The 10th
Professor's Adventures: Episode 2 – Fighter's Blood
Written
By: MichaelWhovian
Part 1 –
Old Friend
The
roar of the crowd was almost like nectar. Beautiful nectar, and the
ones in the locker room were the bees, collecting it all and running
off of it like a secondary source of adrenaline. With slamming locker
doors, pained moans, blood, sweat, tears, and all sorts of other
moods and emotions in the air, this was the life that Cynthia
Renfield fled to. She was once a boxer, a multi arts fighter, that
was destined to die by a cheating opponent 7 years ago for her, until
she met this man. This man with sprawling ginger hair and a smoking
jacket and dreams of the multiverse. A pained man, a man who still
felt like he was running away from his problems and had taken her
along for the ride by sheer chance and happenstance. That's how she
met warrior women from faraway deserts, Amazons from a world where
myth and legend were as real as fact and history, a goddess who
twisted and fed off of love, and so much more. Until one day. One
day, it ended, when she grew tired of the traveling and the man who
just wanted to run away.
As
she opened her locker, digging through her clothes and belongings to
try and get herself cleaned up, she could hear the boos and cheers
echo from behind the wall. A medic rushed through the locker room,
holding a bag full of supplies and hurried out the door as fast as he
could as she listened to the sounds. While Pro Wrestling wasn't her
next choice of career, not a lot of people in fighting circles would
try and go after a woman who disappeared off the face of the earth
for over a year without showing a bit of age to them. Hooked on the
adrenaline rush, perhaps, then, to make her choose this path so that
she could still feel alive. Who knows, she thought to herself, before
spotting something in her locker. Slowly, she pulled out a picture
from her locker, a picture of her, the man, and another, a blue alien
with two tendrils on her head, a palish white shirt, a belt, striped
scarf like fabrics....
“I
wonder how you're doing, Blue...” She smiled at the picture, slowly
returning it to it's hanging spot. 'Out there, seeing the spots,
maybe he did help you find your way home....” She quickly took
another look around, before taking her clothes and a towel, and
sighs, hearing the last words he said before he departed.
“One
Day, Cynthia Renfield. When I am a different man. One day, We shall
meet again. I promise.”
Meanwhile,
somewhere far away, the TARDIS was close to complete and total loss
of control. As the Professor, still not finished changing and his
body still cooking, worked his way to the console room, the familiar
6 sided classic console erupted and exploded in a rain of parts,
sparks, and wooden splinters. Using the door for cover, the Professor
pushed himself against it, as the splinters catch against the door
and dig themselves inside. He then quickly hurried into the room,
covering his face as sparks flew everywhere, the entire top of the
console gone from the base. No controls. No way of stopping the
TARDIS, wherever it was choosing to land. He eyed around at the walls
as the old computer banks he found erupted from the side, wires,
fire, and metal all raining to the floor. He dived behind a fallen
bookshelf, using it for cover.
“EMERGENCY
PROTOCOLS!” The Professor screamed over the carnage. “ENACT
EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS!” All he could hear was whirling, as the
cloister bell drowned out the other noises on the ship, the lights
now darkened to a deep crimson red. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN,
MALFUNCTION?!”
The
TARDIS began to shake, almost like an earthquake, as roundels fired
themselves from the remaining wall. Hitting the ground, the roundels
smashed into glass and firing like jagged projectiles into the
bookcase and the walls, the remains of the computer banks and the
ceiling. The old console room was completely and utterly destroyed as
he tried to hang on to the bookshelf, the crashing protocol beginning
to activate.
“Once
more into the great unknown then!” The last thing the Professor
remembered from the journey, was the loud crash, and all of the
lights going out, all at once, leaving nothing but a calm, lonely,
silence, and darkness blacker than a black hole.
Cynthia
looked herself over in the mirror. The past 7 years weren't as bad as
one would think, aging and staying together the best she could. Her
Hair dyed a lighter shade of brown, still in a ponytail. Wearing now
a black leather jacket, with a faded white shirt with purple
outlines, more faded than the white. Her training pants replaced with
darkened blue jeans, with a chain hanging out of the pocket, and girl
boots at the heel, black with steel tips. She then looked to her jaw,
checking over it. A faded purple bruise, covered by makeup, sits
right below her lip and above her chin, even trying to stretch her
jaw to look at it, she could feel how tender the area was.
