(no subject)
WHO: The Doctor, Molly, Unsleeping Bride
WHERE: Victorian London
WHEN: Christmas Eve, in London
WHAT: The evil Robot Santa has London in a fierce grip of terror! Who, oh who can save them?! Well, first they have to find him-- oh, there he is. Crap.
Good Queen Vic-toria looked down from her palace Windsor, down upon the snowy ground, which to her was sin-ster. Brightly shone the moon that night, though the wind was searing, when a blue box suddenly just began appe~earing! The front door did swing real wide, and a man did exit! Dressed in coat of brown and suit looking quite the Misfit! Looking bout the man did smile and look up heav'nward, sticking forth his sensitive tongue, sampling snow most downward. Frowning he did cough a bit, for the snow was bitter, laced with carbon, soot and ash from the fact'ry litter. Closing up his odd machine, he did turn about, when a light did catch his eye, before being snuffed out!
Where Unsleeping Bride is from, there is no Christmas. She is from a completely different Tim Burton movie.
She has come here with a list written on a piece of gray papyrus which she has steadily checked as finished with tiny dainty red marks. She has left the enormous hammer at home, in favor of a sack slung over her shoulder. While she does stand out if you look closely, of course, she is dressed in modest black. Why would someone look twice?
She looks twice, of course, pausing at the appearance of a blue box and pushing her glasses up her nose.
What do you know, it's a Molly! Her clothing is hardly Victorian in nature, simply a heavy sheepskin coat over her normal clothing, but a thick woolen hat is jammed down over her brightly-colored hair to leave only the black tips showing. If it weren't for the sneakers and facial tattoos, she might pass easily for a working-class Joe, at least until someone gets close enough to notice the whole red-eyes thing. It's not a big deal though, folks out on the street have better things to do than stare at some person wandering down the city streets, staring in through shop windows at the decorations put up for the holiday seasons. Things such as... a blue telephone booth settling down on the snowy lawn.
Pulling her gloves hands out of her coat pockets, she rubs them together briskly and steps nearer to the door of a restaurant from which the smell of sweet, spiced cider wafts.
Oh here he goes a wandering, among the fields so white, oh here he goes a wandering, throughout the darkened night. The Doctor smells some ale or perhaps a swill-filled pail but his stomach does rumble so on he goes as well, to the restaraunt or tavern where Molly has chose to dwell, and where he goes comes trouble true as true is any tale! So beware and God keep you for now the story starts!
Pushing his way into the quaint, Victorian tavern (and leaving his ryhming Caroling typist behind) the Time Lord makes his way to the bar and takes a seat. "A cuppa if you'd be so kind," he says to the round-faced young woman behind the bar who is so round all over she might just have been the inspiration for the sign hanging above the outer door pronouncing this to be the 'Sow's Souse House' with it's picture of a buxom, anthropomorphized pig serving drinks. He scans the crowd, looking for anyone out of place... aside from hiself of course.
Bride looks over from the strange box to the tavern in question. She wrinkles her nose, and follows afterwards.
It smells QUITE lively, and this is the sort of place she enjoys. She whistles something tunelessly as she looks at the colorful figure who is not so far away. Molly can hide from mere mortals, but she has those glasses to help her see more sharply.
She holds the door open, politely enough, for people who come after her. Also, it lets the familiar, cold air in, perhaps to give people deathly colds. You have to do your bit however you can, after all.
Mmm, the blast of warm air in her face when she walks through the door is wonderful and immediately gratifying. She loosens the top buttons of her coat, but Molly doesn't yet remove her hat. Taking a good, inquisitive look about, the young woman makes her way past the cheery locals to the bar, where she cops a seat and bellies-up to the counter. "What's that sweet-smelling stuff, cider?" she asks the barmaid when the latter has a free moment, after handing the good Doctor his cup. "I'd like some, please."
For her part, the maid stares a bit at Molly's tattoos before going off to get a tall mug of steaming wassail, eyeing her like someone from the sideshow. Funny, they weren't such a big deal most places... maybe things were more different back in the Olden Days than she was led to believe or something.
Making note of Molly and he discinctive tattoos, the Doctor takes his cup of tea (leaving two rather odd looking gold coins from the planet Clom behind in payment) and makes his way over to her table. "Good evening, I couldn't help but notice that I'm not the only person who looks a bit out of place and perhaps out of proper date in here tonight. And believe me, it's not often I get to say that to someone I didn't bring with me."
Then, the door swings open and lets in the cold, cold air from outside. The rotund barmaid hollers, "Eh! Shut the bloody door afer a body catches 'er death o' cold! Wha, were ye birthed in a barn!?" The Doctor just ignores the chill, takes a bit more then a blast of London air in Decemeber to chill him.
Bride lets the door close.
Bride smiles with a quirked eyebrow and calls towards the barmaid with a wave of one hand, "Oh I'm sor~ry," in a voice with a faint hint of sing-song. "Could you send me a meat pie?" She then jingles the purse a bit, which appears to contain Money, or at least, something that sounds like it.
Then she steps towards the table with the two people at it, sitting down without an invitation and resting her elbows on it. Her hands fold together and she sets her chin on her laced fingers.
She doesn't say anything right away, although she DOES smile.
Eh, much better. Molly turns to look up at the Doctor, nodding for him to have a seat and nudging the chair back for him with the toe of her shoe. "Heh, do I really look that out of place?" she grins wryly, pushing her cap back a bit. "I'm not from around here, so it's not surprising." The portly young lady brings over her mug and Molly hands over a few shiny silver coins. Yay, exchange rates! She has no clue just how many pounds she overpaid by, but thinks its enough to get something to eat. "Can I have whatever's good to eat, too?" Really, she's not that picky.
The young woman leans back in her seat, cheeks glowing from the warmth she's soaking up, and looks pretty pleased with herself. "Where're you from?" Or when, she doesn't bother adding. Seems she's not the only traveler here tonight. She looks over at the young woman joining them, and leans upright again. "Friend of yours?"
"Not really," The Doctor replies to the last question first, offering the oddly silent young woman who just joined them a rather bright smile. "I'm The Doctor, it's nice to meet the both of you. I think I'll join you in a meat pie. Or, well, what I meant to say was, I'll have a meat pie as well. Nothing like a bit of meat baked into a pie on a chilly Christmas Eve." His words are met with a hearty 'Here Here' from some of the more coherent patrons.
"As to where I am from, weeeeell," he drags out the word, tapping his fingers against his chin, "That's a rather long story and I don't think we have the 40 or so years it would take me to rattle it all out just tonight. Besides, it's almost Christmas and who has time to worry about the past? Well, aside from Ebeneezer Scrooge."
