Crimson Memories – Chapter Three

[ The story continues… Trigger warning ]

In the grip of fear..


I wanted the safety of that escape route. As I bolted for it I felt a breeze and saw a dark blur in front of me before landing harshly against someone and feeling my hands gripped tightly as the door shut.

My heart never pounded quicker as I gasped and glared up at the one gripping my hands so tight I thought they would snap. I must have looked pathetic with my dark tanned skin almost pale as a ghost. Eyes wide and a pure feeling of panic over me.

I barely think but I managed to catch the details of his face. His eyes held me. Hauntingly dark pupils set against an almost glowing blue with darker rings around the outside that almost seemed crimson themselves. There was no reflection in those eyes. No expression of his own emotions that moment.

“Why did you come here? Why did you decide to finally come from your attic?” His voice lengthened, deepened. Rose and fell with a accent I didn’t know. I looked down into the folds of his white blouse, his falling dark hair against his shoulders. I even tried to just pull away. Though a grip like that… I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I.. I don’t know”

“You don’t know.” He suddenly spun me and pulled me back tightly. I could feel my back against his chest, rumbling with his soft chuckle. I was amusing to him and my body ran with shivers as I was clutched against him tightly.

“Please let me go!” I whimpered softly as I kept my eyes closed even as he pushed me forward.

I stumbled as I was led over some furs and to a door near the back of the room between two long rows of books. Already my mind imagined what he would do with me, and how I would die. I figured he would do as most would with a young female urchin that no one would miss.

A door opening, walking in, and then hearing it lock behind us. I suddenly I felt him release me completely. I didn’t move however, panic-struck I just stood there, eyes closed.

“What’s your name?” He was to my right. His voice clear and relaxed.

I opened my eyes slowly, glanced around the dark painted room. Eyes trailed against his form at a dark stained desk, then across from him. A large master bed. Then I looked around more and noticed a door that looked like it led somewhere else. I could run across the rugs and maybe have enough speed to open it. If it wasn’t locked as well.

“I wouldn’t do that..” his voice echoed as if reading my thoughts. Knowing what I was planning I suppose.

“Crimson,” I said gently yet bitterly at his easy dismissal of my plan for freedom. I tried to keep from shivering more as I forced my eyes back to him. Slowly, my strength tried to edge back into my tones.

“Crimson? A beautiful name,” He stood. His sleek almost gentleman form approaching me. Grazing a hand past my neck. “…for a beautiful woman.” I couldn’t stop from shivering then as my breath caught in my throat letting him walk around me.

“Don’t.” So simple. Just one word I managed out with only a spark of the fire I had before.

I was shocked when immediately he pulled back a step as if I had struck him. For a moment the silence between us was just as much torture as it was with the small excuse for conversation.

I sighed slightly with my breath quivering some. I had no idea what to do now, but that spark renewed ideas for escape and I wasn’t about to let them go so easily this time.

Stalking around me slowly he moved to my far side. Away from the door. Almost as if he was waiting and watching me for a weakness, hunting me with those odd eyes of his. I felt naked here in his view and I hated every moment of it.

I had a choice now. I could bolt for freedom with my last breath, or let him have his way with me. I was not about to let the latter occur and in my mind I was willing to take the chance. I waited only a moment longer before I bolted for the door.

Like lightning he was behind me. I reached my hand out for the door-handle but only felt his arms wrap around me and swing me around roughly away from my goal, slamming me hard into the ground as my vision went blurred a moment. A sick feeling of failure riding in my stomach.

I wanted to just curl up and bury myself away from him. Into the corner of the room out of view. Just to hide from him, and yet I remained still again. Terrified in the position I was thrown in. I suppose I would have been comfortable like that had he not walked to me and gripped my hair roughly pulling up and sending pain through me until I got my footing and stood with it. I grit my teeth and snarled back to him, trying again to regain my fire that kept me alive for so long already.

“What do you want from me?!”

“good.. keep your strong will. I don’t want to break you.” and before I could even comprehend what he meant I felt him release me only a moment before pulling my hair from my neck and pulling me closely against his body again. It was colder somehow. No real warmth came from him even as he licked he tongue against my neck.

I froze completely and heard a brief growl as I felt a wave of pain through my neck and then as his right hand moved up to my chest over my heart, one of pleasure. An odd and so intense feeling of ecstasy and fear. I was lost in it as I cried out some relaxing against him as I felt my blood flow for him.

I had never felt such pleasure before, or such power rip through me. It was intense, terrifying. And in that moment I knew exactly what he was and why no others had come to fight me for my attic.

It was the attic of a vampire.

I thought with every ounce of my being that I would die then as he fed from my blood. But I couldn’t fight him, and I couldn’t even struggle against him. My body betrayed me. At the most all I could do was whimper and let out a pleasured moan as I pressed against the grip he held me in.

His growled sent quivers along me.

I had not believed the tales of Vampires but I knew of them. It was said no victim ever survived. Even with those thoughts in my mind and his soft stroking of my neck and chest it was hard to think past the waves of foreign and intense emotions.

Pain and pleasure, Fear and attraction.

Arousal and submission. Primal urges.

I felt every muscle in my body relax and fall into him as my mind was thrown into dark opaque blackness. It felt as if I was drowning in that blackness and I tried to cry out one more time, but nothing came from me except unconsciousness.


Crimson Memories – Chapter Two

[ The story continues… Crimson tells the tale of her rebirth as a Vampire. May be a trigger warning, so you have been warned. Story and Characters (c) by me. ]

An eternity ago..


It was dark when I left the safety of my loft. It had been about a year give or take since I had left the farm and traveled to the city. One full year learning how to survive this world of alleys and people that was so different from my small farm life. I knew I wouldn’t escape the beatings. However at least I had variations here.

I was about 18, but for all intents I was still a young woman. Still learning much of the ways of things. Sure my mind was cunning, I was always older and more tricky then those of my age – but I grew up on the farm. In the woods. Not in the streets.

I would be a liar if I said it was easy for me. There was excitement, yes, but danger. And pain. But there was also that independence… That independence of knowing I controlled my own fate.

My father would have allowed me this freedom I so craved. He would have been with me, riding bare-back deep into the thriving bush a two miles out from the house until our horses tired and our hands bleed from holding the reins so tight as we pushed them on. But my father – my true father wasn’t there. Only my step father.

My biological father had the sense I lacked. He left one day and just didn’t come back. I always hated him for that. Not that he left mind you, that was what I did after all. I just wish he had taken me with him then.

But that no longer mattered – because I had the streets. And there, I was king. My favorite alley was a pair of brass knuckles I stole from an arms merchant. It won me many meals, saved my hide many times, and allowed me passage into the place I would call home.

I called it the Loft. I had broken the locks with a few good punches which had left a notch in one of the knuckle plates and nearly ripped open my inner palm – but it was mine. An upstairs attic which had a spot to sleep, keep warm, and provide shelter.

The loft was practically falling apart, and the lower rooms were filled with the sounds of rats and their secrets locked up tight. It was my secret place.

On this day specifically it was different I suppose from the other days.

Maybe I was just bored of my usual haunts and tasks, but I had decided that I would explore this place for all it was worth.

Why didn’t I before?

