He's Fire And Ice And Rage

FOR THE DRABBLE MEME.

• The summer air was heavy and sweet
You and I on a crowded street
There was music everywhere, I can see us there
In a happy little foreign town
Where the stars hung upside down
A half a world away, far far away
I remember you were laughing
We were so in love, we were so in love

And the band played song's that we'd never heard
But we danced anyway •


"Oh, come on, Doctor, you have to admit this is great," Rose says. She tucks herself next to him, pressing her hand against the tight leather coat covering his crossed arms.

"I didn't say it wasn't good, I just think that parties celebrating the death of another species aren't ones I want to go to."

They'd landed on Yettico Prime earlier that day. The air was thick with perfumed flowers and a heavy atmosphere. It might've even been too heavy to stay, but Jack, being himself, managed to find a brilliant party on the other end of the mountain (right after Rose, being herself, managed to stumble into a number of dangerous men that they had to run from). And now, standing on this illuminated rock face as the twin suns set, it really was lovely.

Not that the Doctor would admit it. It was something one of the men had said, about how the party tonight was a celebration of the destruction of Gallifrey and the end of the Tyrrany. The Tyrrany of the Time Lords, not that Jack and Rose realized that.

"You could at least try to have fun," Rose pleaded.

"Nah, forget about him, Rose, let's dance." Jack reaches out a hand for her, giving her one of his widest grins. He shot a quick look to the Doctor, and then pointedly nodded before taking Rose out onto the part of the dance floor that had been cleared away.

Jack is cleverer than he lets on, it's one of the reasons the Doctor likes him so much, despite everything. Maybe he saw how that man's words affected the Doctor. Jack nods again, looking to the Doctor, and then to something behind him. Or, maybe he just noticed something the Doctor needs to take care of.

Following where Jack had nodded, the Doctor turns around. Standing off in the corner is a woman he hadn't noticed before. Petite, with long, blonde hair. She has her eyes fixed to him, though she stays just on the edge of the party. It's impossible. She can't be standing there, looking at him the way she is.

Before he realizes it, his feet have taken him towards her, until he's only a few feet away.

"Romana," he breathes. "That's impossible, you can't---"

"There isn't any time," she says. "Just listen to me, please."

"You can't be alive," he insists. He's grieved for so long over this, it's impossible, she can't---

"I'm not," she agrees. "This is all just a folded moment of time. Because I have to warn you, Doctor."

"Warn me?" he asks, shaking his head. "Warn me about what? Romana, you're alive!"

She sighs in a way that is utterly familiar to him. So put upon, so frustrated by his inability to listen. He thinks he might remain stubborn, just to watch her make that face again. Just to revel in the familiarity of it.

"You don't believe in prophecies," she says. "But someone will make a prophecy about knocking. Not now, not in this life, but soon. You have to listen to that. The fate of everyone depends on that."

"No one believes in prophecies except the High Council," he says, remaining stubborn for as long as he can.

She doesn't grant him with another one of those irritated expressions, she just looks sad. "Live," she says. "For me, would you?"

He drops the stubborn act and moves right into desperate. She's here, now, she can't go. Not yet.

"Romana, don't---"

"And stop feeling sorry for yourself." She snorts in irritation, and then, like a crease shaken out of a shirt, she vanishes.

He's not sure how long he stands there, staring at the place in front of him where Romana stood. Long enough, because before he's entirely sure what happened, Jack's hand is on his shoulder. He's shooed a curious Rose off to find them something to drink.

"Who was she?" he asks.

No answer is really sufficient. The Doctor takes in a breath and does as Romana asked; he pushes away his self-pity. He doesn't understand what she meant, and he doesn't know what prophecy she's talking about, but one day he will. And today, he'll live. Like she asked.

"A friend," he says. "Just a friend."

Muse: The Doctor (Nine)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 719

at once.

Though I am disinclined to believe the nonsensedidn't believe them one bitanything that young man was spouting, I had no choice but to follow him. When trapped in a situation such as myself, ChesterderIan, and Susan were in, one has no choice but to accept the "kindness" of strangersenemies.