Bride extends a pale and chilly hand along with a brilliant smile, more or less towards the others. Who will grab it first? IS IT CURSED?
Then she says, "Ahhh, you must forgive me, for I am from somewhere so very far away, but what IS this Christmas you speak of? I've heard it mentioned in passing, oh so many times!" She also smiles at Molly again, before raising her other hand to gesture for THREE meat pies. Perhaps Molly's already got the tab covered.
Removing her gloves and tucking them into the large pockets of her coat, Molly wraps her hands around the steaming mug of wassail and lifts it experimentally to her lips. Just because it SMELLS good... It's hot and spiced-sweet though, and warms her to the core. She takes another gulp, feeling that delicious warmth spread through her bones. Mmmmm <3.
"I... see." She lifts an eyebrow at the Doctor over the lip of her mug before setting it down with a dull clink. "I'm Molly. Nice to meet you both." Maybe this Victorian thing isn't so bad after all! "...You can put meat into pie?" she realizes, blinking. Internally, she pictures a pretty, flaky pie crust... that lifts open on top to reveal a whole, cooked steak. . o (?) "And Christmas is like a holiday, where you put up a tree with shiny things on, and string up lamps, and spend time with your family before you decide you never want to see them again because they're all annoying gits." Oh, and there was something about a baby Jesus too, but she always forgets how that goes.
The Doctor reaches out and shakes Bride's hand, his own is rather cold as well considering his normal body temperature hovers around 20 or 30 degrees colder then a human's. "Molly got the more immediate details more or less correct but Christmas is actually a Christian holiday grafted right on top of an old pagan holiday that used to celebrate the birth of the god Mithras, slayer of the demon bull. Now it more or less celebrates the birth of a man they call the Christ. Yeshua was his given name in Hebrew but it got corrupted over the years to become Jesus. Bad translations and all, you know how it can be. Mind you, King James didn't help one bit with his version of events but that's neither here nor there. Suffice it to say for adults Christmas is about parties and getting drunk off a beverage made from alcohol, milk, eggs and nutmeg with lots of sugar dumped in for good measure, regretting inviting your relatives over and spending lots of money. For children, it's more or less about waiting for Father Christmas to bring them a sackload of goodies."
The entire tavern goes silent when he mentions Father Christmas and the barmaid drops her serving tray, splattering three pies filled with meat, gravy, potatoes, carrots and the like all over the floor. "What?" The Doctor asks, looking around, "Was it something I said?"
Bride blinks a few times, and then looks towards the dropped pies. She briefly considers pulling out a steak knife and unzipping the barmaid's front as a way to demonstrate that service must be of the highest quality...
But, nah. She looks at the Doctor and says with a small smile, "I suppose that they are waiting until their father gets home?"
"...Eggnog?" Ohhh, Molly likes that. Especially with a pinch of Koji's liquor stash in it. It really helps chase the cold (and makes her father a little easier to deal with when he's in one of his 'moods'). "THAT's good stuff." Finally, something she does know a little bit about. She's in mid-sip when the bar goes silent and the clatter of a wooden tray makes her cringe. She looks over at the barmaid, and then gives the rest of the patrons a once-over. "...What?" she scowls, giving everybody the stink-eye and a flash of what might be fangs. Nah, it's probably just a trick of her animation team.
While everyone else looks around, the barmaid points to the door and screams. "Get out! Your bloody well get out of me bar you three or you'll bring 'im down atop of us! No one mentions The Claws and stays in me bar! Get out or I'll bloody well flog ye to within' an inch o' yer bloody lives! I means it to!" She grabs a broom from behind the bar and motions with it threateningly.
The Doctor mouths the words 'The Claws' as he gets up and lifts his hands, palms forward, in surrender. "My apologies for mentioning well, You Know Who, I'll just be going then." He heads for the door, but turns before leaving, "Who's The Claws anyway?"
"You bloody well know, ye just mentioned 'im. Bloody Father Christmas!" And she tosses one of the pie tins right at the Time Lord's head, missing but spattering remnants of gravy across his face.
tink
Bride catches the pie tin. She stands up and pushes her glasses up her nose with the free hand, saying in a rather playful tone, "Oh, you are MOST generous and kind and sympathetic to such poor travellers on a cold winter's night! I am sure we shall meet again some time very soon!" She then steps towards the door, tugging it open to let all the cold air in, quite deliberately.
She also makes little 'come on' gestures with the pie tin, towards the doorway, and makes no effort to give the pie tin back.
Hooo. With an angry scowl, Molly shoves her chair back rudely as she stands, knocking the back of it into another patron's chair. She rips off her hat and lets the light catch the blood-red hue dyed into it. Did people have hairdye that wasn't herbal back in Victorian London? Who knows? But intimidation tactics shall be used to see if they have an effect. "Fine. But if I'm not getting any food I'd appreciate getting my extra money back." She's not made of the stuff, y'know!
THEN, she'll leave along with the others and go get food from someplace that isn't so superstitious!
|OOC| Molly says, "Man, I don't want to get in a brawl with her. My motto has always been, Fat chicks fight dirty."
|OOC| Unsleeping Bride says, "Well I can always use my cheap RPG tricks to cut her in half with the hurled pie tin!"
|OOC| Molly says, "Stunt bonus!"
The fat barmaid tosses the money back and just shoos the trio back into the cold night. Outside, The Doctor stands there, dabbing at gravy on his face with a hanky. "That's odd. Father Christmas was always such a pleasant tale. And they shouldn't even call him by that name here, not yet. I don't think the name Santa Claus was in general use until much later. St. Nicholas sure, though he bears little resemblance at all to the 12th Century Bishop of Turkey but Santa Claus, not possible. Well, not possible before the gates opened up at least. Who knows what kind of cross-dimensional, cross-temporal, cross- cultural contamination has slipped through. Present company excepted of course."
Unfortunately, Bride does not see a clear way with which to use the pie tin to kill the barmaid without being a bit too showy for her tastes. Oh well; she can come back later.
"This all sounds wonderfully complex!" she says, before looking to Molly solicitiously. "Are you uncomfortable in this cold?" Then back to the Doctor: "So, may I ask, what is the nature of your craft?"
She's still disgruntled about the whole thing, but at least she can buy something else now! "I wonder what the deal is. Maybe they've got some kind of weirdo freaky Evil Claus here, that came through the Gates and terrorizes them nightly." That's like the only explanation! And please, nobody ever let Jordan know she came up with a conspiracy theory. The universe would implode under the weight of his 'I told you so'.