Why- as I approached the boards guarding the front door locked and bolted did I just do this now?

I remember staking out this place for at least 2 weeks waiting. Then the first month I was still jittery that someone would come and find me here. No one ever came. I hate to think I had some sort of honor against sneaking around down there, because what honor I had by then had been stripped to hardly anything.

So I slammed my foot hard against the boards. Heard the loud clanging of the damage I inflicted on them that before I would have scolded myself for making. Body slamming against the boards until the nails gave way and my shoulder stung. But now I faced an even more difficult task.

The lock staring at me with an almost challenging gesture. Daring me to find some way to enter this place.

I rubbed my knuckles good and hard, watched the lock bare it’s gold toned opposition at me. It took a few good strikes with them which left me wincing and hoping none heard the loud sharp clangs before it seemed to pop the bottom of it. I didn’t mind the bit of blood. The broken lock was worth it – as was the grin of success wavering on my lips.

And with a bit of coaxing the door creaked open with the smell of dust and things long forgotten.

I expected the sounds of rats scurrying and the smell of things long abandoned. It didn’t surprise me one bit. It was when I got the courage to enter the darkness of the abandoned house and managed to find a scone and flint that I was truly shocked. The fire of that one torch lit the room… and I found ghostly faces staring back at me.

For a moment my heart stopped. I thought they were real in the firelight. Their faces and eyes piercing through the shadows of the room. Watching me for the intruder I was. Then I my eyes adjusted to the now dim lights and I noticed they were merely canvases.

I walked up to one… it was a young man with raven black hair, and brilliant eyes staring back at me.

My hand traced across such elegant features. Such a beautiful creature, even if it was just a painting. They were all exquisite. Rich color and scenes flooded the area. Everything had a dark look to it, but they were beautiful!

I may have been just a reject of the street, just a waif, but I knew art. I knew what I liked. At a young age my father tried to teach Alisa and I both the talents of well versed young ladies. We both could read and write, we both knew some famous pieces of art. Alisa always had taken things up much more then I did – but I still knew of it.

I was no fool. I knew skills when I saw them.

I wandered, holding the lit torch tightly. It seemed the room was filled with them, forgotten works of art. Some unfinished and others thrown around and torn into. Faces ripped across the canvas or hidden under drop-cloths. Most seemed like that. Forgotten. Abandoned like everything else, but why? And who painted them? It dug at my curiosity.

Little did I know that as I explored these works of art, I too was being watched. Not only from the rats.

Spending time on the streets your basic instincts increase. You learn to know when someone is lying in wait for you. Almost like a 6th sense. But here I didn’t feel, smell or hear anything. I thought I was more alone then I had ever been.

I moved on past them to a door across the room. From the position of the room I figured it must have been a closet, the door was jammed shut though. I slammed myself into it but nothing. It was solid guarding its secrets well even as the white paint chipped around the rusted door knob.

Turning to leave it and look on I was caught off-guard by a click. Just a simple click from the door.

That click unnerved me. I mean it was just the door right? Nothing to be afraid of when you have lived like I had for a year. And yet that small sound in that room, made by that door, almost made me bolt and leave everything behind. Maybe I did have a 6th sense of sorts..

Yet I walked back to it and turned the handle pushing lightly on the old door. Unlike the other rooms, this one was lit. Firelight danced on the walls and made shadows trace, dance and vanish behind the contours of the room.

Slowly I walked in as my eyes took in the furniture and the books. This room was a study of sorts, animal-skin rugs and furniture, a fireplace with a mantle you could picture only in a nobles house. Tall shelves were neatly stocked with hundreds of novels and books that I couldn’t dare imagine someone reading.

I knew then in the back of my mind that I was not alone now. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop the progression of what was happening. As if I was being led by a possession I could no longer control. Glancing back only once to make sure the door was still open I walked over to one of the shelves and pulled a black leather-bound book from one of the wall-length bookcases.

It was old, must have been since the pages were nicely yellowed. I opened it and glanced at the words. Written neatly in ink. Hand-written. Beautiful script tracing its way across the paper telling its tale.

“That’s one of my favorites. The tale of Iilandra and Cecilio..” a voice, very soft and haunting. Almost as if it came from the shadows, or the room itself. The sudden chill and fear made my hands release the book to the floor and back up towards the door that was open just moments before.

Doctor Who: The Mad God – Chapter Five

(The next chapter in my fanfiction for Doctor Who. This time the Doctor gets closer to some answers, and a few pieces are starting to fall into place. Characters are (c) the BBC, and story is (c) me.)


The Doctor awoke sprawled out as the voice had promised just inside the now closed door of the Asheran. He felt a bit bruised on his chin, but otherwise seemed fine. As he was coming to his senses he also noticed that there was now a faint hum around him and a dull soft light coming from round light pods in strategic places in the floor.

“That’s odd…” He muttered as he lifted himself from the floor. There should be no electricity here. Perhaps it was some sort of battery power clicked on after it sensed the doors close? At least the room would at least be a bit easier to navigate now.

He gathered himself to his feet and in his mind rang out an all too familiar voice.

I thought it best to return you. My apologies. The mind wall is to prevent… unwanted intrusions.”

“Mind wall? Alright then.” He checked his pockets and patted himself down. He was relieved to feel the reassuring shape of his sonic. “A bit excessive though isn’t it? The people here don’t seem to be very intrusive.”

They weren’t the only ones ever here.”

The edge of his lip rose in the barest of smirks. So they were protecting themselves from someone else then. Not Malik and his brood. Something older perhaps? It was another face and another time – but the memory still held. There was a very basic blueprint of the place etching itself in his memory as he looked carefully around the dull lighted room.

“What happened to them? What was the Great Resurrection?”

Silence for a few minutes. He took the opportunity to wander the room as he waited. This had been the main open hall. There were chairs toppled over and the whole place looked as if it had been jarred slightly. There was a very noticeable slope to the floor and most of the chairs had gathered more to the left side of the room.

“Come now, you can’t have called me without knowing the very barest about me! I ask questions and I expect answers!” He waved his arms around, unsure where to direct his impatience. His eyes furrowed and scanned the corners of the room and the edges of the ceiling. Cameras? None that he could see. “You called me here right? Stop wasting my time!”

Come to the Fountain Doctor. You will learn everything there.”

He dropped his arms with an audible thump against his lanky sides. It would be a goose chase then. Well at least it was something. He slouched his shoulders and jabbed his hands into his pockets. He fiddled with the buttons on his sonic and reassured himself that it felt to be in working order.

The Fountain was always a bit of a misleading name. Fountains were normally supposed to be beautiful outdoor springs, where water was mechanically pushed up and out in pretty patterns to amuse people with too much money then sense. There were far too many times that fountains were only used by the elite, rich, pompous or dull to be of any concern for him. Certainly he’d seem some beautiful natural occurrences as well, but they were exceedingly rare.

But the Fountain of Asheran was none of those things, save for perhaps for the fact it was indeed rare.

At least now having a direction – he made his way carefully to the corridor, and headed towards the right down the curved hall. Even though the place was barely remembered – he still had the basic layout in his head. If it was helped by the voice or not, he wasn’t entirely sure.