“Lucky
Shot...” She growled to herself, taking a bag of her belongings and
headed out of the locker room. Back then, 7 years ago, she would have
laughed off a simple bruise like that, worn it like pride. Certainly
helped when you have a spear to your face and needed to fight to show
your strength. Back home, however, people expected you to lick your
wounds, cover them up, and walk on like nothing happened. It didn't
help that 7 years ago, she had just turned 21, faced certain death,
and broke what the Professor eventually told her was a fixed point in
time. Now, she was facing full on adulthood, but the need for the
adrenaline rush was still there, like an addiction. However, in the
pursuit of that she has been bloodied, beaten, and broken more than a
few bones.
What
Cynthia did not notice, as she headed out of the large gym/arena type
building, was the fact that she was being watched. Another woman,
still in attire, watches her as she walked out the back doors, before
pulling another girl up to her with a snarl on her lips and anger on
her face.
“Look
at Miss Arrogant, she thinks she can just walk in here...” The
woman looked to her lackey, a woman with black hair and brown eyes,
wearing some sort of simple black hoodie, pants, and black boots to
hide in the dark.
“She,
I heard she-” Her lackey is cut off by another tug on her hoodie,
the woman in attire's eyes narrowed with rage almost pouring from
them.
“I
don't care. It's time she was taken down a notch, and you and me are
going to do it. Now get your mask and hoodie on and follow her.”
The woman hissed into her lackey's ear. “When you come back, I want
a picture. It's time the washed-up fighter got shown the way out the
door.”
The
Professor, with all of his strength, heaved a bookcase over the
glowing, shining light of the TARDIS console base. Even though that
much, he could feel the raw time energy, burning like standing under
a hot sun in the desert. With little energy left, he slid off of the
bookcase, hearing the walls around him groan and strain from the
spinning and shaking. He watched as panels from the ceiling blew off
their nails and bolts, wires falling out of the ceiling and causing
new sparks to go flying.
“She,
She's pulling herself...” The Professor spoke to himself, his voice
starting to get raspy again, his energy fading again. “No, No, I
can't...Not now, I have to keep working-”
At
that moment, he could hear a part of the wall just erupt into
splinters and sparks, sending them flying out into the room. While he
was protected behind the TARDIS base and the bookshelf, it was
painful to hear his TARDIS go through such an explosive crash
landing. Not since the war had the console room taken so much damage,
destroying itself to the point of being unrecognizable of what it
used to be.
As
he lost consciousness now for the fourth time, all his hope now was
on his old friend. Hopefully, she knew where to go. Hopefully she was
going for help?
Rain.
It always rained in the big cities. As Cynthia sat under a covered
window, watching the rain come down, waiting for her taxi to home,
she just had this feeling. Thunder rocked through the sky as the rain
began to pick up, thickening with every second that passes by.
Cynthia began to watch around her surroundings, barely able to see
anything, before giving a big sigh. However, just before she went to
just start rocking home, she is grabbed from behind.
“Miss
Midnight has a message for you.” She heard the person say, before
throwing her against the wall. Cheap shot, taking from behind.
Anything's legal in the area of the gym and arena, that's how the
brand's been. Quickly, she put her hands up as she felt a kick hit
into her gut, doubling her over. That noisy, giggly laugh, scratched
on Cynthia's ears. As she felt another kick about to come, Cynthia
kicked her assailant in the thigh, hard, before going for a punch to
her jaw.
Get
her down and run, that was the smarter plan, not when her opponent
obviously has the sight advantage here, Cynthia thought to herself.
Sadly,
she couldn't even turn to run, before her foot was pulled out from
under her and she hit the ground. That irritating laugh echoed in her
ears again, as she could hear her assailant going for something, she
could hear the metal clanging against the wall. Apparently she had
pissed off someone here, getting the backyard treatment like this.
That's
when the sound came. At first she thought it was her memory, or a
sound from behind her. The loud gong, of the TARDIS locking on to
land, it always sounded like a mix of a large gong, or a church bell
ding. Then like a car's engine, she could hear it begin to land
somewhere, muddled in with the footsteps of her assailant running for
the hills, possibly spooked by the sound in such harsh weather.