"...A little," she replies, jamming her hat back down to pevent any more of her precious body heat from escaping. "It's a lot colder here than back home." Something about global warming, or maybe it's just because she's still wearing that cut-off tee under her winter coat. She'd better write a thank-you to whoever gave it to her, it came in handy after all. "How about you? You seem really comfortable in it. I don't think I ever got your name, either...?"
The Doctor wanders back and forth, trying to work things out when Molly comes up with her idea. "That's it! Somehow, they've gotten some kind of evil Santa Claus here. But which one? There've been so many. It could be one of the Pilot Fish Santas that wandered about with the Sycorax. Oh, or it could be a psycho-killer with an axe in a Santa suit... or was that just a video nasty? Hmmmmmm, we'll have to find this Faux Claus and put a stop to it or Christmas, the future of Christmas as we know it might be totally altered." He catches the last bit and turns to the Bride. "What is your name, never did catch it."
"The Bride," says Bride, with a warm smile. "And yourself?"
She also shrugs easily out of her robe. Underneath it she is wearing a shirt (and what looks like something metal beneath it!) along with a pair of loose pants, so she is not completely naked. She then puts the heavy robe, which smells faintly like it's been buried and then carefully cleaned but not all the way, over Molly's shoulders. Aw!
She shivers for a moment at the gathered Resonance, and then pushes a lock of hair back. "Or, if you like it better, Song Bird. So what do you propose we do to this Santa?" She still has the pie tin.
She draws the cloak together in front of herself, slipping her gloves back on beneath it. The smell doesn't seem to bother her greatly, though she raises an eyebrow and sniffs unobtrusively. Hmm, smells like the ruins underneath the temple on Alwas. It's not unfamiliar anyway. "Thanks, but won't you freeze like that?" She shrugs the cloak off and folds it loosely, offering it back to the Bride. "I'm not that cold, really. A little action will get the old blood flowing, y'know?" Please take it back, you look really cold even if you're not feeling it. "So what do we do, anyhow? I mean, do we call the IPA or start hunting for clues?" She's new to this whole 'working for the intergalactic police' thing. "
"We look for clues." The Doctor begins, stalking off in a seemingly random direction. "No need getting the IPA involved unless we have to. Amateurs, that's what they are, mucking about in the various dimensions, bouncing back and forth from one world to another to offer their 'help' and assistance. Reminds me of home in the old days and I'm not letting that ever happen again." He gets a head of the two girls and turns, "Come on then, we haven't got all night, Christmas morning is coming and we all know that Santa vanishes back to his workshop when that happens. Well at least I know it and I have a feeling Molly does. Bride, well, you'll see!"
Workship? Bride thinks, blinking a few times and pushing her glasses up her nose. "Oh, I will be fine," she says as she takes the cloak back, although she doesn't put it on right away. "It's so bracing here!" It's chilly where she's from, perhaps, or else all that creepy gothique look isn't just for show.
She follows after the Doctor, perhaps because she's done her chores for the day.
Well, good! At least someone is acclimated to the chill around here. Molly swears, the first thing she's gonna do when she gets home is head straight for the beach. An possibly buzz some tourists in the Rising Star.
So it's a timed thing. Good! Maybe it'll give her a little push, there hasn't been enough adventure in her life lately. "Hey, I don't know crap about evil Santas!" she protests, clapping the Bride on the shoulder. At least the running should finish warming her up. Picking up the pace, she races off (heh) after the Doctor, the chilly wind whistling in her ears.
At that moment, the clocktower at the heart of London chimes, Big Ben tolling out that it's midnight. People flee for their houses, pubs shut their doors and lock them. An eerie silence falls over the heart of the British Empire. Everything is deathly quiet, until the sound of something in the sky can be heard. It sounds like a rocket, like something being propelled by rockets.
The Doctor peers up into the sky and what to his horrified eyes should appear but a rocket-powered sleigh and eight robotic reindeer with a shiny tin driver so metal and thick he knew in a moment twas the evil St. Nick. Across the city his chargers did crash, through the streets and a building and even the trash! "Oh London," the faux Claws spoke with pre-programmed glee, "I've come to judge naughty and nice, oh yes me! And for all of your misdeeds and straying from the path, I delcare thee all naughty, so feel my Yuletide Wrath!" And he reached to his bag, reached deep into his sack then and he pulled forth a flamethrower, grenades and a Mac 10!
Ah, a tolling, deathly clock. It's so peaceful like this, Bride thinks, closing her eyes and enjoying the silence in the filthy city. Like Stygia should be. And -
- and then it's ruined.
Her eyes open and then narrow slightly. Her fingers tighten around the pie tin. There is a pause as she draws her arm back, adjusting her grip on the pie tin. This takes her a few moments as she traces three of the seven sigils of annihilation that she knows in the grease. It's done by touch: she knows no other way to do it.
"So, is that who you are looking for?" she asks, sounding a little throatier. From the cold, perhaps.
...
.......
"Oh, SCREW YOU!" Molly shouts at the apparition of mechanical evil. "What the HELL! Seriously, what kind of idiot brings a giant flying ...sleigh..." Um. "Be right back, okay? Keep him busy," she mumbles, red-faced. Then she runs away. Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Molly!
it should probably be noted that she's not just running away, she's running towards something! Hyde Park, to be specific, and the thick clump of shrubbery doing a piss-poor job of hiding something large, bulky, and tarp-covered. Feet pounding on the snow-covered cobbles, she nearly slips and falls while making the sharp turn through the park's gate a couple of block away.
"Oh, I think it's a safe bet that this is what we are looking for." The Doctor, ignoring the weaponry, walks closer to the Santa-bot, pulling out a pair of wire-frame glasses from his pocket and slipping them onto his face. "Amazing work this, elegant microcircuitry, a genuine personality matrix, even decision making capacity." Looking right up into Santa-bot's face he grins, "You're a beauty you are and that's coming from the hearts! Now, can you tell us WHY we're all supposed to be naughty and thus deserving of death?"
The Santa bot glares out, hoisting the flamethrower in one hand and the Mac-10 with the other. "You and your friends shouldn't be here, you just don't belong, your presence unneeded, your arrival just wrong! For it's Christmas you see and I've a program to run, it's not like I judge them for my own personal fun! I'm just following orders and you know it's true, these people are wicked, their children are too! You've seen the sweatshops, the poorhouses and jails, where children work ninety-nine hours pounding nails. Into shoes for the rich while their own feet go cold. And who profits from this, who profits indeed, it's the rich who grow richer and ignore those in need. As for those who have naughty their sin is their meekness, this system persists because of such weakness. Equality is called for, liberty for the masses and they'll all be the same once I've killed all their asses!" The robot Yuletide spirit locks and loads it's weapons. "Now stand aside trespassers lest ye want to be toast, I've stocking to stuff and bad children to roast!"