The Fountain was stationed in the basement. It was built into the natural mineral shelf which was the foundations of the Asheran building.

Down the corridor and down a few flights of stairs he walked. The place had at one time been a modern and clean facility. There had been large planters lining the wider halls, with benches and brilliant soft coloured flowers. There had been plaques of writing on bronze plates along the wall to remind everyone what this place had stood for. Peace, Healing, Compassion, Penance. He remembered them well.

“Never forget the true cost of war.” he once told them, many lifetimes ago. “Every day, remember what horrors you allowed yourselves to unleash and the innocent lives caught up in it. You both are equally responsible, and you both must be equally held accountable!”

But there were no pretty flowers now. The walls where the plaques had hung were dirty and bare. Nothing had hung there for a long time now. In fact nothing living seemed to have visited these halls in quite some time.

He paused and brushed his fingers hard against a section of the wall. He barely felt the corner of a recessed divot in the wall. The place one of the plaques had been many years before. It was barely noticeable now.

“Where did they go?” he whispered to himself. He narrowed his eyes a little. He was a man who knew time. The missing plaques had to have been a long time before the collapse of this building. It was possible they were simply moved – but that was far too optimistic for the Doctor’s taste.

No, the truth was they were removed and likely forgotten. “I warned them.”

Ahead of him there was a ding and a swoosh as an elevator door slid open. This was the last step to the basement, if memory served him right. It was the patients elevator down to the basement where the Fountain and his answers potentially awaited him. It seemed to be beckoning him inside with an unsettling sense of awareness. A trap waiting with arms wide open.

With the building in such an odd angle and the unknowns of everything he was facing the Doctor didn’t want to risk taking a relatively straight elevator down a hopefully straighter tube. After all if the building had jarred around as much as it appeared to he might find his round tube squashed into a square hole.

Instead he glanced to the side and spotted what he was looking for. The physicians stairwell. A securely locked stairwell that patients weren’t allowed entrance to. Thankfully he was the Doctor after all. He slipped his sonic out of his pocket and aimed it at the light coloured square beside the door, which he presumed was the mechanism.

It buzzed, hummed and clicked as the square lit up blue and the door slid open.

He opened the door off to the right and headed down the stairs. Knowing that his host was likely still listening and curious about his choice – he answered honestly. “You don’t live as long as I have by taking the easy route. Especially if it’s expected of you…”

Swiftly he padded downward.

Crimson Memories – Chapter One

( A vampire tale. Warning, a fair bit of blood and gore. A bit of colorful language as well here and there. This character was based off a lot of old RP sessions when I was younger. This one was written a few years back, but still a beloved character I enjoyed writing… Story and characters are (c) by me.  )

~Chapter One~

Blood on the Sand…

I sank in deeper, feeling the pulse of his life’s blood under my lips. I let a few drips of crimson pass them, flowing like a dark stream over his pale flesh. Pale at terror and the thoughts of what I was doing. Even now my hand grazed over his thick black hair that trailed over his slim shoulders, I knew his fear was raging in his mind, telling his senses that I was killing him. My other arm grasping my hold on him tighter into me.

I was a monster, destroyer of lives. And I was hungry.

My own hair; crimson as the blood I drank fell past my eyes. The long tresses shimmering with wetness. The dark velour cloak draping and flowing around my form with the slight night breeze, making it look like a black aura.

If he had viewed me as the devil herself I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Pulling back then I let him drop, slipping out of my grasp. I had drained him of most of his life’s liquid. I didn’t suppose he would last for more then a few hours, if that. Already I knew the suns dawn would approach soon and his eyes would never see it.

Or if they did, it certainly would be his last.

Still it surprised me; Unnerved me to no degree when he spoke. Like a broken doll on the sand he shifted ever so slightly while his body rasped with breath and shuddered from fear. Managing merely one word as he stared up to my form. 


Why… Such a simple question wasn’t it? Though I at first found no words to answer with. I had no idea how to explain such a thing to him. I didn’t even know what it was that made me kneel down on the cool sand, draping my cloak around me and searching myself for words to explain.

How does one explain? Why should I?

But I felt I owed him an answer. His white blouse stained with crimson. His blue eyes, so much like ghosts in my past. Maybe that’s why I chose him out of the others. He fit the role.

I did this because I am a monster Luke, and I always have been.” It seemed a decent answer. It was true in so many ways. And I would have been willing to leave it at that, if he hadn’t pushed.

Crim, I know you. I knew you… was everything a lie?” He seemed less afraid now. His voice echoing out to find some form of justice… no not justice. Answers to what I had done; why I had done it. There was no justice in this situation.

I could have got up then. I could have merely turned my back and walked. I had done that with the others, why not him? Why not now, just turn my back and walk?

I think that’s when I realized I just couldn’t run anymore. He deserved an answer. And I deserved to tell. It was my mistake – I had let myself become friends with him. I told myself it was merely to get him out here alone. That I was simply manipulating him and that I truly didn’t care. But was that simply the truth? After all, I could have killed him the first night we met. Instead I waited.

But I had my motives at least. Certainly morbid and immoral – but reasons none-the-less. Why did he care for me? Even now I saw it in his pleading eyes…

Was it a lie? No. Maybe not everything was a lie. Maybe… part of me did care for this one. I shuddered at the thought. Then just as quickly dismissed it from my presence. Care and necessity were two different beasts.

I wasn’t always like this, Luke. Long ago I still had a normal life, a life without blood and death. I used to live on a farm with my sister. You didn’t know that did you?” I sighed and adjusted my legs. Long sleek legs hidden under my long dark skirt. Perching my elbows on my bent knees I balanced on my rich leather boots. It was a rather comfortable position to watch him. Perhaps from a distance we looked like a couple. Minus the blood.

My eyes drifted to watch his chest rise and fall like the waves that were so close to us. I could feel the breeze upon me from them. The gift of the mortals seemed to be such rhythmic breathing; The feel of life that still pulsed from him even now as he was standing on the brink of his own death. He was more alive then I could ever be now.

What was her name?” He watched intently. His eyes not having left my shadowy form of death that perched over him like a vulture. It unnerved me.

What kept him from cringing when he met my eyes? What thoughts did he hide from me. This strength that he showed? He was either a brave man or a fool to keep me here with him. Then again, what had he to lose now?

I thought about his question. I hadn’t thought about her in a long time, and a small smile played across my lips a moment when I did. When I recalled the details of her face and the brightness in her eyes. I remembered the way she used to smile it was like her eyes used to glow. And how she died…

Alisa? She was innocent. A healer and muse.” Hard memories. How long had to pass before I felt numb again? I would have taken that numbness then this hollow pain. “…then I destroyed her, Luke. Like I destroy everything. Like I destroyed you.”

It hit like a rock inside of me. Ebbing at that great wall I had blocked my human self away in. Reminding me in waves of hurt that I had been human once.

Long ago at least I was that, Human. Reminding me again why I refused to think about her. Wondering how I got myself wrapped into telling him this, and why in the hell I continued.

A sigh again. Looked deep across the sea and into the night sky. Stars glimmered back at me. Endless stars. Unblinking like the eyes of my other victims. Even if I didn’t stay to see the looks on their face as they finally passed – I felt it. And in the stars I knew they watched my dark form as I turned and walked away.