Cynthia quickly stood up, soaked from the rain, as she began to eye
for the machine, as the sound became more distorted, more echoed,
like something was the matter with it.
As
she quickly turned the alleyway, both to find the source of the sound
and to escape her attacker, she found it. Sitting in the alleyway, a
mere 20 or so feet away, under the glow of an old street light, was
the familiar sight of the Professor's TARDIS, a Victorian Wardrobe
with a beautiful carved top and four legs to keep her off the ground.
She eyed it in almost shock, slowly feeling her forehead for blood,
thinking she was hit by the object, and that this was a dream. When
her hand came back clean, she slowly shook, before walking over to
the old box. It was just as she remembered, sitting there in the
light, and yet, it didn't seem real.
After
merely a minute, which felt like forever, Cynthia slowly knocked on
the door. No Response. She slightly raised her eyebrow. That was
weird, even for the TARDIS. Usually if the Professor was in, he would
answer, if he was out, she would hear the TARDIS sound off....The
Professor said she was talking but it always just sounded like noises
with emotion behind them. She knocked again. No Response. Something
didn't feel right. Had she missed him? Was this not the TARDIS? As
she went to knock for the third time, the door slid open, and this
man peered out. Black Hair, with the endings all curled up, his eyes
a Bluish-purple and slightly mad, disheveled clothing on him, and
this look of pain all over his face. He looked at her, squinting his
eyes, then widening them, before collapsing out the doors, the doors
slamming shut, pushing his feet out. What shocked Cynthia even more,
was a few moments later, the TARDIS making noises back at her in
response.
Part 2:
The Reunion
Regeneration
Sickness is quite a fickle thing. Usually it lasts a day, or an hour,
sometimes it can last a week, to even a month. As the Professor could
remember, there was one time a Lord President had to take an extended
leave of absence over an illness, which led to his regeneration and a
6 month Coma like recovery. Sometimes however you get lucky. As the
Professor drifted in the void, that's what he was hoping for, his
mind working to get itself together, it felt like a dream or retreat,
as he could hear his muffled selves begin to echo in his mind again.
“Oh
Great....” The Professor thought to himself. “I can go crazy in
my head while I am in some sort of coma. Perfect.”
“Insanity
of the Mind is one of the things that helps us think, Wouldn't you
agree?”
The
Professor, startled, eyed around the dark surroundings of his mind,
before a simple area lit up before him, two chairs, a small rug, a
side table, a lamp, and two sodas, one on each side of the table.
Slowly, he approached the odd bits of furniture, before something
formed in one of the chairs, an older gentleman, with shorter hair, a
worn green jacket, cricket jacket, and black and white blocked
suspenders. His Previous incarnation.
“You're
a sight for sore eyes.” The Professor spoke to him, sitting in the
other free chair.
“I
should be saying that to you.”
“How
are you here?”
The
Previous Incarnation rolled his eyes. “How am I in my own head?
Quite a question that answers itself, don't you think?”
“You
know what I mean.”
“You
mean why I haven't joined the other voices to talk to you yet. Quite
Simple really. We're not done yet, and you know it. You need
something to give you a kick start.”
“A
Kick Start?”
“Yes,
a Kick Start. I was an old man, if you recall. All those ideas I had
for changing how we deal with problems, that was for a much younger
man. It's why I was hoping I was much younger, and you come like a
miracle for us.”
“A
Miracle? We've mostly been young, you're the outlier.”
“But
Now look at us.” Slowly, the Previous incarnation took the soda
from the table, taking a drink. “Fresh and young. But this
regeneration sickness won't do, won't do at all. You have to wake up,
and wake up like a jolt.”
“Which
you plan to be, which is why you wanted to talk to me.”
“There
we go, you see? You're starting to use that brain between your ears.
Yes, I would rather not sleep for a prolonged period, It would rather
be in poor taste, especially being with old friends, hm?”
“Old
friends.....” The Professor looked to his previous incarnation, who
has this small smile on his face. “You know, we need to do this
more often with ourselves. Sometimes it helps.”
“We're
always here for a call. Better than actually visiting ourselves in
our time-streams and breaking the first law of time, hmm?” The
Previous incarnation slowly raised his hand, a smile forming across
his face. “Once more unto the breach, and good luck. From all of
us.” The last thing The Professor heard was the snap of his
fingers.