"Hm," the Bride says, fingering the rim of the pie tin as she looks at the Satanic Santa Claus, and then towards the Doctor, as Molly has already absented herself.
"He has a point, you know," she says, breath steaming in front of her.
Pulling on the tarp with all her weight, Molly drags the canvas off of her star-racer, the Rising Star. Man, where's Jordan and the superior forepower of the Arrow III when she could really use them?! Oh right, back home where it's warm. Grumble, grumble. Kicking the heavy tarp aside into the bushes, she climbs into the hatch and slings her leg astride the motorcycle-like pilot's seat, tapping buttons on the touch-screen interface. The Rising Star might not be as powerful as their old tandem ship, but it's the only thing standing between London and a giant killer robot!
Molly totally has no idea /who/ she's been drinking with. The engines thrum to life, thrusters firing beneath the twin engines and lifting the small, maneuverable ship into the crisp winter sky.
"But that's where you're wrong," The Doctor says though whether it's just to the homicidal spirit of Christmas or also to The Bride is hard to tell, "You don't belong here. It's way too early for you to exist. These people, these stupid, petty, greedy, short-sighted people, they get better. They have to to build robots like you someday. Kill these people now and you might just negate your own construction. Go home, go back to your own world."
"HO HO HO Doctor!" Santa laughs, his metal belly shaking like bowl full of napalm jelly, "Your logic trick is elegant simple and clever, but destroy my own existence I say bah humbug NEVER! This world isn't mine, it's just one of millions and I can clean it up just by punishing billions. Then onto the next world, then next and the next after that till all of the Naughties are wiped out or stomped flat. You really can't stop me, you just cannot win, for you just bought yourself a quick death with your sin! Trying to fool Santa, you're such a bad liar, so you can stay nice and warm... WHEN I SET YOU ON FIRE!" And the robot points his flamethrower right at the Time Lord before him.
Unsleeping Bride has reconnected.
Bride's hand lifts towards her mouth and her eyes widen as the robot points its flamethrower at the Doctor. "Oh no!" she gasps, with a vigorous motion throughout her entire body.
She makes no move to knock the Doctor out of the way.
Aw, crap. Molly shifts her weight and the Rising Star banks left, diving out of the sky towards Bad Santa and his flamethrower of Doom. She really, really wishes her partner was here. He's a lot better at aiming, for one thing. The target crosshairs on her flight screen blink red as she brings the weapons system online with a thumbed lever on the console, and her thruster flames dim as she lets gravity take over for the most part, giving her ample time to raze the sleigh with a barrage of laser shots set off by a pair of buttons on the steering bars. Of course, a few will hit the street around and beneath him, but meh. You gotta break a few eggs, right?
The lasers from Molly's racer lash out, hitting not the evil Robotic Elf but instead his sleigh, rocking it and making him lose his balance. He falls on his rear, the flamethrower firing up instead of towards the Doctor, who dodges out of the way. One of the robotic reindeer gets hit, exploding into flames and causing the rocket-sleigh to lurch into the sky uncontrollably.
Bride's hand stays over her lush little lips as she looks up at the FLYING THING THAT LEAPS OUT OF NOWHERE to strafe the sleigh. "My goodness!" she declaims, stepping quickly away to avoid being incidentally lasered. The exploding raindeer makes her look back again, and she resists - with difficulty - the urge to applaud!
She then calls to the Doctor, "Are you OK?"
For some reason, Molly finds it very hard to resist the urge to pump her fist and whoop "HEADSHOT!" Later on she will wake up and find Jordan in the common area of their apartment at 4am playing Halo 13.
If it's a robot, is it really murder? Of course, since it's already made its intentions perfectly clear she guesses she really doesn't have to worry that much about the morality of it... maybe she can just keep firing till his weapons are disabled! It's a nice thought, anyway. She jams her feet down onto the pedals and her thrusters blaze to life, rocketing her back into the chilly air, where she circles overhead, peering down at the sleigh through her goggles and her screen's magnification algorhythm. Uh... Molly really wishes she had a loudspeaker or something for a cool one-liner.
Lying on the ground, The Doctor smiles up at The Bride. "Right as rain actually. Thanks to the distraction." His smile fades a bit, "I think you and I need to have a conversation about ethics and the value of life sometime soon. You and I need a chat. Preferrably over tea, maybe with scones, definitely with clotted cream. Are you free next Tuesday?"
Santa rights himself and corrects for the missing deer. "You killed my lead steed, your killed my best deer, now you have old Santa to hide from in fear! Not tonight you see for I need to retire, I've a Donner to replace and some elves to expire. They obviously don't know their heads from their asses, shoddy reindeer construction doesn't result in free passes. Sleep well my dear girl and your alien friends, I'll be back to tan all your hides and rear ends." And he rides out of sight, heading back to the gate but not before calling, "Merry Christmas for now but you'll soon quake in fear, for I'll be back for revenge on Christmas Eve another year!" And he just vanishes, back into the nexus of worlds. Victorian London is safe though, the job is done... for the time being.
The Bride winces briefly as she absorbs another bit of Resonance. Oh, that stings. Of course, this is entirely internal to herself. Good job, Bride: You've just saved thousands of people's lives through inaction!
Well, it could be worse. "Hm?" she says, with a slightly weak smile. "I'm not sure that I follow just what you mean, sir, although of course if you are looking for a place to eat, I am certain we can arrange something."
AWESOME! "Yeah, you better run!" the pilot cheers, taking her racer for a victory loop-de-loop, her signature move -- and her mother's, too. It feels great to have won a small sortie without even taking a hit. Circling around one last time, she dips low enough to give the Doctor and the Bride a cocky salute before rising again, and pressing down the accelerator and rocketing off towards the Gate. Time for a victory toast and some soup!
Rising from the ground, The Doctor just shakes his head. "We'll talk later. Right now, I have to... um... run a coordinate sweep of all the possible planes our Robot Kirs Kringle might have gone to. We can rule our any world without a December 24th on their Calender for his programming forbids him to attack on any other day. Hmmmmm, might rule out worlds without a Christmas as well. Means you world is safe at least." Talking to himself, The Doctor wanders back to his time machine.