There wasn’t serenity in those stars. Not like I supposed mortals felt when they stared up at them. In their endless tirades of poetry and lyrics. Not as I felt long ago when childhood was new and young. Even on the streets alone… they were beautiful – but now? Now they were just endless reminders of those I’ve killed. The same distant glimmer of humanity that haunted me.

Maybe I just expected him to give up. Just to see there was no reason in pursuing answers from me and he could just leave me alone to my own dark devices. But then again, maybe that’s why I kept going. 

Maybe I was hoping he would stop me and I could walk away in clear conscious? Or maybe I just wanted to tell him about my life. I needed to tell someone, why not someone who won’t live long enough to care? Dead men don’t talk.

“I left when I was 17. Against my step-fathers wishes. He was controlling and I was a rebel. Typical clashing of personalities.” I chuckled remembering the ‘old man’. Not afraid to give you a good belting if you needed it or not. Correction, not afraid to give -me- a good belting. I never remember him raising a hand to Alisa. It was like in his eyes I was the only one low enough to take his beatings. And I wouldn’t let him touch my mother.

“So is that what you want to hear, Luke? I was a bad ass, always was..” I grinned slightly. Would he take that as bitterness or pride? I didn’t know, and didn’t care. Maybe I meant both. No – actually I did mean both.

The breeze hit me again; pulled on my cloak and drew my hair across my face. I let it soak into me as if I was a transparent wraith. Nothing but a specter on the shore.

I could hear the distant sounds of gulls and the churning of life under the waves. I knew he couldn’t hear it, but I could. Did I even take the time to listen to much anymore?

“So you left because he hit you?” In the dark night I saw him attempt to sit up on his elbows but it was a struggle he didn’t win. Instead he just adjusted himself slightly and went into a coughing fit.

The beating of his heart couldn’t keep up to the slack amount of blood left in his veins. His lungs would be filling with a bit of fluid by now. Why was he fighting it so hard? Was he trying to impress me? Is that was this was about?

No, maybe not. He had some hidden agenda.. but it certainly didn’t seem to be that.

“I left because I didn’t belong. Let me tell you how I became what I am, Luke. Then maybe you will find your answers..”

Bounty of Tea

( This is a novella length Sci-Fi I wrote a while ago. It contains some violent imagery and content and a bit of rough language. You have been warned. Hopefully one day I will re-visit this initial world and characters I’ve created here. They both share a little piece of my heart for many different reasons.. story (c) by me (Michelle Bond) )


The shop was small, cluttered, and filled with dusty antiquities. Nothing he was interested in yet – but the look of the place made him all the more wary. He removed his gun and felt the molecular analyzer key to his skin cells. It hummed to life, giving off a pale almost unnoticeable glow in his left palm. The ion cartridge was low. He had three shots – maybe four if he was lucky. But he was certain the fourth wouldn’t be lethal.

Carefully he maneuvered the crowded corridor, and he checked his right wrist. The sensors flickered on the small screen showing the little blue target was somewhere up ahead and to the right. It also warned him that the silver life sign ahead of him was on the move as well, seemingly with his target source.

Three shots. He could do it in three shots. At least he hoped. Then again he had no species indicator and had no clue if they were armored. Luckily he was always a bit of a gambler.

The cluttered shop slowly revealed a more cleaned space. Solid polymer resin boards imitated wood under his feet. He hadn’t been able to notice that detail before. It seemed his unknowing host was rather nostalgic. Ahead of him dull light glowed from a few outdated LED lights. The air started to smell of something he couldn’t place. Burnished heated metal. Smokey incense. There was the sound of liquid pouring.

He used the cover of a huge hard plastic vase to peer around and spy on his intended victim.

She was dressed in various synthetic silks, covering her form nearly completely. Her long black hair was tied up in glossy perfect rolls. The odd strands of colored ribbons cascading down barely touching the nape of her neck. When she turned her white painted face was shrouded in the steam of the hot liquid she poured into the smallest of cups.

He was startled. His hand pressed against the hard plastic vase only to realize that it wasn’t plastic at all. It’s texture and coolness betrayed it as something far more unusual. He analyzed it carefully, resting his wrist sensor on it’s surface. Clay. Honest terra-cotta earth-stock clay.

The shock of it made him step back from the fragile antique, and he nearly tripped over another undefined sculpture. The misstep made him uneasy and he bolted from his hiding space raising his gun and aiming it at the strange woman’s back.

It hummed menacing. He growled menacing. The tension was menacing.

She however, was not menaced. She calmly set the black square teapot down upon it’s metal holder. She turned and bowed, quiet and slow. Her painted features were completely cool and calm. The contrast in her behavior irritated him more. She was supposed to be frightened. He would have appreciated if she just tried to run away. A scream of shock would also be quite acceptable.

“What is that you have there?” He snarled, checking his wrist. The screen saw no other life-signs.

“Tea.” It was simple, her voice quiet and reserved. She carefully rested her hands together in front of her, gently resting them away from her sleeves so he could see her fingers free from weapons.

Tea. He checked his wrist again, and it indeed seemed to be the tea which was the source he was looking for. He hadn’t heard of tea in the longest of times. Sure, there were synthetic substitutes- but nothing organic. Nothing that would give him actual chemical signatures. A synthetic substitute would give him nothing like the hot blue glow of the target source on his little screen. No, this instead was pure and once alive organic tea leaves brewed from actual plants. Expensive and authentic.

It made sense. Basic chemistry – tea leaves were once sources of oxidization. It was the oxidation of the leaves which gave tea it’s flavor. The oxidization properties must be what his fuel cells required to fix themselves. After all, it was all bio-chemical mumbo jumbo that he barely understood himself.

That is why star ship mechanics made so much of his money. If they weren’t so rare he would have gone there first. And he wouldn’t have marooned his star ship mechanic and psychotic harpy of an ex-wife on a passing asteroid collection unit.

He should have just invested in proper sedatives and leather straps.

It reminded him of their honeymoon actually.

She patiently stood there. Her eyes looked larger with the black paint outlining them. The whites of her eyes were clear and clean – crisp against the strange pale green of her iris. The plum color of her tiny painted lips liked like the blooming of a small flower. She was so sickening perfect as if she had crawled out of the strange ancient antiquities she apparently collected.

“I want your tea!” He re-aimed his gun, hoping it seemed more intimidating. He apparently was wrong as she seemed more confused and less unmoved. What was with his gun? It looked intimidating when he first acquired it.

“You may have a cup…”

“No! I want it all, how much do you have here? How much stock?”

“No.” There was no real aggression in her voice, and at first he swore he must have misheard her.


“I said; No. You may not.”

With that she simply turned around and adjusted the kettle on the base and took another small cup out of a steamed autoclave cabinet. Sterile and clean. The farthest thing from everything else around here. Save for her of course.

“I’m sorry, I have a gun here. See? Gun. I could shoot you and take it.” He growled, annoyed. He waved the gun in the air trying to attain her attention. “You know gun? Shoot? Kill?”

“Yes. You could kill me I suppose. There are many cold blooded killers in this world of ours. You could be one of those. Or you could sit with me and have a cup of tea.” With that she picked up the kettle and gracefully started to pour another cup.