Air
filled the Professor's lungs like soup, as he gasped, rising up a bit
from where he laid on a couch, coughing like he had fallen into the
depths of the sea. As he tried to get a look at his surroundings, he
began to realize he must have been out for a while. While the rain
continued to hit outside, it had slowed, nowhere near the power it
had when he opened the door, losing consciousness just as the light
touched his face. A Single lamp shone in the small living room, built
like something you would see in old movies, a couch, a rug, table,
small kitchenette in the corner, an old beat up TV with hangars for
antenna, but what made the room more unique was around the front
door, and the two doors that led to other rooms in this small
apartment. The door frames glowed, shone with tech like circuitry,
with a small panel next to the doorknob on each of them. It would
seem that while the apartment seemed old, even it could not hide the
near future advancements.
Soon,
he began to hear the noise of water coming from one of the rooms,
like someone was turning off a shower, and a slight whistling to
themselves, the dripping of the water hitting what sounded like a tub
actually gave him something to focus on, as his brain tried to catch
up on what happened. The last thing he remembered, was the light, and
now he is here, somewhere, with obviously a host of some kind. “But
who?” he thought.
About
a minute or so later, wrapped up in a robe and a towel, Cynthia
stepped out from her old bathroom. Her eyes quickly look to the man,
who has quickly covered his eyes and gone like he has gone blind,
giving a chuckle to herself as she pulls over a simple metal chair.
“I needed to make sure. Warm showers, and they haven't fixed the
Weather Maker yet, so the rain's about as cold as a blizzard at
night, but at least the sound's nice.”
The
Professor quickly sat up, his hand over his eyes. “Cynthia
Renfield. I can't believe it, It has been centuries for me,
about....oh, almost Half a dozen incarnations since your departure?”
“Seven
years for me. Teach, what are you doing here, out of the blue like
this?”
“Would
you believe me if I told you it was completely by accident?”
Cynthia
sad in the metal chair facing him, raising an eyebrow, her long hair
still somewhat wet and glowing a bit in the low light. “You?
Accident? Professor, half the time the TARDIS crash lands because you
can't decide on where you wanted to go.”
“Well,
Yes, but this time it is the truth. I came here completely on
accident....Or at least, I didn't know we were coming
here....Regeneration sickness protocol, the TARDIS couldn't handle
the pressure somehow and the whole of the console ripped itself
apart. So, for a bit, I am stuck here......Sorry about that.”
“Regeneration......Incarnations.....Is
that why your face is different?”
“Hm?
Oh! Oh yes, of course, you haven't heard of it before, yes...” The
Professor smiles, turning his head side to side for her. “How do I
look?”
“Like
a High School Science Teacher during Halloween.”
The
Professor rolled his eyes, before smiling a bit. “I forgot how
blunt you were. So, Seven years then? How was it?”
“How
was my life, back here as it was?” Cynthia smiled a bit, standing
up from the chair, holding out her hand. “I have to get changed,
but come with me.”
The
Professor took her hand, as she walked him into the bedroom of the
apartment, She helping him as he stumbled a bit, not used to the
walking with new feet. She turned the light on, as she headed into
the closet, closing the door enough for privacy, but wide enough to
continue the conversation. The room, besides the old steel bedframe
and bed, and some other odds and ends, were filled with old posters
and photos of events. The posters were of fights she was in,
advertised and made, all in pristine condition, while handing up on a
wall, were photos from everything from her and old boyfriends,
friends she made, fights and achievements, The Professor looked
around at basically what felt like a scrap book.
He
smiled a bit, as he looked at a couple she took on the TARDIS when
they traveled, when it was just her, him, and Aurora, the scared girl
flung from one universe into a strange new one. “Life changes a
person, it seems. Mementos?”
“Memories.”
Her voice echoed from the closet. “You always did take pictures
sometimes, it made sense to do so, especially when you want to
remember.”
His
eyes looked to the posters, and he almost gave a small sigh. “I
thought I told you not to get back into this, Cynthia, after the last
time?”
“I
did. Well, I tried to follow it. Then the life started calling me
back, but I wanted more. Went from thing to thing, trying to solve an
inch, Professor. I couldn't just sit around and be bored and alone.”
“So
you chose to go back into fighting?”