WHERE: Victorian London
WHEN: Christmas Eve, in London
WHAT: The evil Robot Santa has London in a fierce grip of terror! Who, oh who can save them?! Well, first they have to find him-- oh, there he is. Crap.
Good Queen Vic-toria looked down from her palace Windsor, down upon the snowy ground, which to her was sin-ster. Brightly shone the moon that night, though the wind was searing, when a blue box suddenly just began appe~earing! The front door did swing real wide, and a man did exit! Dressed in coat of brown and suit looking quite the Misfit! Looking bout the man did smile and look up heav'nward, sticking forth his sensitive tongue, sampling snow most downward. Frowning he did cough a bit, for the snow was bitter, laced with carbon, soot and ash from the fact'ry litter. Closing up his odd machine, he did turn about, when a light did catch his eye, before being snuffed out!
Where Unsleeping Bride is from, there is no Christmas. She is from a completely different Tim Burton movie.
She has come here with a list written on a piece of gray papyrus which she has steadily checked as finished with tiny dainty red marks. She has left the enormous hammer at home, in favor of a sack slung over her shoulder. While she does stand out if you look closely, of course, she is dressed in modest black. Why would someone look twice?
She looks twice, of course, pausing at the appearance of a blue box and pushing her glasses up her nose.
What do you know, it's a Molly! Her clothing is hardly Victorian in nature, simply a heavy sheepskin coat over her normal clothing, but a thick woolen hat is jammed down over her brightly-colored hair to leave only the black tips showing. If it weren't for the sneakers and facial tattoos, she might pass easily for a working-class Joe, at least until someone gets close enough to notice the whole red-eyes thing. It's not a big deal though, folks out on the street have better things to do than stare at some person wandering down the city streets, staring in through shop windows at the decorations put up for the holiday seasons. Things such as... a blue telephone booth settling down on the snowy lawn.
Pulling her gloves hands out of her coat pockets, she rubs them together briskly and steps nearer to the door of a restaurant from which the smell of sweet, spiced cider wafts.
Oh here he goes a wandering, among the fields so white, oh here he goes a wandering, throughout the darkened night. The Doctor smells some ale or perhaps a swill-filled pail but his stomach does rumble so on he goes as well, to the restaraunt or tavern where Molly has chose to dwell, and where he goes comes trouble true as true is any tale! So beware and God keep you for now the story starts!
Pushing his way into the quaint, Victorian tavern (and leaving his ryhming Caroling typist behind) the Time Lord makes his way to the bar and takes a seat. "A cuppa if you'd be so kind," he says to the round-faced young woman behind the bar who is so round all over she might just have been the inspiration for the sign hanging above the outer door pronouncing this to be the 'Sow's Souse House' with it's picture of a buxom, anthropomorphized pig serving drinks. He scans the crowd, looking for anyone out of place... aside from hiself of course.
Bride looks over from the strange box to the tavern in question. She wrinkles her nose, and follows afterwards.
It smells QUITE lively, and this is the sort of place she enjoys. She whistles something tunelessly as she looks at the colorful figure who is not so far away. Molly can hide from mere mortals, but she has those glasses to help her see more sharply.
She holds the door open, politely enough, for people who come after her. Also, it lets the familiar, cold air in, perhaps to give people deathly colds. You have to do your bit however you can, after all.
Mmm, the blast of warm air in her face when she walks through the door is wonderful and immediately gratifying. She loosens the top buttons of her coat, but Molly doesn't yet remove her hat. Taking a good, inquisitive look about, the young woman makes her way past the cheery locals to the bar, where she cops a seat and bellies-up to the counter. "What's that sweet-smelling stuff, cider?" she asks the barmaid when the latter has a free moment, after handing the good Doctor his cup. "I'd like some, please."
For her part, the maid stares a bit at Molly's tattoos before going off to get a tall mug of steaming wassail, eyeing her like someone from the sideshow. Funny, they weren't such a big deal most places... maybe things were more different back in the Olden Days than she was led to believe or something.
Making note of Molly and he discinctive tattoos, the Doctor takes his cup of tea (leaving two rather odd looking gold coins from the planet Clom behind in payment) and makes his way over to her table. "Good evening, I couldn't help but notice that I'm not the only person who looks a bit out of place and perhaps out of proper date in here tonight. And believe me, it's not often I get to say that to someone I didn't bring with me."
Then, the door swings open and lets in the cold, cold air from outside. The rotund barmaid hollers, "Eh! Shut the bloody door afer a body catches 'er death o' cold! Wha, were ye birthed in a barn!?" The Doctor just ignores the chill, takes a bit more then a blast of London air in Decemeber to chill him.
Bride lets the door close.
Bride smiles with a quirked eyebrow and calls towards the barmaid with a wave of one hand, "Oh I'm sor~ry," in a voice with a faint hint of sing-song. "Could you send me a meat pie?" She then jingles the purse a bit, which appears to contain Money, or at least, something that sounds like it.
Then she steps towards the table with the two people at it, sitting down without an invitation and resting her elbows on it. Her hands fold together and she sets her chin on her laced fingers.
She doesn't say anything right away, although she DOES smile.
Eh, much better. Molly turns to look up at the Doctor, nodding for him to have a seat and nudging the chair back for him with the toe of her shoe. "Heh, do I really look that out of place?" she grins wryly, pushing her cap back a bit. "I'm not from around here, so it's not surprising." The portly young lady brings over her mug and Molly hands over a few shiny silver coins. Yay, exchange rates! She has no clue just how many pounds she overpaid by, but thinks its enough to get something to eat. "Can I have whatever's good to eat, too?" Really, she's not that picky.
The young woman leans back in her seat, cheeks glowing from the warmth she's soaking up, and looks pretty pleased with herself. "Where're you from?" Or when, she doesn't bother adding. Seems she's not the only traveler here tonight. She looks over at the young woman joining them, and leans upright again. "Friend of yours?"
"Not really," The Doctor replies to the last question first, offering the oddly silent young woman who just joined them a rather bright smile. "I'm The Doctor, it's nice to meet the both of you. I think I'll join you in a meat pie. Or, well, what I meant to say was, I'll have a meat pie as well. Nothing like a bit of meat baked into a pie on a chilly Christmas Eve." His words are met with a hearty 'Here Here' from some of the more coherent patrons.
"As to where I am from, weeeeell," he drags out the word, tapping his fingers against his chin, "That's a rather long story and I don't think we have the 40 or so years it would take me to rattle it all out just tonight. Besides, it's almost Christmas and who has time to worry about the past? Well, aside from Ebeneezer Scrooge."
