to the doors to throw them open before Morgan could follow through on her threat.
((Preventing a paradox again. The Reader must be miserable.
Anyway, on we go! If anyone can figure out a way to get Sarah Jane Smith into this, that would be amazing; I currently don't see one, but would love her to show up.))
"Alright," the Reader said. She'd already deleted the sonic screwdriver readings; the sonic was still in her hand for the moment, since returning it the first time had led to her catching the Doctor scanning a part of her ship. Best to remove temptation. "So I'm to go to Soho in 2023, and return this key to Martha Jones?"
"Yep!" said the Doctor. "Simple. I'd do it myself, only, well..."
"Crossing your timeline, you said." The Reader sighed. At least she wouldn't stand out too much: she'd foregone Gallifreyan fashion for this Council meeting, as she often did, and instead wore black pants, a particular white t-shirt with some writing on it, and an unbuttoned blouse overtop that managed to combine pale yellow, green, and purple in a way that she, at least, thought looked pleasant. "Why'd you do that to begin with, anyway?"
"Oh, you know how it is," the Doctor said. "Forgot something, had to go back, then had to go forward--"
"Yeah, I know all about your forgetting things," the Reader muttered. She sighed, and pulled out the neuralyzer. "Alright. Off you go, then, and off I go--the sooner this is done, the sooner I can get back to...actually, on second thought, I don't mind not doing paperwork right now. Cheers."
Five minutes and a vague warning from the Doctor later, she had returned the Doctor to his place in the timeline and set off for Soho.
"Well," she murmured to the TARDIS. "It's kind of nice to just be running an errand, isn't it?"
The TARDIS hummed, and mentally nudged her toward a different lever.
"Right," the Reader said sheepishly. "Sorry. I have been listening to Emiranlanoamar, but...we've focused more on combat and Academy topics lately. Did you know there are moves to get free of someone who's holding a staser to your head? It's fascinating, in a grim sort of way."
The TARDIS hummed again, this time with a note of disapproval.
"Yeah, well, he does like to go on about how many times he's had his limbs regrown," the Reader muttered. She shook her head, and patted the console. "Don't worry--I'm not keen to follow that example."
They landed smoothly--she'd managed to get that down by now, even without the TARDIS' help--and the Reader checked that the key was still in her pocket before stepping outside. She gave a final pat to the door of the hexagonal garden shed that was the TARDIS' favored outward appearance and set off to track down Martha Jones.
"I do wonder what he meant about keeping an eye on the mirrors," she murmured to herself. The TARDIS gave the mental equivalent of a shrug before settling in to wait while the Reader was out of range.
Martha Jones, the Reader realized after a while, was harder to find than expected. The mirrors weren't particularly interesting, either: she stopped to look at several, but they all seemed perfectly ordinary.
"Soho," she muttered to herself. It was a strange sort of word, really, but rather fun to say. "Soho, Soho, Soho--"
She was just thinking how very, very bored she was getting when she happened to glance across the street and--
It had been several years. Five or so, actually, spent in HQ and learning how to stop looking around corners and jumping when a friendly--not unfriendly--non-enemy Dalek, anyway, rolled past or stopped for a chat about the inferiority of Time Lords or some weird sort of game night.
But that--that, right there, that was a Meanwhile, inside a posh London shop, and the shimmer of it made her hearts pound and her feet stop and her face pale.
Not here. Not now. Not here, how could it be here--
The shimmer shifted, approaching a store employee as he walked past--
She darted forward uselessly, even as her common sense screamed at her to run the other way, and the Meanwhile vanished. Just--vanished, disappeared entirely, leaving nothing more than the man's reflection as he walked past a mirror set into the wall and began to stack his armload of shirts on a shelf.
"Oi, move it!" someone yelled. She stumbled to the other side of the street amid honking horns, shaking too much to do anything but--move, get out of the way, get to where she could stand in peace--but she couldn't do that, there were people shoving past her, knocking her about as she stared into the store--
"Sorry!" said a familiar voice. The latest person to knock into her actually paused to make sure she was steady--and then stopped. "Are you alright? You look a little..."
With something of an effort, the Reader looked down a few inches. Martha Jones looked back, mild concern clearly visible on her face.