While Susan and I continued to stay strong despite the dire circumstancesthe thrilling and death defying circumstances, it was the young man ChestermanIan that fell into despair. Believing that young womanBarbara had been killed affectedeffectedaffectedeffectedupset him in a way that I have never seen before. It's obvious now to me, later in life, that he was in love with her. Even later in life, it's obvious why he never moved forward. I wonder if he regrets it.

All the same, by terrifying and dangerous swordpoint we were led into the diamond-crusted(it was not diamond-crusted!)castle. I took note of the wall structure, oozing with alien mucous and how decidedly human the entire place appeared , even if I was the only one noticing, brilliant as I am. The architecture, the furniture, even the clothes (despite their obvious lack of sartorial taste) on the monstrocitiesmonstrosities that had imprisoned us. Not imprisoned exactly, more held at a rather nasty swordpoint and forced about in a direction we didn't exactly want to go. Which is sort of like being imprisoned. Actually, it's the very definition of being imprisoned. Though if you go by the classical definition of being imprisoned, and I'm looking at you, me in my third incarnation, well, then you're left with a much more confusing outcome of this entire situation. In fact, one might say that whether or not we were even imprisoned is really...I'm not entirely certain where I'm going with this, moving on!

But of course they hadn't killed that young womanBarbara, they wanted to be like us! It was so painfully obvious, though I could not tell ChestermoorIan or Susan what I hadfigured out.

I often find myself in situations where my intellect far outshines those around me.

Moving onwards along to certain undeniable doom , which is not to be confused with other types of doom we were led down through a series of corridors (why is it always corridors?) to a large antechamber (why is it always large antechambers?).

"Good evening," a creature said, his voice a menacing roar. I could feel a chill to my bones, like the creaking of an old door (That doesn't make any sense!)

Sitting on a large, glass throne was a slimy, green, obviously evil monster more terrifying than anything I had ever seen. Until my second incarnation Until my third incarnation Until my fourth incarnation Until my fifth incarnation Until my sixth incarnation No, I'm fairly certain my seventh incarnation saw scarier things. Until my eighth, and most attractive incarnation. Until my ninth and best dressed (not to mention best looking incarnation. Until the bravest, best-haired, best-dressed and most brilliant incarnation of all, the tenth. (And don't even think about striking this out, next Doctor!)

Muse: The Doctor (One)(Two)(Three)(Four)(Five)(Six)(Seven)(Eight)(Nine)(Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 550

The writer for ninewho and I got to talking and we decided to tackle this prompt from writers_muses: And what are stories, but different ways with which we tell the truth?

We decided to write the same series of events from our own Doctor's point of view. This is Ten's version.

---

Did I say it isn't my fault? Cause it really, really isn't my fault. You know me, Yates. You know the way I was, right? Course you do! You know I wouldn't lie about this!

(  This is how it started. I was out with my other self, the bloke in the other room with the ears and leather jacket? )

Even if you don't believe me, you can always ask my other self. I'm sure he'll tell you the exact same thing.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,385
Special thanks to ninewho for providing the other half of this story!

There is no middle ground for you. Things are or they aren't. They're good or they're evil. You're with or you're without.

Right now, you are most certainly without.

She's gone. The last you saw her she was winding her way through people in the 1930's, heading back to her own life, slipping away from you like a child in the fairground. Strong and self-assured, never needing to seek out the hand that guides. She knew her own way and she went it.

You imagine she must've waited a long time for you in Rome, in that place you promised but knew you wouldn't go to. You imagine her crying, imagine cradling her in your arms---the way it was before, when you were with---and you imagine how much you hated that man---that man you are now---for hurting her.

(  These are the things you have done. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,624
Based on roleplay with decadentmind and ninewho

Location: Cardiff, Wales.
Year: 2006ish (has yet to check the specific date)
Current Specifics: Barling Brandos Bar, North Street
Imbibed: Three glasses of wine, two shots of something some woman offered him.
Status: Rather inebriated

The Doctor lounged quite comfortably against the coushy chair of the booth where he was seated. Why had he decided to come bar hopping? Well, when you're a lonely traveler and your crew is a bit out of whack, occasionally it's far from a bad thing to just relax somewhere where none of them would think to find you.

That would be a bar.

Because the Doctor, the great and WONDERFUL Doctor, Oncoming Storm, Ka Faraq Gatri and all that, he would never go to a bar.

And yet, there he was.

Brilliant.