OOC &diams Memory the Seventh
Fred frowned to herself as she got out the kettle. She had just come back from her morning run with Gai, and it was shaping up to be a windy day. That was better than rain, at least, but she wondered if she should take a pullover down to the Yard.
The white openings still bothered her, and she took the time to muse on them as she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. What could they be? A way out, or the way to another world? For all that Bridge had warned the Scavengers not to go through them, and the fact that nothing could be seen on the other side, she still wanted to know. She had held off, her curiosity tempered by the knowledge that if they were something dangerous, not only would her friends never forgive her for dying (again), but they would likely start following her everywhere. There were enough of them that they could just casually tag along wherever she went. Not to mention how sad another death would make all of them. She didn't want to put
them through that, anymore than she wanted babysitters.
With a sigh, she opened the cupboard where they kept the tea. For some reason, the box had been placed higher on the shelf than usual. Frowning once more, she pulled over a chair so she could reach it.
Hopping down again, she set the box on the counter as she replaced the chair. Walking back to the counter, she flipped open the lid of the box--and stopped, staring. Nestled in the box, still surrounded by the other tea bags, was something she hadn't seen in quite some time. The glowing crystal surrounded by rings of metal was as familiar as ever, though.
With trembling fingers, she picked it out of the box. Turning it over between her hands, she licked her lips, took a deep breath, and slid her fingers between the rings until the tip of her middle finger brushed up against the stone's cool surface, and plunged her into darkness.
The darkness didn't last long. It was replaced almost immediately light so bright it took Fred a moment to adjust to her new surroundings. Once she had, if she could have blinked in shock, she would have. Facing her, in a small window-like opening, was her alter-ego, the one that had shown up several months ago, horrifically scarred Veda, and vanished again soon after. No, she
realized, watching her alter-ego's lips move--she couldn't hear, so that was the sense this crystal had taken away--but she could feel her throat work, and the buzz as her voicebox was used, at the same time. It wasn't a window. It was a mirror.
That was... something she would have to think about very carefully, but she couldn't do it now--she had glanced away from the mirror to look at the person she had been speaking to. It was the Doctor. More specifically, it was Key. Apparently, whatever she was saying wasn't as important as brushing her hair; she continued doing that as she spoke again. She didn't know what they were speaking about, but her brow furrowed in confusion at one point, before she lowered both brush and mirror and turned in her seat to face him more fully. Though she was looking away from him as she continued to speak, so she didn't see his reaction until she stopped talking.
Whereupon he jumped to his feet, and more or less stalked over to the--
If Fred had been in control of her body, she would have gasped. It was the room Key had told her about, the white room with circles sunk into the walls. Just as she had dreamed about so many times... but this time, there was one very important difference. A rather complicated-looking control unit was directly in front of her, and it was this device that the Doctor leaned on, after throwing one end of his scarf to the floor (and looking after it, as if he was afraid he'd broken it). She wished she had time to study the controls more closely. She was certain she would know what most of them did if she had, but her eyes refused to leave the Doctor's face.
She was, however, able to read his lips that way. "Now listen," he was saying. "It's no good, this isn't going to work."
Fred felt herself put her head to one side. She spoke briefly, as she placed her brush on one part of the control hub.
"Indeed," the Doctor replied. She didn't think he looked too terribly pleased by whatever she had said.
She spoke again, longer this time, most of it with her gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling. She felt a surge of irritation at herself--why did she keep looking away from him? This conversation didn't seem to be going well at all.
"What's that supposed to mean?" the Doctor's lips said, as she looked back at him again.
She leaned forward, a little, the buzz in her throat nothing more than an annoyance when she couldn't hear the words those vibrations formed.
"Is that the sort of rubbish they're pouring into your head at the Academy?" he demanded. Fred winced, mentally. Yes, this definitely wasn't going well--why was this conversation happening in the first place? She had rather thought he liked her.
She leaned back in her seat, and she could feel a smug little smile tugging at her lips as she spoke.
Luckily, she looked back at him before she was done speaking, as he didn't wait for her to stop this time. "I'll show you whether I'm suffering from a massive compensation syndrome." No, that clearly hadn't gone well at all. Why had she said those things to him? "And you're not going back to Gallifrey, not for a long time yet, I regret to say." He pushed himself back a little, and made a vague gesture with one hand as the memory faded.
***********
Fred came back to herself to hear the kettle shrieking. She removed it quickly, hoping it hadn't bothered 00 or Composer, then moved toward the table to sit. Her movements, however, were awkward and slow. She looked down--she appeared to have some sort of costume on, one that completely encased her entire body, with far more fabric than was really necessary. She turned awkwardly, and moved to sit on the couch.