"I," the Reader said. She looked compulsively back at the mirror; she was vaguely aware of Martha following her gaze and frowning. "Er--I thought I saw--" She shook her head, and made herself turn back. "Never mind, I suppose--listen, I have to--"
Martha made a strangled noise and caught her arm. "Oh my God."
"What?"
Martha unfroze faster than the Reader ever had, and ran for the shop door. The Reader followed automatically, and nearly stumbled over her own feet when she glanced through the window again.
Cybermen. Cybermen in the shop, and no one had spotted them yet--
"Get out of the way!" Martha yelled. "Get out, get back, it's not safe!"
The people closest to the Cybermen turned; one shrieked, and backed away.
Another one stayed, tilting his head to one side. "Hey, isn't that one of those ghost things--?"
"Move!" Martha yelled, and the Cybermen vanished. She stopped short, staring.
"What in the name of Rassilon's moldiest mug cake," the Reader breathed. She made herself walk forward, fumbling out her sonic penlight to take readings.
Martha's stare shifted to her. Around them, customers were laughing--nervously at first, and then there was even some clapping.
"Good show," someone said. "These stunts just get better and better..."
Martha walked around them, and approached the Reader.
"Doctor?" she asked hesitantly after a moment. "You...look very different."
The Reader frowned at the readout, wishing it was telling her more than 'something might possibly be a bit off here.' "I'm not the Doctor. Which is a shame, as he'd likely be more help right now." She took another, equally unhelpful reading, then turned to face the human. "Er, actually, I'm here running an errand for him. He's crossed his timeline too much to come here again, as it turns out, so--here." She dug in her pocket and produced the TARDIS key. "I'm to return this to you."
Martha looked from the key to the Reader's face, frowning. "I don't understand."
The Reader frowned back. "What's to understand? This is your TARDIS key. He borrowed it, and I agreed to bring it back to you so you'd have it at the right time to avoid a paradox. It's hardly that complex."
Martha shook her head. "Who are you, again?"
"Er--the Reader," she said. "And I'd quite like to go home, honestly, so if you could just--" She offered the key again.
"Well, Reader, I'm afraid it is that complex," Martha said. "You see, I've still got my key."
"What?"
Martha pulled out a small keyring and held it up by the only silver key on the ring. "This is my key. The Doctor doesn't have it." She shook her head. "However it is you got here, you're too early."
The Reader groaned. "Brilliant. Just perfect. Why would he give me the wrong date?"
"I don't know, but we should probably stop standing in the middle of this shop," Martha said. She put her keys away and took the Reader by the arm, steering her towards the door. "Come on. Let's go to a cafe. We can have a cup of coffee--my treat, since you've come all this way--and you can tell me all about how you got here without the Doctor."
"Right," the Reader said, and wondered if she could get away with neuralyzing Martha and skipping forward a day at a time until she found the right moment to return the key.
"And how you got a shirt with Gallifreyan writing on it," Martha added, as they stepped out the door. "That's rather unusual in Soho."
--
((Whoever ends up writing the next bit--let me know, and I can pass on to you my thoughts on what's going on here. They're a bit incomplete, but worth keeping consistent, I think. I'd just rather not stick what's essentially spoilers on the Board :) ~Z))
((Asynchronous narrative: go!))
Morgan and the Notary came up behind the Aviator as she stared out of the doors. "That... does not look like Soho," Morgan managed.
The Notary sniffed. "Really, Tigereye Castellan; I thought better of you." Her slender finger stabbed out, indicating a dozen different points in the view before them. "Compare the major points of interest with the key features of Soho, and I think you will find there are far more similarities than differences. Ergo, the sensible conclusion is that this is, in fact, the concisely-named region in question."
Morgan stared at her, but the Aviator got there first. "I already regret asking, but why do you have an encyclopediac knowledge of the districts of London?"
The Notary made a sound best described as tsk. "Because, unlike some everybody else, I spent the trip here on research."
"You spent it bickering with White," Morgan pointed out. "And seriously-"
"I never bicker," the Notary said primly. "I correct."
"-seriously," Morgan repeated, "how can you look at that sky, and those... those things, and say this is Soho?"
The Notary leant past the other Time Ladies and peered up at the shattered reflections that made up the sky. "I understand the 2020s were a troubled time on Earth," she said. "This seems about right for human incompetence."