Bride extends a pale and chilly hand along with a brilliant smile, more or less towards the others. Who will grab it first? IS IT CURSED?
Then she says, "Ahhh, you must forgive me, for I am from somewhere so very far away, but what IS this Christmas you speak of? I've heard it mentioned in passing, oh so many times!" She also smiles at Molly again, before raising her other hand to gesture for THREE meat pies. Perhaps Molly's already got the tab covered.
Removing her gloves and tucking them into the large pockets of her coat, Molly wraps her hands around the steaming mug of wassail and lifts it experimentally to her lips. Just because it SMELLS good... It's hot and spiced-sweet though, and warms her to the core. She takes another gulp, feeling that delicious warmth spread through her bones. Mmmmm <3.
"I... see." She lifts an eyebrow at the Doctor over the lip of her mug before setting it down with a dull clink. "I'm Molly. Nice to meet you both." Maybe this Victorian thing isn't so bad after all! "...You can put meat into pie?" she realizes, blinking. Internally, she pictures a pretty, flaky pie crust... that lifts open on top to reveal a whole, cooked steak. . o (?) "And Christmas is like a holiday, where you put up a tree with shiny things on, and string up lamps, and spend time with your family before you decide you never want to see them again because they're all annoying gits." Oh, and there was something about a baby Jesus too, but she always forgets how that goes.
The Doctor reaches out and shakes Bride's hand, his own is rather cold as well considering his normal body temperature hovers around 20 or 30 degrees colder then a human's. "Molly got the more immediate details more or less correct but Christmas is actually a Christian holiday grafted right on top of an old pagan holiday that used to celebrate the birth of the god Mithras, slayer of the demon bull. Now it more or less celebrates the birth of a man they call the Christ. Yeshua was his given name in Hebrew but it got corrupted over the years to become Jesus. Bad translations and all, you know how it can be. Mind you, King James didn't help one bit with his version of events but that's neither here nor there. Suffice it to say for adults Christmas is about parties and getting drunk off a beverage made from alcohol, milk, eggs and nutmeg with lots of sugar dumped in for good measure, regretting inviting your relatives over and spending lots of money. For children, it's more or less about waiting for Father Christmas to bring them a sackload of goodies."
The entire tavern goes silent when he mentions Father Christmas and the barmaid drops her serving tray, splattering three pies filled with meat, gravy, potatoes, carrots and the like all over the floor. "What?" The Doctor asks, looking around, "Was it something I said?"
Bride blinks a few times, and then looks towards the dropped pies. She briefly considers pulling out a steak knife and unzipping the barmaid's front as a way to demonstrate that service must be of the highest quality...
But, nah. She looks at the Doctor and says with a small smile, "I suppose that they are waiting until their father gets home?"
"...Eggnog?" Ohhh, Molly likes that. Especially with a pinch of Koji's liquor stash in it. It really helps chase the cold (and makes her father a little easier to deal with when he's in one of his 'moods'). "THAT's good stuff." Finally, something she does know a little bit about. She's in mid-sip when the bar goes silent and the clatter of a wooden tray makes her cringe. She looks over at the barmaid, and then gives the rest of the patrons a once-over. "...What?" she scowls, giving everybody the stink-eye and a flash of what might be fangs. Nah, it's probably just a trick of her animation team.
While everyone else looks around, the barmaid points to the door and screams. "Get out! Your bloody well get out of me bar you three or you'll bring 'im down atop of us! No one mentions The Claws and stays in me bar! Get out or I'll bloody well flog ye to within' an inch o' yer bloody lives! I means it to!" She grabs a broom from behind the bar and motions with it threateningly.
The Doctor mouths the words 'The Claws' as he gets up and lifts his hands, palms forward, in surrender. "My apologies for mentioning well, You Know Who, I'll just be going then." He heads for the door, but turns before leaving, "Who's The Claws anyway?"
"You bloody well know, ye just mentioned 'im. Bloody Father Christmas!" And she tosses one of the pie tins right at the Time Lord's head, missing but spattering remnants of gravy across his face.
tink
Bride catches the pie tin. She stands up and pushes her glasses up her nose with the free hand, saying in a rather playful tone, "Oh, you are MOST generous and kind and sympathetic to such poor travellers on a cold winter's night! I am sure we shall meet again some time very soon!" She then steps towards the door, tugging it open to let all the cold air in, quite deliberately.
She also makes little 'come on' gestures with the pie tin, towards the doorway, and makes no effort to give the pie tin back.
Hooo. With an angry scowl, Molly shoves her chair back rudely as she stands, knocking the back of it into another patron's chair. She rips off her hat and lets the light catch the blood-red hue dyed into it. Did people have hairdye that wasn't herbal back in Victorian London? Who knows? But intimidation tactics shall be used to see if they have an effect. "Fine. But if I'm not getting any food I'd appreciate getting my extra money back." She's not made of the stuff, y'know!
THEN, she'll leave along with the others and go get food from someplace that isn't so superstitious!
|OOC| Molly says, "Man, I don't want to get in a brawl with her. My motto has always been, Fat chicks fight dirty."
|OOC| Unsleeping Bride says, "Well I can always use my cheap RPG tricks to cut her in half with the hurled pie tin!"
|OOC| Molly says, "Stunt bonus!"
The fat barmaid tosses the money back and just shoos the trio back into the cold night. Outside, The Doctor stands there, dabbing at gravy on his face with a hanky. "That's odd. Father Christmas was always such a pleasant tale. And they shouldn't even call him by that name here, not yet. I don't think the name Santa Claus was in general use until much later. St. Nicholas sure, though he bears little resemblance at all to the 12th Century Bishop of Turkey but Santa Claus, not possible. Well, not possible before the gates opened up at least. Who knows what kind of cross-dimensional, cross-temporal, cross- cultural contamination has slipped through. Present company excepted of course."
Unfortunately, Bride does not see a clear way with which to use the pie tin to kill the barmaid without being a bit too showy for her tastes. Oh well; she can come back later.
"This all sounds wonderfully complex!" she says, before looking to Molly solicitiously. "Are you uncomfortable in this cold?" Then back to the Doctor: "So, may I ask, what is the nature of your craft?"
She's still disgruntled about the whole thing, but at least she can buy something else now! "I wonder what the deal is. Maybe they've got some kind of weirdo freaky Evil Claus here, that came through the Gates and terrorizes them nightly." That's like the only explanation! And please, nobody ever let Jordan know she came up with a conspiracy theory. The universe would implode under the weight of his 'I told you so'.
