Journal Entry #531: Meeting Rose Tyler
Because this was written before LKH, so in this world River was raised by the Doctor.
Today I met a rather fascinating creature at a friend of Charlotte’s costume parties. You know Charlotte, right? Tall, scales, fantastic taste in wine. Well, I suppose you’d not know her, considering you’re a book. But, for all intents and purposes, I’m supposed to treat this book like, well, a you, so there you have it.
I was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood because when I was a little girl, the Doctor liked telling me that story the best.
Anyway, the Doctor was meant to show up, but apparently he got the century wrong. Again. Honestly, the man’s got the greatest ship in the universe (and apparently, universes, but I’ll get to that later) and he lands it in 5136 instead of 5036. And then decides to hang around for tea and biscuits.
I mean, I wear my fuck-me boots, just in case, and what do I get?
A honey-eyed blonde in purple satin and a small revolver. She said her big guns didn’t fit between her legs, and that she wasn’t really the Marquise de Lupei, as she whipped out a wallet and showed me the psychic paper hidden inside it. But only after she recognized me.
Finally, a professional.
I knew she was a time traveler in addition to a clever and hot badass when she refused to tell me her name.
“It could change a whole causal nexus,” she said, with her tongue between her teeth and eyes twinkling like she knew I’d know what that meant. I nearly creamed my knickers.
… I reallllly hope the Doctor never gets a chance to read you.
She slipped up, though. We spent a while together. She called me River without my having introduced myself. With some coercion, she told me the basics. And I mean basics. Apparently, she:
- traveled with the Doctor while he was in his ninth and tenth regenerations (she called them the leather jacket and pinstripes periods).
- was forcibly separated from him after nearly three years together.
- has met a later, older me several times before.
Now, for some inferences. Excuse the lack of scientific method here, but honestly, we both know how good my instincts are.
- The Doctor’s ninth form came directly after the Time War, and he only had one female companion in that body, from what little he’s told me thus far. So if he’s being honest with me (and God only knows with that man) and she’s not some body snatcher or shape-shifter, the woman I met today is Rose. The Doctor’s Rose. The Stuff of Legend.
- She’s slept with my future self. Multiple times and in multiple times, by the familiar way with which she sometimes spoke to me. Must be dreadful meeting someone you care about before they’ve met you.
- She’s still completely and utterly in love with her Doctor (my Doctor’s past self) although it seems as if she’s been on the odd adventure with my Doctor (from her flushed cheeks, perhaps a tryst?)
- She’s been traveling between dimensions for oh, such a long time.
So we had a couple of laughs in the conservatory, and then, she got into a bit of a situation.
Or rather, the marquise from whom her psychic paper borrowed Rose’s identity ended up actually arriving at the party. So, having found out the impostor, the chase was on! I took her hand (because a friend of the Doctor’s is a friend of mine, especially if she’s his Rose) and we ran out the door, through the cherry blossoms, around the garden and finally past the gates, into the great beyond like a couple of primped bats out of a fairy tale hell.
When I say the great beyond, I mean the middle of absolutely nowhere. And I couldn’t call for the Doctor, what with Rose being Rose. So we walked from the middle of abso-fucking-lutely nowhere to my parole officer’s place in London. Somewhere along the way, I forgot her hand was in mine.
She realized she lost her gun just before she made the jump back to her universe. “Must’ve dropped it when we made a run for it back at the party. Lucky for us, we didn’t stumble into a bear or something,” she joked as she pressed the button in her hand. “You’ll see me soon,” she added with a smile when I tried to say goodbye.
I told her the same, but her eyes darkened slightly. “I hope so,” she replied before this great light flashed and she was gone.
So now I’m back behind bars, since apparently, breaking out of prison is counterproductive to the process of justice and all that is good and right. The guards never really put up a fight, though.
Maybe what we call justice isn’t always good or right. And maybe cell walls exist to be broken. Preferably with a cannon that can rip through dimensions with a flash of blindingly bright light.
Here’s to next time, Rose Tyler.