The Aviator gave her a long, level look, then turned deliberately to Morgan. "Could it be some kind of paradox effect?" she asked. "Xan did say 'watch the mirrors'."
"If it is, it's a weird one." Morgan put a foot carefully out through the door, testing the ground for solidity. "Well, it feels like tarmac... come on, no good standing about here." She tightened her sash, checked her pistol was in its holster, and stepped out into the street.
It was quiet - even quieter than the cliche 'too quiet'. The agents walked slowly along what should have been a bustling road, past parked and abandoned cars. None of them looked at the sky. Apart from them, the only movement was the shifting, twisting things dotting the pavement.
"Have-?" The Aviator winced, and softened her voice. "Have either of you ever seen anything like them before?"
"Vardans," Morgan replied instantly. "They attacked Gallifrey once - you might remember, Grey. They had a form that looked similar - sort of like crumpled tinfoil."
"Not... that similar," the Notary said, uncharacteristically subdued. "These look more like... well, like broken mirrors."
"'Watch the mirrors'," Morgan recalled. "These things?"
"It seems likely," the Notary agreed. "What do you suppose they've done with the populace?"
"Ah... Orange?" The Aviator had lagged behind, and was scanning one of the kaleidoscopic forms with her sonic. "I think... I think they might be the populace."
She fiddled with the screwdriver's settings for a moment, then flicked it on and pointed it at the thing. The lazily whirling shards slowed to a crawl, then stopped; in their silvery surfaces, the trio saw the shattered reflection of a man in a suit, holding a paper coffee cup. The steam from the cup hung in the air, frozen with its owner. The man's expression was blank, vacant - peaceful, in the way a graveyard is peaceful.
"At least they don't seem to be suffering," Morgan said after a long, contemplative pause. "That's got to be better than the alternative."
"Well, yes, I should say so!"
The new voice came from behind them, and the trio whirled to see a man standing there: big hair, big eyes, big smile, and a very big scarf. The Aviator's jaw dropped; Morgan coloured and looked away; the Notary did her best to project polite indifference.
"It's not saying very much, though, is it?" the Doctor went on, seemingly oblivious to their surprise. "I mean, a cooking pot is better than a fire, but you wouldn't want to live there."
"Er... no." The Aviator glanced at the other two, then took a half step forward. "Which is why we're here, to try and fix the... paradox." She did her best to avoid turning the statement into a question, but her voice still drifted up a little at the end.
"Weeeeeell, hardly a paradox," the Doctor demurred. "Not a patch on the sort of paradoxes we used to get when I was small, at any rate. No, I'd say this is something far more sinister. Sarah and I were-" He stopped and looked around, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Sarah? Where has she got to?"
Morgan coughed and stepped up beside the Aviator. "You were saying, Doctor, that something sinister is happening?"
"What?" The Doctor kept scanning the street. "Oh, yes, of course." He turned back to the trio, but his eyes remained troubled. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, "but I seem to have misplaced my companion. Sarah Jane Smith - lovely girl, very good at running. You haven't seen her, have you? I'd hate for something to happen to her; it would be awfully inconvenient."
((Hopefully no-one minds me stealing another turn, but I had Ideas and they wouldn't let me go...))
A Time Lord and a Doctor walk into a cafe. Stop me if you've heard this before...
"It was always funny," Martha said, sipping at her latte. "There's me, an actual doctor, travelling the universe with someone who's just called 'The Doctor'. There was this one time..." She shook her head, quietly added another packet of sugar to her drink. "'Is there a doctor on board?' - you never expect to actually hear it, you know? Especially not ten thousand years in the future while riding a half-alive sky-submarine. So I'm halfway to my feet, but he's already out of his seat, bounding over like the Easter Bunny on a chocolate high."
(Over the road, in the high-end clothing store, a woman impatiently tapped the shoulder of the man standing in the aisle. He turned slowly, revealing that beneath his bowler hat he had no face at all - simply blank skin.)
(Her shriek turned heads across the store, but was lost in the roar of the traffic.)
Martha chuckled, staring down at her coffee. "And you know the worst thing? He was right. The patient was this... apparently the name isn't even pronouncable by humans, the Doctor did this weird whistle." She did her best to imitate it, a curious warbling. "I think some of xir anatomy was energy-based. I would have been completely lost, but of course he not only saved the patient, he also found the poisoner and saved the day."