He stepped closer to her. Her words made him feel somehow scolded.

“I ain’t a cold blooded killer..” he paused and moved the gun down a bit. It was hard to make that point while still pointing his charged firearm at the back of her head.

“Oh. Pardon me, I meant no offense.” Setting the delicate black kettle down as if it were fragile ice, she then turned to face him again. Her delicate arms again crossing once more in front of her, and that painted little plum smile returning to her calm porcelain face.

“Will you just give me the bloody tea? I mean come on lady! It’s the tea or your life!” He raised the gun up again. His face attempting to look more fierce then frustrated. He was pretty sure he failed in that as well. He cocked his gun once more and felt the warm hum in his hand as he touched his finger on the isomorphic trigger. The warning hum sounded louder.

Still she barely blinked. She seemed to be debating and answered him only with silence.

“It shouldn’t be this hard for you lady, look you got lots of stuff here. I just want the damned tea…”

Those pale eyes watched him. The soft folds of her kimono seemed to hold no end to her mystery but no threat either. He almost wished he was facing down a warlord. They were a hell of a lot easier to shoot.

“You ask me for my tea. My tea is my sanity. You are not asking if I wish to relinquish simply a material item. You are asking if I wish to sacrifice my mind, or my physical body. This is a harder decision.”

He blinked, his eyebrow rose and his face contorted confused. “What?”

He was missing his ex. She seemed less bat-shit crazy now…

“You may not take my tea. However, you may sit with me and we may talk as equals. Perhaps as friends we could come to other agreements.”

With that, she finally sat down delicately and uncovered a small tray of round food portions.

Not knowing what else to do he finally grumbled and walk to the small table. He sat in the chair and glared at her while carefully holstering the gun to seem polite. Of course he left it charged and unbuttoned because there was a limit between politeness and stupidity.

She seemed pleased and once more smiled her soft blossoming smile.

“I’m sorry lady, but I gotta ask. What the hell are you?” He grabbed the cup with little consideration to manners and looked at the dark brownish hued liquid. It smelled savory and rich. Nothing like the synthetic stuff he’d seen in run down food stalls.

“What am I?” She tilted her head, the smallest laugh spilled from her as she offered him the tray of treats. It was clear now that they weren’t simply food pre-packaged food portions.

They were biscuits. Nothing here was what it seemed. Or… rather everything seemed to be what it was. Which was completely unnerving considering how rare baking ingredients were. Let alone if she even had a working archaic oven.

Perhaps this wasn’t an old rundown store. Perhaps this was once an old time museum craft? He remembered visiting one when he was a child. The Universal Exhibits Archive 012. It was a grand place filled with thousands of shiny and brilliant things. Even as a child, he wondered how much of it he could get away with stealing. It didn’t help that his father stole the tickets to get in. Like father, like son.

He took a biscuit. She took one as well. He watched as she delicately tipped it into her tea, tapped it on the cup side once, then brought it to her tiny mouth and took the daintiest bite he’d ever seen a person take. She made it look flawless as well, as if she oozed grace.

He grunted to himself, looked it over and set it down next to his wrist scanner. There was no way he was going to risk eating strange food from an even stranger would-be victim turned host. After a few moments of silence between them she finally set her partial biscuit down and spoke.

“You asked -what- I was. Not who.”

“Yup.” The biscuit came out clean. The ingredients list came out like an ancient formula. Flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, molasses, and vanilla. The latter four ingredients were top dollar items in the culinary black market they were so rare. “Names don’t mean much really.”

Carefully he took a small bite while waiting for the analysis to come back on the tea. It was sweet and savory. It had a texture he wasn’t used to. It exploded with flavor that he was so used to being dulled down and compromised.

“I find names define who we are better then what we were born to be. It is the actions one chooses to take that become ‘what’ they are. Not something as simple as… origins. You, it seems, are human?”

She took the cup balanced in her fingertips and took a long drawn out sip. Her eyes closed as she soaked in the tea. She breathed in deeply as she seemed to inhale it before setting it down and regarding him once more. Not even a drip was left to stain her lips or the white makeup.

He stiffened a bit. Crumbs of his now devoured biscuit were left falling from his chin. A few strays likely hiding in his overgrown goatee. He felt messy and clumsy and tried to brush it off with some dignity.

“Well, I’m an ex-pat. Technically I have no race. I don’t live under the high councils stupid laws.” there was pride in his voice that beamed out loudly across the small table. “We rebels live by own codes. We make our own brotherhood!”

He nearly spilled his tea when he pounded his fist down on the table. Her raised brow seemed to scold him for it and he immediately cleared his throat.

She offered him another biscuit and he took two eagerly.

“I see. So we think along the same lines then. We are not defined by our species. We are defined by our chosen names. Our persona. Our code of ethics.”

He thought about it, and nodded disgruntled. She made it seem far too watered down. Less exciting and rebellious. The scans came back. The tea consisted of hot purified water, black tea leaves, a touch of ground dried fig, and something called cane sugar. All perfectly safe to ingest. He carefully touched the small screen and flicked a few buttons before he scooped up the small cup in his left hand.

Before it got any colder, he dared a small and loud slurp.

“My name, is Saki. It means Blossom of Hope. I think it is a bit of an overstatement.” she smiled, as if making a joke. He seemed to not get it. He had however finished his tea rather quickly. He set the empty cup down, and unceremoniously bit into another one of the biscuits he had taken before bothering to reply.

“Mongrel. My name that is.” He chuckled to himself. “Ain’t nothing fancy I’m afraid. Got it breaking up a dog fight. I suppose it’s cause I look the part.”

Indeed he did look scruffy and unkempt. He liked to think he looked rugged and manly. Most of his buddies otherwise said it always looked like he was dragged in from the exhaust valve. He didn’t seem to care. His makeshift outfit of long coat and various bits and pieces of belts and pouches may have looked pretty ragged – but it seemed to suit him just fine. His pockets also helped hide some of his essentials for raids. Even now he knew he had a few flash bombs, short burst emf scramblers, and a few small tazer’s somewhere in his coat pockets.

He doubted her pretty little silks could be hiding nearly as much stuff.

“Mongrel. It is a nice name. Very unique.” She nodded to herself and picked up the kettle again, pouring them both another round. “Why is it you are so desperate, Mongrel?”

“My engines are running on low. You were the first ship coming by. Your cargo scanned as potential fuel source. So…” he shrugged, he poked at his cup awkwardly. “When in doubt…”

“Steal?” She offered the word carefully. The way she worded it was soft.

“Whatever gets one by I suppose.” He squirmed in his chair a bit and irritation started to build. The way she made him feel chastised was beyond infuriating. She was nothing to him! And yet he crossed his arms and slouched a bit in his chair like a teenager in angst.

“Your engines. If tea seemingly could be their energy source they must be… they run on somewhat organic or chemical fission?” She sipped her drink, set it down, repeated the process after a moment. Another sip, and another careful placement down.

“I’m not a mechanic. I run the damned thing. My wrist scanner monitors and databases all my ship information and…” he looked down at the small screen. It was flickering warning. He tilted his head and looked at the text carefully. “…monitors my surroundings as well.”