“Fighting,
Sports for a year or so, Tried being a bodyguard which never worked
out here....Now I'm wrestling. Professor, I am trying to be careful,
especially after those words you told me, but I got bored of waiting,
of being still, and tried to get on my feet again.”
The
Professor opened his mouth, wanting to push the issue further, but he
just sighed again, walking back over to the pictures, seeing the life
she's lived since he left her back home seven years ago. “I see
you've had love?”
He
heard her chuckle. “Not any luck with it. No one could keep up.”
“As
Brash and as Blunt as always, but I can tell in your voice, a
wiseness that wasn't there. You've changed a lot, from that girl who
ran onto the TARDIS after nearly losing her life doing this type of
work.”
“I'll
take that as a compliment.” The closet door opened, and the
Professor looked over. Cynthia was not wearing a purple tee, with
some sort of baseball type A on it, with a little rocket connected to
the swirl of the A. Her leather jacket with silver zippers, black
pants following the same, with a blue skirt like tied off at the side
and hanging down on one side to her knee, but instead of the black
boots, Brown ones, but with the same steel tips. Her hair done up in
a ponytail, and those familiar eyes. She smiled to him, stepping out
and walking up to him. “You know, I will say this. New Face or not,
I have missed you, Professor. Honestly.”
“It's
always a pleasure to see old friends. Always.” The Professor smiled
at her, as she hefts a bag over her shoulder. “Where are you going
at this time of night?”
“This
time of....Professor, it's 9 in the morning! You slept all night!”
His
ears perked, The Professor runs to the window, peering out onto the
skyline of an old city, brick buildings mixed with futuristic spire
like constructions reaching to the sky. He notices the very subtle
hit of sunlight, glistening on one of the tallest spires, as the rain
continues to pelt down, like a never-ending bubble surrounding it. He
hears Cynthia chuckle, then head out.
“Professor,
if you're coming along, you don't want to get lost, do you?”
“I....I'll
follow behind you....” His eyes transfixed on the surroundings,
then he listens for the door to close to the bedroom, before walking
back to the wall of photographs. The dead center, sat one in
particular. A Victory, the crowd going wild, Cynthia's arm raised,
but the Professor looks to her face on the photograph. The bored,
cold, expressionless face. He sighed a bit, pinching the bridge of
his nose a bit. “Oh, Cynthia, What's happened to you....?”
The
gym was absolutely filthy. While it was kept to standard cleaning, so
that it wouldn't seem like a sort of bar past the midnight hour, the
old doors, the broken tech, the cracks in brick, the torn up
furniture...It was a place meant to be for fighting, dangerous and
ruthless in this place. As the Professor slowly eyed around the
entrance, staring at an old bench with springs shooting out of the
cushions, and the metal rusted to the point of chipping. “Bit of an
old town relic, don't you think?” The Professor remarked.
“It's
a bit rough around the edges. But It's been helping.”
“Helping
you towards the same problem...”
Cynthia
looked at him, annoyed, her eyes slightly narrowed. “Professor...”
The
Professor raised his hands up. “Sorry, Sorry, I know, I know. I am
a guest here, this is your life.”
“Exactly.
Now, stay in here, I need to do some things, it won't take long. And
Professor, no aliens, no Invasions, nothing, Do you understand?”
The
Professor sighed, nodding, watching as Cynthia headed down the left
side of the corridor, before slowly sitting down on the old bench.
His eyes scanned around the old gym, seeing the decay and destruction
of the building, almost putting his head in his hands. Cynthia
Renfield, this bright woman with so much in her life, now caught here
doing bloody fights because she's on a downward spiral. She may not
admit it to herself yet, but he has seen it. He has seen what happens
when someone is so driven by anger and hatred that they feed
themselves into a frenzy, and they think it's justified just to seek
more. He slowly looks down to his hands, slowly closing them as they
shake, before he heard a door slam shut. A normal sound in a gym,
emotions running high, and if fights were being done inside, it would
make more sense, but something didn't feel right with it. He looked
to a spring out of the bench, taking it with him as he slowly rolled
it out, eyeing down the corridor. All the doors were shut tight, all
closed, old posters and announcements and all sorts of posters hung
from the walls, blowing in the air circulated by old fans on the
ceiling, circling more by friction and force rather than power.