(The faceless man disappeared as the woman backed away, but moments later his place was taken by a huge dog, its eyes burning red beneath vivid orange eyebrows. A young man in a black coat staggered away from it before it, too, vanished.)
"I'm sorry," Martha said, smiling ruefully at the Reader. "I know I'm rambling, but it's so rare I get to talk about any of this. With Torchwood gone, and the cuts at UNIT, it's basically just me and Mickey. You know -" She laughed again, and dropped a pair of air quotes. "'Defending the Earth'."
(Across the road a fire suddenly sprang up, ripping through the clothing racks, sending the customers fleeing. The sprinklers came on automatically, dousing the flames - which vanished as suddenly as they had came, leaving the drenched customers looking around in bewilderment.)
"I'd heard about that," the Reader said, taking a swig of her fruity coffee (not actually on the standard menu, but the server had found her inexplicably hard to say no to). She was doing her best to keep quiet - her knowledge of the Whoniverse stopped some five years before Martha's present, and she dreaded to think what kind of paradox she might set up if she said the wrong thing. "Isn't it a bit... dangerous?"
(As the clothing store staff ushered their erstwhile customers out of the door, one happened to glance into a full-length mirror close at hand. The air seemed to flicker, shadowy refractions slicing through the shop, and then at a dozen places across the shop floor gruesome, lurching zombies shambled out of thin air. They shimmered in the still-falling sprinkler water, took a step towards the terrified crowd - then faded out, shattering into nothingness.)
"The universe is dangerous," Martha said, leaning forward seriously. "The first time I met the Doctor, my entire hospital got snatched away to the moon - the actual moon! - because an alien tried to hide there. If we know that, and do nothing to keep it a little safer, how can we live with ourselves?"
(The front window of the empty clothing store flickered, the reflections of the pedestrians outside briefly taking on inhuman, non-euclidean shapes. One of the passers-by saw them, gasped and turned pale.)
"I can... understand that," the Reader said carefully - all this talk of protecting worlds was a conversational minefield. "But surely the Doctor...?"
(Up and down the long glass frontage, semi-transparent figures rippled in and out of existence, as if something was trying to figure out the physics of window-glass.)
Martha grimaced into her nearly-empty mug. "The Doctor is... we're not entirely sure. Mickey runs this website, has for years, keeping track of sightings." She smiled fondly, distantly. "It's hardest for him... I can tell everyone I'm a doctor, that's respectable, but Mickey doesn't have a job apart from this Work of ours." She looked slightly sheepish over the capitalised Work, but the Reader nodded encouragingly. "Well, the Doctor sometimes... that is, his appearance..." She trailed off, looking at the Reader's t-shirt. "How much do you know about him?" she asked warily.
(Rivulets of slime oozed from along the length of the window, coalescing into a huge green blob. Horrified walkers backed away from it, stumbling into the road, setting brakes screeching and horns honking - but not enough to be obviously unusual for Soho. When it vanished, it left glistening streaks on the pavement for a few moments before they, too, faded.)
The Reader drained the last of her coffee contemplatively. "You're talking about regeneration," she said at last.
(The air flickered again, angles forming where angles shouldn't be, and for a moment the whole street seemed to splinter like a dropped wineglass. Up and down the road, car wingmirrors flashed with unearthly colours. The moment seemed to hang in the air, gathering like a storm.)
"Right," Martha agreed. "So it's like a detective story - he shows up with a new face in the present, and then Mickey tracks down other appearances throughout history. Only, for the past few years, the Doctor has been... missing." She swirled her mug, took another sip. "Well. Maybe. There's reports of a woman up north who certainly sounds like the Doctor, but... I don't know." She nodded at the Reader. "That's why I wondered if you might be him... her. Do you think that's possible?"
(The clothing shop window exploded, sending ripples through the fabric of reality. Fractures of light cascaded along the street, and a hundred hundred monsters leapt out of nowhere and launched themselves at the populace.)
The Reader wished fervently she still had coffee to drink and cover her concern. It was always possible that Martha might reappear in the series, and telling her something that she might not know in that appearance was exactly the sort of paradox she was supposed to avoid. But how rude would it be to ignore a direct question like...?