His eyes flicked up from the scanner. His left hand reached down to his gun holster.

“Now! It’s hardly ever wrong. You need to tell me what species you are right now!”

She sighed quietly and her eyebrows raised in an expression of sadness. Their nice and dignified tea time seemed to be over, far too quickly.

“There is no need to be worried. I will not harm you.”

“Tell me now!” His gun was once more free and aimed across the table squarely pointed between those black painted, shallow green eyes.

“Lusus Naturae Stasi.”

His finger touched the trigger and the gun roared a ready hum. She rested her hands on the table and simply watched him, looking past the barrel of his gun.

“How the hell are you a Luntic?” She flinched slightly. His voice was a bit more shrill now. He didn’t want to risk getting up so he simply kept his gun trained. In the back of his mind he kept thinking he only had three shots. Four if he was lucky.

It had been the first time she flinched, and it was the sound of her own species name. Mongrel wasn’t foolish enough to think the gun unnerved her anymore now, then it did when he first pointed it at her.

“We spoke of this already, Mongrel. It is not from where we came but-”

“No! That was before I knew what the hell you were!” He tipped his cup. The liquid spilled over the edge of the table. She watched it with a sadness he couldn’t explain, or care to understand. He stood and knocked the chair back with a clatter. “You take some sick pleasure in this game?”

She looked down at the table, she carefully stilled her cup from the shaking of his movements. Her fingers, so cool and calm seemed to shake the slightest.

“You are human. I have not held that against you…”

“You are a Luntic! You are… you.. slaughtered millions!”

“No!” Her voice rose, her eyes sharpened. “I have not. -I- have not slaughtered millions! Have your Humans not killed many? How many of your own kind kills each other? It was your kind that profited off the Lusus skills! Do you not think it was your own kind’s science that…” she looked down and tried desperately to smooth and tuck her kimono folds. She searched for some sort of calming distraction.

After a moment she continued uninterrupted. “My kind was driven mad and made to fight wars we should never have fought in. This is true. But I am not like them. As you… you are not like some of those Humans who have done bad. Right?”

He looked back at his wrist screen for a moment, the text had not changed. He looked back at her carefully. Every hair which had ever existed at the back of his neck were standing at attention. He felt like a deer caught in a headlight.

Yet she remained seated. She remained still.

“I’ve never heard of any Lunt- Lusus, that’s gone good.” He lowered his gun, albeit only slightly.

“Do you think any would have had the chance?” Her voice was harder, sharper, but still held it’s quiet quality. She was hurt, obviously, but she was patient. She spoke with experience. “Should anyone have found out about what they were, they would have been killed. No questions asked. No attention paid. Another trophy for the war room.”

Mongrel looked around the room again. Ancient relics, bits and pieces of worlds forgot. A chamber of memories of better times perhaps. He looked at his gun and watched the light glow softly and eager in his palm.

“I am wearing a visual array displacer. I wear it all the time. It has become a part of me.” Carefully she reached a hand up, and touched the nape of her white neck.

With a few flickers and sound of electricity dissipating her outfit and body shimmered slightly with a silvery flicker of light. And then, as if her molecules shifted and twisted – her true form appeared.

The Lusus race were monstrous looking creatures. Black exoskeletons like living armor covered predatory bird like creatures. Sharp and near metallic in their makeup. Their faces were usually very insect like and sharp edged. Their mass could tower over you and rip you apart easily.

But this is not the form that sat across from him.

Where exoskeleton had been now there was devastated scarred flesh. Wires wrapped around scars in the flesh in painful inflamed welts to keep the visual array displacer attached. Her birdlike face which would have been once sculpted like a raptor was caved in with broken bones and harshly removed teeth leaving an almost recognizable mess of flesh for her face, save for her large green eyes.

Where 4 arms had been, two were viciously torn off leaving twisted and horrid stumps. She was much smaller then any Lusus he had ever seen on the war vids.

He dared not even look for the rest of her damaged body. He simply shook his head horrified and looked away from her. He hoped he could hide the disgust and horror while he took a deep breath and carefully picked the chair up, setting it a bit farther away from the table this time before slowly sitting. His knees felt twitchy anyway.

“No, it’s okay. Look I’m…” he breathed slowly. He left his gun in his palm at easy reach. He didn’t know what else to do with it. “Look, I’m sorry.”

“You are not the first to show this reaction.” She reached a scalded clawed limb to her neck, and shakily touched the control panel to the wires. They fired up again and the horrible form of her true self was once again masked by her true personal. The Geisha Saki.

After a moment she carefully took hold of her cup and brought it to her plum quivering lips to sip her tea, the shaking in her hands still rattled the cup slightly. After she put it down she seemed a bit more at ease. She attempted to return the slight smile on her plum painted lips – but it was broken somehow.

He wondered how much pain she must be in.

“Why all this? Why the whole thing?” He picked up his spilled cup and put it back on the table properly. Slowly his gun made it to the holster.

“What part?” She seemed honestly taken aback. Distracted perhaps at her transformation. It seemed to take a moment before she returned back to this moment in time with him.

“You, the relics.. hell the bloody tea!”

She smiled then, and it returned with true flourish. Her eyes were still sad – but a bit softer now. Not as sharp and hurt. It made him feel more at ease himself. And more like a fool for reacting the way he did.

Once again, tea time seemed back in play. He focused on her eyes. He tried to forget the visage of her true form underneath. The wounded welted flesh.

“Well, for myself. This persona makes me happy. It is who I am.” she looked herself over, carefully she adjusted her silks and touched a ribbon spiraling down from her hair. She seemed to be making sure the transformation was complete.

“I thought they were so pretty.” She continued with almost a lyrical tone to her voice. “So strong and gentle. So well versed and intelligent. The Geisha. From Earths ancient Japan. The name, Saki, was given to me by my mentor. He has been dead, a long time now. I think he hoped I could prove his theory worked. That people could outgrow their differences.”

Mongrel nodded and bit his tongue. He would have asked if she killed him, if he hadn’t known better. Again there was that line between polite conversation and stupidity. He wished to stay on the right side for once. He carefully finished his biscuit’s to let her continue.

“When I was first found by my mentor I was in quite bad shape, as.. well as you can see. Not only had the madness taken hold, but I had been hunted and tortured for sport on Gamma 3. Since I was only a juvenile at the time, it was considered reasonable risk. Take enough away from someone physically and they don’t seem so much of a threat. Those that enslaved me there, were human.”

Mongrel swallowed his biscuit hard. It didn’t sit well this time, not with the lump of pale guilt which followed. Had had taken part in a hunt on Gamma 3 once with the boys of his last crew. He knew the place well.

He wondered now if he had a chance to hunt a real Luntic, would he have? Would it have been her that he did those horrible things too? No. It couldn’t be. He only hunted non-sentient. And yet he remembered the drunken massacre of the wild senten boars. He remembered how powerful they felt cooking their own meat in the wilderness and feeling the thrill of the hunt.

He pictured her there, a child running for her life. Psychosis and wounds more horrific then he could imagine. It made him sick inside. It made him sicker to picture him and his boys doing the hunting.

Thankfully his thoughts were distracted by her.