Once
the spring was out of the bench, about the length of his hand, he
quickly pocketed it, before following Cynthia's path down the left
side of the corridor. He could hear it sometimes in his head, what
she must be going through, the drive to push one self, to keep going,
to do more. It's why when he was a much younger man he broke fixed
points like they were going out of style, just a few, but still he
did it. Saving people, without any care for the rules of time or
anything else, because people were more important, when he became the
Ginger haired man in the green smoking attire. He kept running, he
did what he wanted, he was more and more reckless. That's how he
died, got in way over his head and regenerated in his TARDIS barely
able to move from the pain. “Oh, Cynthia....” The Professor spoke
to himself. “Why did you have to-” He heard something, stopping
cold in the corridor.
He
turned to this faded wooden door, the paint chipping from the
engravings and the corners. Repairs have obviously been done on the
door, where multiple times over newer and newer wood planks were
stapled, bolted, or nailed in to keep the door upright. He slowly
walked to the door, picking up a glass from the floor, shaking
whatever residue or grime he could from it, placing it on the door,
and slowly listened inside.
As
Cynthia was thrown again into a stacked row of chairs, all she could
focus on was the pain. An ambush, so soon, probably meant to be like
last night's fun, until the Professor's untimely arrival spoiled
their fun. As she tried to regain herself, kicking hard in the
direction she was thrown from, all she could hear was this laugh.
“You
think you could come in here and act the way you do without getting
noticed?” The voice sounded young. A lot younger for her. “You
think no one wouldn't get angry at you, for just walking in here and
running your mouth?!” She is thrown, hard, into this storage
container, cracking the wood slightly as she falls from it to the
floor. “At least I'm the one who had enough smarts to take the
chance. Now We'll see how you feel.”
The
Professor quickly lowered the glass, ready to kick the door down,
before stopping himself just as his foot touched the door. He doesn't
know how many could be inside watching this, he could be busting into
the OK Corral with nothing to back it up. He had to be smart about
this, he promised himself.....as he slowly pulled out the spring from
his pocket, he looked to the door-frame, specifically around where
the lock and door handle was. Some of the wood was stripped away,
enough to where he could see the stopper and the locking door
mechanism, the plug in perfect view.
The
Professor eyed the spring, and slowly, with one end, began to stick
the spring into the mechanism to try and pull back the plug and the
lock. One chance. If it made any noise he could alert the others on
the other side of the door. Slowly, he began to roll it centimeter by
centimeter out of the door-frame. His breathing slowed, almost to a
crawl, as he moved the stopper further and further back, until
eventually it was inside the door. The Professor took the door
handle, now twisted enough to keep the stopper inside, and dug the
spring enough into the hole so it wouldn't slip back. After a minute
or two of working up his nerves, he entered the room, as quiet as a
ghost.
The
Storage Room was a bit small, about the size of a large bedroom. All
around the room, things were stacked up and out, from metal chairs to
wooden crates, to large cabinets where the more dangerous things were
locked away, like bats, nails, barbed wire, things that deserved to
be locked away until use. Slowly, the Professor turned the lock on
the other side of the doorknob, slipping in as silently as he can,
shutting the door on the spring, before hiding in shadow. Standing
over Cynthia, was this woman, long black hair, young, wearing all
black, like a jumpsuit, covering herself from her neck down. Next to
the cabinet, trying to get in, was another young woman, her a couple
years younger, with a pinkish hue to her hair, also in a ponytail,
pulling on the door as she tries to yank on the metal door.
“What's
taking so long.....” He heard the older one say.
“The
Lock's fresh, someone replaced it!”
“Then
snap it again!” He watched her deliver a kick to Cynthia's back.
Cynthia had a cut, right on her forehead, he could see now, something
small, but even that small made his blood began to boil. It was
happening again. Her fate was happening again, but this time it was
in flux. In shadow, the Professor had to act fast. He eyed around,
searching for something, anything, before finding a broken piece of
wood, from the crate Cynthia crashed into, big enough to make some
noise. Quickly sliding it over, he looked up at the girl at the
cabinet with it...before eyeing back at the chair stacks. With one
hard swing, he hit one, making a loud clang noise. The girls turn to
him, as he throw the wood right at the younger one to make her
stumble.
At
that moment, Cynthia turned, kicking the young girl with black hair
square in the gut,, before swinging it up into her jaw. It sent her
flying back into the cabinet, as the two girls hit each other,
falling down to the floor, the older girl headbutting the younger
when they connected, knocking each other out.