The screaming interrupted her thought process. As she turned to the window, the Reader was irrationally grateful.
"Is that a Dalek? ... wearing clown makeup?"
The two women exchanged a look and then charged out of the coffee shop. Martha knelt down next to a woman who had fallen on the pavement, while the Reader whipped out her penlight and aimed it at the Dalek. "Not today, monster!" she yelled, flicking the sonic to its highest setting.
The Dalek shattered into a thousand shards of energy. Behind it, the wingmirror of a parked car exploded into dust - and in a chain reaction, every mirror on the entire street burst in turn.
The Reader turned to Martha, her eyes wide. "'Watch the mirrors'," she said. "The mirrors..."
"Gosh, that was awful," said the woman Martha had gone to. "Thanks ever so much for the rescue." She picked herself up off the pavement, brushing off her rather outdated jacket. "Sarah Jane Smith," she said, holding out her hand to the Reader, who shook it on a kind of stunned autopilot. "Love the sonic, by the way - very stylish. The man I'm travelling with has one just like it." She looked up and down the street, taking in the shocked Londoners and glass everywhere. "You haven't seen him, have you? Huge scarf, funny hat - he's called the Doctor. You can't really miss him."
The Doctor mashed a fuzzy green poet's hat over his curly hair and turned around, peering up the street. "The thing is, I did promise we'd go to this lovely resort planet for tea," he said. "And now it seems we've gotten separated. She's a bright girl, Sarah Jane, but I'm still worried."
"We'll help you find her," the Aviator immediately declared, which drew an ireful glower from the Notary.
"White," Morgan cautioned, putting a hand on her arm. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
"Yes," the Notary said. "Please shake these silly notions of bravado from her head, and then we can find Yellow and go home."
Morgan threw a glare over her shoulder before leading the Aviator a few steps away, lowering her voice. "Whatever's going on, the Doctor will fix. This isn't our fight to get involved in. We're just here to get the Reader and get out. Let the canons handle... canon problems."
The Aviator sighed and glanced back at the Doctor before reluctantly nodding. "Fine," she said. "But if doing that puts Xan—puts Yellow in any danger, I don't care if I get kicked off the council. I'm saving her."
"Don't be so dramatic," Morgan said, shaking her head in exasperation. "We'll save her without needing to do anything crazy. Come on." She clapped the Aviator on the arm and moved forward to speak to the Doctor. "We haven't seen Sarah Jane, but she's able to look out for herself. We're actually here to find a friend of ours—"
She was cut off by a sudden wind that whipped litter around their legs, followed by the sound of TARDIS engines. A blue police box materialized, and a man with floppy brown hair and a bow tie stuck his head out.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I'm looking for a nest," he said. "Well, I say a nest, but it's more like a lair, a sort of—Morgan?"
"Morgan?" the Fourth Doctor said, turning to stare at her. "My goodness! I thought you seemed familiar! You've grown."
"Doctor," Morgan sighed. "And Doctor."
The Eleventh Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and snapped his fingers, shutting the doors behind him. "Well, if you're here with that silly council of yours, things must be worse than I thought," he said.
Morgan wordlessly pointed at the sky, and the Eleventh Doctor whirled around to follow her finger.
"Oh. Oh dear. Oh dear, dear me."
"Silly council?" the Notary demanded. "I'll have you know that the Continuity Council of Gallifrey-in-would someone stop that blasted noise before I skewer them with an ice pick?!"
The Fourth Doctor looked up from his own sonic screwdriver with a look of utter surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt by being so clever," he said. "But I do believe I understand what this is now."
"And that's why I'm here to stop it," the Eleventh Doctor declared, straightening his bow tie as he glanced at his younger self. "Well—we're here to stop it."
"Stop what, exactly?" Morgan said, folding her arms.
The Doctors looked at each other, then back at the agents. The Fourth Doctor tucked his sonic screwdriver back in his pocket and cleared his throat. "The Mirror Causality."
((And I'll chuck some thoughts into the notes doc. Batter up!))
I am totally here for Council infighting, especially when all three of them have basically the same opinion, just in different words.