“The relics, as you call them. Bits and pieces. I was taught that every species has good in them. He helped me see that good. And therefore, the good I could be as well. I surround myself with little pieces of the things I like. To remember. To make me feel happy.”

“I’m sorry.” He choked it out, dry and with a slight cough.

“Don’t be. Please.” She shrugged quietly and refilled his cup with the black kettle. Since it wasn’t a very large kettle it was nearly empty now. She offered him another biscuit but he simply shook his head no. The color was still drained from his face. “I don’t blame you, Mongrel. I no longer blame myself for things I couldn’t help either. My mentor taught me this. I’ll forever be grateful to him. We were once a peaceful race. A long time ago. He taught me that we can always return to peace once more.”

He shook his head, his left hand brushed through his hair nervously.

“Growing up I was told about the Luntics. How they devastated the core planets. How the high council had to form the war council to deal with them. We all saw the history vids. Hell, I think any kid growing up in the civilized star systems saw the same vids on it. I don’t think any of us even remember how the full war broke out, just that it was bad. We were losing.”

He rubbed his right arm and cleared his throat. “It was meant to scare the kid right out of us. I mean, eventually when we were older we knew about some of the human involvement. How we tried to help cure the madness but it all went so wrong. We all knew though, we knew it was more then that. But you know… hey those vids were bad. Nightmare bad.”

She nodded quietly. She took a long sip and seemed to think about each of his words. She added in only a few of her own as he took a moment to clear his thoughts. “When my people caught the madness, it produced a chemical between their shells and their skin. A chemical called LysicaX40.”

“I.. I heard about that. Something about it got spread as drugs on the main core worlds.” He whispered the words out, almost like it was some sort of secret. “I knew a few guys on it. Went a bit nuts for it. Addictive as all hell but made him feel and look younger. It eventually just ran-”

“Ran out yes. The Human’s did at first try to help us at first. However when they found out the benefits and pleasures of LysicaX40 as a recreational drug they wanted to harvest it instead. When our leaders found out about this, they refused to take part. It started a war. My people were killing themselves, and yours. It was only a matter of time.”

“It makes sense but, I just. They never told us that you were…” He was stumped at a proper word to fit into the sentence without being rather offensive. Sane, normal.. “…like us before.”

“Tell me, Mongrel. Would your race have even bothered to help us at first, if we weren’t like you?”

“No. I suppose not. That much I know.” It hung in the air like a slap in the face. “I mean, I even knew about some of the torture that happened. It all gets washed over but you hear about it some times. Some colony released some black list of things that happened. You hear about some of the things that go on, but it doesn’t seem to change anything.”

“It never does.” She agreed quietly. “My mentor said that in the days of the war both sides had many chances to end things before it got so bad. My people did horrible things too.”

“I’ve never liked that bit you know? I mean, it’s why I refused to be a soldier. So much spoils of war and excellent pay but.. you hear things. You see how they treat people. Dog fights drove me nuts, don’t think I would have lasted with that crap going on. But it’s different when it’s another race. You can forgive your own for doing that shit, but… It’s so much easier to hate everyone else.”

She shrugged a bit. Her finger traced around the edge of her cup. Her nails were pristine and perfect. It made sense why now.

“It always is. We so often see the differences in others. It is so much harder to see the similarities.”

“I used to have nightmares of your kind. How is it you’re so…” he sighed. “Human?”

She smiled slightly at the thought of that word being used for her. She finished her cup of tea once more and set it down. She covered the tray of biscuits.

“The tea is part of my sanity. Not it’s chemical makeup. Not even it’s taste or preparation. It’s the simplicity of it.” She stroked the side of the warm tea kettle. It almost burned her, should she keep her fingers on it’s edges too long it just might. “One finds themselves in the moments of stillness. One finds themselves in the simplicity of life. In the end, no matter who or what you are – it’s those moments of simplicity that we’re all the same.”

Her smile curved a bit more at that thought. It pleased her because it was honest and true. She missed her mentor but in that phrase it felt like he was still with her somehow. Still guiding her.

She set her cup off to the side. “Both our species have hurt each other so badly. We could war endlessly about it. You could have killed me the moment you came onto my ship for all the horrible things you’ve seen my species do to yours. As I, could have killed you for all the torture yours have done to mine.”

They both nodded. She continued.

“Sometimes it is better for us to grow up and sit down as friends instead of enemies. Tea time. This is what it is all about. Here we are equals who simply are enjoying a drink.”

He somehow felt more the monster then her. All those terrible shadows and monsters of his nightmares were all scared away by her. Her fragile and simple statements. Her brutal and gentle honesty. Saki had chased them all away with her vulnerability.

Mongrel wasn’t a kind man. He’d committed crimes and mangled a few men before. He would have always taken offense at being called ‘kind’ in any form. He wasn’t soft, and he wasn’t gentle. His business thrived on his reputation for being anything but a saint. His enemies would have even called him monstrous at times. Compared to Saki, he certainly was.

It bothered him. Her kindness out-shined him. It made him feel tiny and small. It made him feel like his entire history had been a lie. There were no differences between the races – they were all the same flawed creatures just striving to survive. Making monsters out of shadows.

He reached down and made sure his gun was locked in it’s holster and the charge was turned off. All around him the bits and pieces seemed to make a little bit more sense. Even he could appreciate a bit of it. Although he knew he’d never own a collection like hers. Steal one like it, maybe, but never own. Not like she did.

Her fascination with human history almost made him want to be better just to give her something else to feel happy about. That made him uneasy. He had a reputation to protect after all. If he started changing for women, he might draw back the old ex-wife harpy. Now that would be a monster.

“Now, about your ship.” Saki carefully motioned to his wrist scanner. “Would it run on synthetic plasma oxide?”

Mongrel smiled, the first time in a very long time. He knew those chemicals well, and had used them many times before. His ears practically perked at the mention of it and his head nodded quickly. Finally the conversation was taking a turn to more pleasant topics.

“I had acquired a few tanks of it on a trades-world. I had hoped I could modify it to help run my propulsion units. With no real luck. Since I refuse to give you my tea would you like that instead?”

“Lady, I think you just made it on my list of people I call friend. And that list ain’t very long.”

Her eyes sparkled brightly and she nodded. “Thank you. There is one minor catch however.”

He stilled, listening close and expecting the worst.

“The next time you are in my region, you will have to come for tea.”

He laughed eagerly, adding in; “And biscuits of course. Can I take some to go?”

Doctor Who: The Mad God – Chapter Four

( As mentioned in the first few chapters, this is just a simple continuation of the fanfiction I’m playing around with between episode breaks in Doctor Who. Characters are all (c) the BBC, the fanfiction story is (c) by me. )


He first realized he was tumbling head over heels into the vast emptiness of a bright white space before he realized that he shouldn’t be falling at all. It was a strange sort of feeling for him.

Firstly there was no reason there should be so much bright white space around him. Secondly there should have been solid floor below him. He had no memory of anything strange occurring from the moment he stepped into the dark shadows of the doorway until now.

He tumbled over himself again, and finally had the sense to flail his arms out wide and kick his legs out to stabilize his wind resistance.

Nothing of his current situation made much sense. It was as if he woke up mid-dream to find himself somewhere other then where he had put himself the night before. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar feeling for him, but uncomfortable none-the-less.