"...A little," she replies, jamming her hat back down to pevent any more of her precious body heat from escaping. "It's a lot colder here than back home." Something about global warming, or maybe it's just because she's still wearing that cut-off tee under her winter coat. She'd better write a thank-you to whoever gave it to her, it came in handy after all. "How about you? You seem really comfortable in it. I don't think I ever got your name, either...?"
The Doctor wanders back and forth, trying to work things out when Molly comes up with her idea. "That's it! Somehow, they've gotten some kind of evil Santa Claus here. But which one? There've been so many. It could be one of the Pilot Fish Santas that wandered about with the Sycorax. Oh, or it could be a psycho-killer with an axe in a Santa suit... or was that just a video nasty? Hmmmmmm, we'll have to find this Faux Claus and put a stop to it or Christmas, the future of Christmas as we know it might be totally altered." He catches the last bit and turns to the Bride. "What is your name, never did catch it."
"The Bride," says Bride, with a warm smile. "And yourself?"
She also shrugs easily out of her robe. Underneath it she is wearing a shirt (and what looks like something metal beneath it!) along with a pair of loose pants, so she is not completely naked. She then puts the heavy robe, which smells faintly like it's been buried and then carefully cleaned but not all the way, over Molly's shoulders. Aw!
She shivers for a moment at the gathered Resonance, and then pushes a lock of hair back. "Or, if you like it better, Song Bird. So what do you propose we do to this Santa?" She still has the pie tin.
She draws the cloak together in front of herself, slipping her gloves back on beneath it. The smell doesn't seem to bother her greatly, though she raises an eyebrow and sniffs unobtrusively. Hmm, smells like the ruins underneath the temple on Alwas. It's not unfamiliar anyway. "Thanks, but won't you freeze like that?" She shrugs the cloak off and folds it loosely, offering it back to the Bride. "I'm not that cold, really. A little action will get the old blood flowing, y'know?" Please take it back, you look really cold even if you're not feeling it. "So what do we do, anyhow? I mean, do we call the IPA or start hunting for clues?" She's new to this whole 'working for the intergalactic police' thing. "
"We look for clues." The Doctor begins, stalking off in a seemingly random direction. "No need getting the IPA involved unless we have to. Amateurs, that's what they are, mucking about in the various dimensions, bouncing back and forth from one world to another to offer their 'help' and assistance. Reminds me of home in the old days and I'm not letting that ever happen again." He gets a head of the two girls and turns, "Come on then, we haven't got all night, Christmas morning is coming and we all know that Santa vanishes back to his workshop when that happens. Well at least I know it and I have a feeling Molly does. Bride, well, you'll see!"
Workship? Bride thinks, blinking a few times and pushing her glasses up her nose. "Oh, I will be fine," she says as she takes the cloak back, although she doesn't put it on right away. "It's so bracing here!" It's chilly where she's from, perhaps, or else all that creepy gothique look isn't just for show.
She follows after the Doctor, perhaps because she's done her chores for the day.
Well, good! At least someone is acclimated to the chill around here. Molly swears, the first thing she's gonna do when she gets home is head straight for the beach. An possibly buzz some tourists in the Rising Star.
So it's a timed thing. Good! Maybe it'll give her a little push, there hasn't been enough adventure in her life lately. "Hey, I don't know crap about evil Santas!" she protests, clapping the Bride on the shoulder. At least the running should finish warming her up. Picking up the pace, she races off (heh) after the Doctor, the chilly wind whistling in her ears.
At that moment, the clocktower at the heart of London chimes, Big Ben tolling out that it's midnight. People flee for their houses, pubs shut their doors and lock them. An eerie silence falls over the heart of the British Empire. Everything is deathly quiet, until the sound of something in the sky can be heard. It sounds like a rocket, like something being propelled by rockets.
The Doctor peers up into the sky and what to his horrified eyes should appear but a rocket-powered sleigh and eight robotic reindeer with a shiny tin driver so metal and thick he knew in a moment twas the evil St. Nick. Across the city his chargers did crash, through the streets and a building and even the trash! "Oh London," the faux Claws spoke with pre-programmed glee, "I've come to judge naughty and nice, oh yes me! And for all of your misdeeds and straying from the path, I delcare thee all naughty, so feel my Yuletide Wrath!" And he reached to his bag, reached deep into his sack then and he pulled forth a flamethrower, grenades and a Mac 10!
Ah, a tolling, deathly clock. It's so peaceful like this, Bride thinks, closing her eyes and enjoying the silence in the filthy city. Like Stygia should be. And -
- and then it's ruined.
Her eyes open and then narrow slightly. Her fingers tighten around the pie tin. There is a pause as she draws her arm back, adjusting her grip on the pie tin. This takes her a few moments as she traces three of the seven sigils of annihilation that she knows in the grease. It's done by touch: she knows no other way to do it.
"So, is that who you are looking for?" she asks, sounding a little throatier. From the cold, perhaps.
...
.......
"Oh, SCREW YOU!" Molly shouts at the apparition of mechanical evil. "What the HELL! Seriously, what kind of idiot brings a giant flying ...sleigh..." Um. "Be right back, okay? Keep him busy," she mumbles, red-faced. Then she runs away. Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Molly!
it should probably be noted that she's not just running away, she's running towards something! Hyde Park, to be specific, and the thick clump of shrubbery doing a piss-poor job of hiding something large, bulky, and tarp-covered. Feet pounding on the snow-covered cobbles, she nearly slips and falls while making the sharp turn through the park's gate a couple of block away.
"Oh, I think it's a safe bet that this is what we are looking for." The Doctor, ignoring the weaponry, walks closer to the Santa-bot, pulling out a pair of wire-frame glasses from his pocket and slipping them onto his face. "Amazing work this, elegant microcircuitry, a genuine personality matrix, even decision making capacity." Looking right up into Santa-bot's face he grins, "You're a beauty you are and that's coming from the hearts! Now, can you tell us WHY we're all supposed to be naughty and thus deserving of death?"
The Santa bot glares out, hoisting the flamethrower in one hand and the Mac-10 with the other. "You and your friends shouldn't be here, you just don't belong, your presence unneeded, your arrival just wrong! For it's Christmas you see and I've a program to run, it's not like I judge them for my own personal fun! I'm just following orders and you know it's true, these people are wicked, their children are too! You've seen the sweatshops, the poorhouses and jails, where children work ninety-nine hours pounding nails. Into shoes for the rich while their own feet go cold. And who profits from this, who profits indeed, it's the rich who grow richer and ignore those in need. As for those who have naughty their sin is their meekness, this system persists because of such weakness. Equality is called for, liberty for the masses and they'll all be the same once I've killed all their asses!" The robot Yuletide spirit locks and loads it's weapons. "Now stand aside trespassers lest ye want to be toast, I've stocking to stuff and bad children to roast!"