And it's Eleven! This is the third time he's run into Morgan since she joined the PPC (actually the fourth, but I haven't finished Critical Thinking Puzzle yet; and I'm not counting the closed timeline); I assume the fact that he already knew her from Gallifrey is how he keeps remembering the Council whenever he runs into her? Or are we assuming that at this point he's aware of the PPC when convenient to the plot?
The phrase 'the Mirror Causality' gives me absolute chills; perfect naming. :)
(PPC America decided to delay the broadcast of the Continuity Council special *again*, of course, and there aren't any streams worth watching.)
I love this! It's got the feel of the big multi-Doctor specials, and everyone is so very much themself that I can barely tell who's writing what section. It'll be fascinating to see the story develop more, I'm looking forward to seeing how the various Councilors react as things get worse.
And the way you've handled things happening across time is really good, too - it genuinely feels like we're seeing the same set in different times.
I'm going to be away from the computer all next week, so if anyone wants to try and finish off this story, you have my unequivocal blessing to redact either or both of my last two parts. Part 5 was written almost entirely before I had Zing's notes, so doesn't really follow what she intended; and this one may well rush things overmuch. So feel free to replace them (and reuse any parts you feel like - I'm not precious about them).
I'd really like to see this finished, so hopefully someone can pick it up and run with it. :)
hS
...it's pretty unlikely I would have continued this all that far on my own, much less this quickly. I'm very happy it's taken off like this.
And, I mean, I didn't exactly start off with an outline. A bit of one developed, around the point of "watch the mirrors", but this is hardly something I've been painstakingly planning out for years. I'm perfectly fine with you (and Ix) putting your own spin on what's going on, so long as it doesn't outright clash with the bits of outline that *have* developed, which thus far I don't think it has. Really, thank you for getting involved to begin with!
~Z
Just found myself juggling a few too many things, so responding fell through the cracks. Sorry about that.
At this point, I no longer remember half of what I wanted to say, but: it does move a touch faster than I'd been thinking, though that isn't implausible, so I don't really mind. Besides, it's getting interesting!
Also: Sarah Jane! :D Fantastic. I'm so glad she's joined the party.
I do like what you've written, and while I expect we could all tweak bits of plot and characterization if this gets a final edit during the inevitable combination of all the parts into a GDoc or whatever else, I don't see any reason to completely redact any of the parts. Part 5 was very fun, too, for the record.
~Z
But again, partial redaction is fine too, if something contradicts the rest of the story. :)
For Sarah Jane, since you said you had trouble thinking about how to write her, I've swung quite a long way towards the Famous Five-style 'spiffing, let's all have ginger beer!' presentation. It's not quite fair to her, but it's a good hook to hang her writing on, and it comes pretty close. Obviously not literally 'spiffing', but you get my drift.
hS
I'm sorry for going silent, but I'm in the middle of moving from the dorms to Nanny Family's house, so it's been a sudden stressful time. I'll be settled in on Friday, so hopefully I can pop something up by then!
((I'm also on board with a notes doc, and will get you an email response later today.
~Z))
((I'm very interested to know what'll happen next, but having an idea of what you guys started cooking up would help me take another whack at this one!))
Email up above, but you probably have it already. :)
hS
More timefoolery! I adore these stories (and find the fact that we have such a precisely defined tradition of character-pilfering around them), and this is an excellent addition to the canon. Morgan seems suitably Morganish, so no changes needed there.
It seems like this is the Tenth Doctor, based on the screwdriver description and general personality; have I got that right? And... is this a reference to an actual canon plothole, or just a response to the prompt?
(I just noticed - 'I can't cross that part of my timeline again'. Doctor, how many times have you been back already? [Distinctly dubious look])
hS
I'm glad you enjoyed this one, and that Morgan came out IC! It's quite literally been years since the last time I wrote a ConCoun story, so you never know.
Yeah, this is Ten. I tossed in the screwdriver description as a clue in the text (probably could've described his clothes briefly, too, actually, but I didn't think of it), and there's a little note in the disclaimer (nearly just capitalized that and gave us another Time Lord! Oh dear).
As to the plothole, while there's probably some canon instance I could tie this to, I don't have a particular one in mind. My vague thought is that the Doctor forgot to return a TARDIS key to one of his companions who definitely had it later (I rather want it to be Sarah Jane, but I don't know if that'd work at all), and, well, I guess he's been going back and forth through the time in question a bit too much already, so...yeah. I bet it's in London in the twentieth or twenty-first century, though :P Alternatively, maybe he borrowed it off River for some reason and then had to get it back--but that would work better for Eleven, given I'm pretty sure Ten only met her the once.