What was worse was the fact he saw nothing below, above, or surrounding him. With nothing to judge distance, speed, or obstacles – who knew how far or painful his landing may be.

Or if there would ever be one. He heard plenty of stories of endless holes in time and space before. He hoped this was not one of those stories turned true.

“Doctor…” it wasn’t so much of a voice, as a sudden knowledge of the word. It was a name being rung out in in the very molecules of the space he was falling through. “I was not sure that was you.”

His body flailed slower as if the air had started to transform to invisible mud around him.

“Well I assure you, I’m me!” he wasn’t sure what or whom to address, his eyes scanned around the whiteness for something, anything, not so glaringly white.

He paused a moment, the seconds clicked on as the gears in his dusty old head turned at a quicker pace.

“Interesting… this is a thought projection yes? A powerful one I would guess. It would explain a few things…”

It all made a bit of sense now. In the mind, anything was possible. And it was certainly not the first time his mind had been hijacked before. He’d seen others try similar attacks.

However the mind is just another type of battleground, and the Doctor was well versed in this type of war. Normally his mind was a steel box, locked tighter then the Pandorica itself. Perhaps rusty, but still much harder to crack then this – No, this felt more like neutral space.

He put his theory to the test and used his mind to push back against the surroundings. On will alone the air eased from it’s muddy consistency and he righted himself a bit more easier.

“I see, you aren’t exactly in my head are you?” He willed there to be ground beneath his feet – and there it was. It became a hard white floor.

He exhaled an inner sigh of relief as he started to feel like he had some resemblance of control come back to him. He got twitchy without some sense of control.

“Such would be rude.” The voice, if you could call it such, formed its words carefully. “You are a guest here.”

“A guest?” He huffed patting his hair down and checking his body over. It seemed he was fully intact and even seemed to have his sonic screwdriver safely tucked in his jacket pocket. What good it may do here seemed irreverent. It still brought him an ounce of comfort. “And this is how you treat guests? And just where is my body during this sightseeing excursion, hmm?”

The thought made him uncomfortable, but of course he wasn’t about to admit that. Instead – the Doctor being the Doctor called himself a chair – an oxford leather wing chair to be precise. He had visualized it in brown soft leather, yet it appeared as stark white as everything else.

The colour he could not control. He made a note of that as he flopped into it nonchalantly. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well be comfortable.

“You are where you fell. Sprawled out just inside the doorway I believe.” the voice changed ever so slightly. Was there a sound to it now? An inflection somewhere in the forming of the words. “I do not believe you hurt yourself. I am.. sorry if you did.”

Yes, there it was. An inflection.
A distant memory of a voice breaking the surface of thought.

He rubbed his chin and traced his jawline with the backs of his knuckles as he analyzed it.

“You’ve gone to quite the trouble to bring me here.” he leaned back, stretched his long arms behind his head and crossed his knees. At least the chair was indeed comfortable. “And I’d like to know why.”

Doctor Who: The Mad God – Chapter Three

( As mentioned in the first few chapters, this is just a simple continuation of the fanfiction I’m playing around with between episode breaks in Doctor Who. Characters are all (c) the BBC, the fanfiction story is (c) by me. )


The Doctor was pleasantly surprised to find that the food wasn’t half bad.

He picked at a few pieces here and there after a careful scan to make sure it was all indeed edible. It consisted of a mix of root vegetables and mushrooms. A strangely vegetarian buffet. Luckily for the Doctor he didn’t mind his veggies once in a while. At least it wasn’t celery.

He also learned that there was something major that happened on Ghal’Ex that apparently had gone on completely unnoticed by the rest of the universe.

From what history he could pry out of Malik’s family group; the Doctor learned that the Institution and the very world they were on were miraculously changed one day. Malik spoke of it as the Great Resurrection. That is the day when their parents started anew.

Malik and his wife, along with the other mating pairs were the second generation. They had no species name, and no real understanding of what the Institution had been for. What was even stranger was the fact they could grasp the basic understanding of everything – but yet had no idea how they came about the information or what exactly it meant.

For instance they all were aware of the Chilaru and the Nephel, but had no idea about the Mindwar. They understood that the Institution was here before the Great Resurrection, but no real understanding of why it was here, or what it was for. Not to mention that no one the Doctor spoke to had any idea what happened to the original population which inhabited the Institution. Which by the Doctor’s rough estimate, should have been 11,063 people.

If the current information was correct, there were only about 6 family groups known about on this whole new and sustainable planet. At the most, perhaps merely about 100 people. Where did the rest go?

So with a real lack of information and a curious mind; the Doctor did what the Doctor normally does. He got a rough estimate of where he should go, and he left to wander this new atmospheric planet. After all, he was a curious explorer at heart.

He walked for what must have been hours, not that he really minded.

He sometimes thought far better while wandering aimlessly. His legs hadn’t had a good stretch for quite some time and the walk provided him with plenty of information; although most of it was simple observations about the structure of the planet, the plants it grew, and the general environment.

Things didn’t truly get interesting until he came upon the first true structure which seemed out of place. It was a large concrete wall, half hidden under a tangle of woods which seemed to grow around it.

Malik hadn’t shown the Doctor their family home, but he described it well. From what was described, it seemed to be quite rustic and naturally built. It had sounded ike a mix of cottage and eco-home. He went into great detail on how they used both the deep root systems of burrows, and the trees to build multilevel homes and natural living spaces. More then once Tamar rolled her eyes and grumbled at her husbands bustling pride in their mansion of a home.

This was far from anything he had described. In fact, after a bit of a walk around the Doctor found that it wasn’t just a wall, but a large building jutting out from the trees.

Moving around and scanning the walls he came upon an old and cracked set of symbols high above a knotted clump of tree branches. It was the Asheran, the mineral spa for the treatment of the mentally ill.

The Doctor remembered this place, but certainly not as it looked now. When he had walked past this wing it while wearing an atmospheric suit as it joined onto a now non-existent complex of the Institution’s Living Quarters.

It should have been attached to a huge building which acted as the hospital ward and staff residence. It had a huge atrium and library – and now it was simply gone. As if it had never joined onto this building at all.

And the state of the Asheran was highly suspicious. It looked as if it had been involved in quite an earthquake. He mused, “Well… isn’t this interesting indeed.”

After a short while, and some help from his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor eventually found the guard entrance and was able to wrangle the door open. It wasn’t the easiest task he had accomplished, but it certainly hadn’t been the hardest.

Still, he almost longed for a nice hot dip in a heated spa.
He doubted that would be a possibility.

There was also the slight irritation of darkness as well. With the many hours walking and the hours spent trying to even open the door the sun had set and the night had crept in. It was dark and hard to see and to make matters worse the building seemingly was devoid of automatic lighting. Or at least the electricity to run it.

He stood in the dark peering into an open door of an even darker place. He sometimes wondered if that was a silent metaphor to most of the issues in his long life. Always other darker things to peer into.

“Like this doesn’t seem like a bad idea…” he grumbled and rubbed the bridge of his prominent nose. “Well, I suppose it isn’t the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

And with that truth uttered he bucked up, took a big inhale, and stepped into the darkness awaiting him.