What in Rassilon's name was she supposed to make of that?
The white openings still bothered her, and she took the time to muse on them as she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. What could they be? A way out, or the way to another world? For all that Bridge had warned the Scavengers not to go through them, and the fact that nothing could be seen on the other side, she still wanted to know. She had held off, her curiosity tempered by the knowledge that if they were something dangerous, not only would her friends never forgive her for dying (again), but they would likely start following her everywhere. There were enough of them that they could just casually tag along wherever she went. Not to mention how sad another death would make all of them. She didn't want to put
them through that, anymore than she wanted babysitters.
With a sigh, she opened the cupboard where they kept the tea. For some reason, the box had been placed higher on the shelf than usual. Frowning once more, she pulled over a chair so she could reach it.
Hopping down again, she set the box on the counter as she replaced the chair. Walking back to the counter, she flipped open the lid of the box--and stopped, staring. Nestled in the box, still surrounded by the other tea bags, was something she hadn't seen in quite some time. The glowing crystal surrounded by rings of metal was as familiar as ever, though.
With trembling fingers, she picked it out of the box. Turning it over between her hands, she licked her lips, took a deep breath, and slid her fingers between the rings until the tip of her middle finger brushed up against the stone's cool surface, and plunged her into darkness.
The darkness didn't last long. It was replaced almost immediately light so bright it took Fred a moment to adjust to her new surroundings. Once she had, if she could have blinked in shock, she would have. Facing her, in a small window-like opening, was her alter-ego, the one that had shown up several months ago, horrifically scarred Veda, and vanished again soon after. No, she
realized, watching her alter-ego's lips move--she couldn't hear, so that was the sense this crystal had taken away--but she could feel her throat work, and the buzz as her voicebox was used, at the same time. It wasn't a window. It was a mirror.
That was... something she would have to think about very carefully, but she couldn't do it now--she had glanced away from the mirror to look at the person she had been speaking to. It was the Doctor. More specifically, it was Key. Apparently, whatever she was saying wasn't as important as brushing her hair; she continued doing that as she spoke again. She didn't know what they were speaking about, but her brow furrowed in confusion at one point, before she lowered both brush and mirror and turned in her seat to face him more fully. Though she was looking away from him as she continued to speak, so she didn't see his reaction until she stopped talking.
Whereupon he jumped to his feet, and more or less stalked over to the--
If Fred had been in control of her body, she would have gasped. It was the room Key had told her about, the white room with circles sunk into the walls. Just as she had dreamed about so many times... but this time, there was one very important difference. A rather complicated-looking control unit was directly in front of her, and it was this device that the Doctor leaned on, after throwing one end of his scarf to the floor (and looking after it, as if he was afraid he'd broken it). She wished she had time to study the controls more closely. She was certain she would know what most of them did if she had, but her eyes refused to leave the Doctor's face.
She was, however, able to read his lips that way. "Now listen," he was saying. "It's no good, this isn't going to work."
Fred felt herself put her head to one side. She spoke briefly, as she placed her brush on one part of the control hub.
"Indeed," the Doctor replied. She didn't think he looked too terribly pleased by whatever she had said.
She spoke again, longer this time, most of it with her gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling. She felt a surge of irritation at herself--why did she keep looking away from him? This conversation didn't seem to be going well at all.
"What's that supposed to mean?" the Doctor's lips said, as she looked back at him again.
She leaned forward, a little, the buzz in her throat nothing more than an annoyance when she couldn't hear the words those vibrations formed.
"Is that the sort of rubbish they're pouring into your head at the Academy?" he demanded. Fred winced, mentally. Yes, this definitely wasn't going well--why was this conversation happening in the first place? She had rather thought he liked her.
She leaned back in her seat, and she could feel a smug little smile tugging at her lips as she spoke.
Luckily, she looked back at him before she was done speaking, as he didn't wait for her to stop this time. "I'll show you whether I'm suffering from a massive compensation syndrome." No, that clearly hadn't gone well at all. Why had she said those things to him? "And you're not going back to Gallifrey, not for a long time yet, I regret to say." He pushed himself back a little, and made a vague gesture with one hand as the memory faded.
***********
Fred came back to herself to hear the kettle shrieking. She removed it quickly, hoping it hadn't bothered 00 or Composer, then moved toward the table to sit. Her movements, however, were awkward and slow. She looked down--she appeared to have some sort of costume on, one that completely encased her entire body, with far more fabric than was really necessary. She turned awkwardly, and moved to sit on the couch.
What in Rassilon's name was she supposed to make of that?