(Ten: "Oh, well, you know." /rocks back on heels, ruffles hair awkwardly/ "A few. Maybe two. Or, well, three...four...")
~Z
I first read that as the Key to Time from that quest serial of Four's back in Who Classic.
But a) the Key to Time was a crystal cube, not a silver door-key, and b) let's not start that again. ^_~
Apparently we're going to Soho. Here's hoping there's more to the story by the morning! :D
hS
I didn't think of the Key to Time because I've seen a regrettably limited amount of Classic Who--though, funnily enough, I do remember bits of the PPC version. It sounds familiar, anyway. But no, this is going to be a quest to return a New Who style silver door key--unfortunately, I didn't know Sarah Jane had a different type, or I might have written that in. On the other hand, I don't know how well I can write Sarah Jane, so while I'd love for her to somehow show up for a bit--even just a cameo--she's not going to be the main person involved. If anyone else can figure out a way to bring her in, though, absolutely feel free.
~Z
... but is waiting on Zingenmir so I don't accidentally scupper her plans. :)
hS
I'm now less busy, so there should be an email headed your way soon.
~Z
Before I do anything with them, though, can you fill me in on the current state of things between Ave and the Reader? I'd like to play with that 'awkwardly denied', but don't want to mischaracterise it.
hS
And oh boy.
So the last time we saw the two of them together, back in late 2015, they agreed that they could go back to neither the friendship they had as Rina and the Reader nor the friendship they had as Xan and Arinorelivandrisar. They agreed to try to move forward and, basically, redefine how they stand and who they are to each other a third time.
And now we leave that and head into unpublished headcanons. On my part, I just can't see this version of the Reader being able to completely move past it. It was a pretty big--and horribly recent--thing for her: over the course of about two years, she made it to HQ, struggled with finding a place there while grieving her planet (especially once she found out it had actually burned), had her TARDIS starting to die on her for a bit, and suddenly found out that, no, Arin hadn't actually somehow survived the Time War--she had been born a human. Which meant the Reader, at some point in the near future, was going to send her to her death. And she couldn't tell anyone. And then that happened, basically, and then she miraculously came back, and, really, how do you go about forgiving someone for lying to you your whole life before saving it? How do you forgive yourself for betraying that same friend's trust in return and sending her to what turned out to be a more temporary death than expected?
All this to say: even three to four years later, I just can't see the Reader managing to rebuilt anything past a sort of semi-cordial civility. I'm sure they've tried, and there's probably a friendship with Zeb (and Alex?) going on in the background, but the Fourth Reader just...isn't someone who can let the big things go, most times. She still detests Rassilon, she still hates what she had to do, and she still can't always look at the Aviator without being reminded of just how thoroughly they betrayed each other and why and how desperate and alone she felt while doing it.
And, of course, add residual memories from the Time War to work through...
So yeah. I don't see that relationship being properly mended until both of them regenerate, and we get the Fifth Reader and the Fourth Aviator...both of whom are pretty much just easygoing, joking blond guys on the surface. It gives them an actual fresh start and some new common ground. They get to ditch some of the angst and become bros, more or less. But, well, we're not quite there yet.
~Z
PS: Let me know if you have further questions or if there's some aspect I didn't cover and should! Apart from that, looking forward to seeing what you come up with.
She just desperately wants things to go back to the way they used to be. She blames herself for everything that happened between them—after all, if she’d never gotten killed on the Rose Potter mission, if she’d just been more careful, she wouldn’t have ended up in such a situation.
She never blamed the Reader for any of it, though she suspects the Reader doesn’t lay enough of the blame on her. As far as Ave’s concerned, if she can just show the Reader enough how sorry she is that it all had to happen, then she’ll be forgiven.
Obviously that’s not how it works but she needs to cling to the reassurance that there’s some way she can make it okay again.
... with how I'm writing them. So that's good! ^_^
Continuity: Keys (Part 2) should be coming shortly. Juuuust figuring out whose TARDIS they should be taking...
hS
(By the way, since you’re here, I thought I’d mention I finally started on the lineart for New Cal!)