"Hm," the Bride says, fingering the rim of the pie tin as she looks at the Satanic Santa Claus, and then towards the Doctor, as Molly has already absented herself.
"He has a point, you know," she says, breath steaming in front of her.
Pulling on the tarp with all her weight, Molly drags the canvas off of her star-racer, the Rising Star. Man, where's Jordan and the superior forepower of the Arrow III when she could really use them?! Oh right, back home where it's warm. Grumble, grumble. Kicking the heavy tarp aside into the bushes, she climbs into the hatch and slings her leg astride the motorcycle-like pilot's seat, tapping buttons on the touch-screen interface. The Rising Star might not be as powerful as their old tandem ship, but it's the only thing standing between London and a giant killer robot!
Molly totally has no idea /who/ she's been drinking with. The engines thrum to life, thrusters firing beneath the twin engines and lifting the small, maneuverable ship into the crisp winter sky.
"But that's where you're wrong," The Doctor says though whether it's just to the homicidal spirit of Christmas or also to The Bride is hard to tell, "You don't belong here. It's way too early for you to exist. These people, these stupid, petty, greedy, short-sighted people, they get better. They have to to build robots like you someday. Kill these people now and you might just negate your own construction. Go home, go back to your own world."
"HO HO HO Doctor!" Santa laughs, his metal belly shaking like bowl full of napalm jelly, "Your logic trick is elegant simple and clever, but destroy my own existence I say bah humbug NEVER! This world isn't mine, it's just one of millions and I can clean it up just by punishing billions. Then onto the next world, then next and the next after that till all of the Naughties are wiped out or stomped flat. You really can't stop me, you just cannot win, for you just bought yourself a quick death with your sin! Trying to fool Santa, you're such a bad liar, so you can stay nice and warm... WHEN I SET YOU ON FIRE!" And the robot points his flamethrower right at the Time Lord before him.
Unsleeping Bride has reconnected.
Bride's hand lifts towards her mouth and her eyes widen as the robot points its flamethrower at the Doctor. "Oh no!" she gasps, with a vigorous motion throughout her entire body.
She makes no move to knock the Doctor out of the way.
Aw, crap. Molly shifts her weight and the Rising Star banks left, diving out of the sky towards Bad Santa and his flamethrower of Doom. She really, really wishes her partner was here. He's a lot better at aiming, for one thing. The target crosshairs on her flight screen blink red as she brings the weapons system online with a thumbed lever on the console, and her thruster flames dim as she lets gravity take over for the most part, giving her ample time to raze the sleigh with a barrage of laser shots set off by a pair of buttons on the steering bars. Of course, a few will hit the street around and beneath him, but meh. You gotta break a few eggs, right?
The lasers from Molly's racer lash out, hitting not the evil Robotic Elf but instead his sleigh, rocking it and making him lose his balance. He falls on his rear, the flamethrower firing up instead of towards the Doctor, who dodges out of the way. One of the robotic reindeer gets hit, exploding into flames and causing the rocket-sleigh to lurch into the sky uncontrollably.
Bride's hand stays over her lush little lips as she looks up at the FLYING THING THAT LEAPS OUT OF NOWHERE to strafe the sleigh. "My goodness!" she declaims, stepping quickly away to avoid being incidentally lasered. The exploding raindeer makes her look back again, and she resists - with difficulty - the urge to applaud!
She then calls to the Doctor, "Are you OK?"
For some reason, Molly finds it very hard to resist the urge to pump her fist and whoop "HEADSHOT!" Later on she will wake up and find Jordan in the common area of their apartment at 4am playing Halo 13.
If it's a robot, is it really murder? Of course, since it's already made its intentions perfectly clear she guesses she really doesn't have to worry that much about the morality of it... maybe she can just keep firing till his weapons are disabled! It's a nice thought, anyway. She jams her feet down onto the pedals and her thrusters blaze to life, rocketing her back into the chilly air, where she circles overhead, peering down at the sleigh through her goggles and her screen's magnification algorhythm. Uh... Molly really wishes she had a loudspeaker or something for a cool one-liner.
Lying on the ground, The Doctor smiles up at The Bride. "Right as rain actually. Thanks to the distraction." His smile fades a bit, "I think you and I need to have a conversation about ethics and the value of life sometime soon. You and I need a chat. Preferrably over tea, maybe with scones, definitely with clotted cream. Are you free next Tuesday?"
Santa rights himself and corrects for the missing deer. "You killed my lead steed, your killed my best deer, now you have old Santa to hide from in fear! Not tonight you see for I need to retire, I've a Donner to replace and some elves to expire. They obviously don't know their heads from their asses, shoddy reindeer construction doesn't result in free passes. Sleep well my dear girl and your alien friends, I'll be back to tan all your hides and rear ends." And he rides out of sight, heading back to the gate but not before calling, "Merry Christmas for now but you'll soon quake in fear, for I'll be back for revenge on Christmas Eve another year!" And he just vanishes, back into the nexus of worlds. Victorian London is safe though, the job is done... for the time being.
The Bride winces briefly as she absorbs another bit of Resonance. Oh, that stings. Of course, this is entirely internal to herself. Good job, Bride: You've just saved thousands of people's lives through inaction!
Well, it could be worse. "Hm?" she says, with a slightly weak smile. "I'm not sure that I follow just what you mean, sir, although of course if you are looking for a place to eat, I am certain we can arrange something."
AWESOME! "Yeah, you better run!" the pilot cheers, taking her racer for a victory loop-de-loop, her signature move -- and her mother's, too. It feels great to have won a small sortie without even taking a hit. Circling around one last time, she dips low enough to give the Doctor and the Bride a cocky salute before rising again, and pressing down the accelerator and rocketing off towards the Gate. Time for a victory toast and some soup!
Rising from the ground, The Doctor just shakes his head. "We'll talk later. Right now, I have to... um... run a coordinate sweep of all the possible planes our Robot Kirs Kringle might have gone to. We can rule our any world without a December 24th on their Calender for his programming forbids him to attack on any other day. Hmmmmm, might rule out worlds without a Christmas as well. Means you world is safe at least." Talking to himself, The Doctor wanders back to his time machine.