“She
always had a damn glass jaw...” Cynthia said, a snarl slightly
formed on her face.
“What
was that, then, about not making trouble for yourself?”
She
looked at him, smiling a bit, about to say something, when the pain
caught up to her. Her eyes clouded up, her gaze drifted, and she fell
back to the floor. The Professor quickly rushed over to her, checking
on her. She seemed alright, but the bruises and the cut on her
forehead were clear indicators of what happened. For a moment, he
looked at her, silent, like the gears in his head were turning around
and around. Did he? Should he take her away again? She needed help,
help to make herself more rounded, something he hoped he had done the
last time they had traveled together, but as she said, things didn't
work out. He eyed the door, checked on her attackers, before slowly
picking her up in both arms and carrying her out, closing the door
and removing the spring, re-locking the door on his end.
“That
should give them some time to cool off...” He thought to himself,
looking at his companion. He took off, holding the bleeding but alive
Cynthia through the back doors, quickly using the rain to wipe down
her forehead, checking her pulse, thinking she suffered something.
Again, it was normal. Did he overreact again? Surely not, as he
looked to her, laying her against the wall on the outside, pacing a
bit in the rain.
“Was
it something I did? Did I not....I told her, didn't I? I told her not
to....” He paced, before hearing a thrum behind the corner, and a
voice come to his mind.
“Telling
her not to do something, after feeding her love and drive as her
youth is like feeding a stray cat sweets and expecting it not to
follow you home.”
The
Professor sighed. “I didn't feed it...Did I?”
“Did
not feed it? May I recall the years after your heart snapped to
ribbons, You were a black hair ball of energy, that almost need
constant supervision so you wouldn't get yourself into trouble, and
finding that Edwardian Stewardess was a way for you to go further
out, but you were such a ball of emotions she left soon after. Shall
I also remind you of the ginger haired man with the smoking jacket,
who tried to claim that he was the first incarnation for a while,
before that lie quickly fell apart and you fell back into fighting
and indulging your emotions, taking on a fighter and a young alien
girl. You gave the fighter new and exciting fights and dropped her
back home, and look at her now, fighting extreme fights to get the
same thrill. It took convincing the alien girl to come back when you
long since regained your senses, and she finally put you on the right
path.”
The
Professor stopped silent, looking away from where he heard the thrum,
holding his head.
“
Fate gave you one second chance to fix what happened with that nice
girl, and now it's given you another. I suggest you take it, and
bring her inside, before she catches a damn cold from all this rain.”
The
Professor quickly ran over to Cynthia, picking her up in his arms,
looking at her for a moment, before looking towards the alleyway.
“You always know what to say to keep me going, old friend.”
“I
say what needs to be said, because I'm the one who's seen yourself.
Now come on!” He heard a loud annoyed thrum coming from the
alleyway, as he hurried for the wardrobe.
The
TARDIS looked almost new. Her old Victorian shell shone in the low
light of the morning, the rain hitting against her surface which had
this polished looked that made her look centuries younger than she
was. He couldn't help but smile, seeing her all shined up and new.
Slowly, he took his hand on one of the handles, and opened the door.
The TARDIS console room was a complete overhaul. Following the War
design with corals, the room was circular and stood on three levels.
The first floor was made out like a study, on one half, divided into
sections was a sitting area, with pictures of him and his companions
behind the chairs, to make it feel homely, fitting inside the
roundels and the wooden wall. The second was an entire desk, for
tinkering, working, writing, with sliding drawers and covered holes,
giving it an almost all purposed look. In the third pocket on the
left side, was a cabinet, a rather large cabinet, where a cassette
player sat, with two large cases full of cassette tapes all set out
for him by genre.
The
right side was more uniform, wall sized computers and connections,
buttons and old reels for the far left and right side, while the
middle pocket had the old fault locator, built into the wall and
ticking away with constant reports. Finally, on the far end, was a
simple one roundel door, with the old L shaped handle leading into
the TARDIS corridors, and the small room beyond the console room.
The
Professor smiled a bit, eyeing up at the ceiling, where wires hung
from the ceiling, lit up with star lights and pinpoint lights, to
give the TARDIS more than just the natural light of the roundels, as
he walked over and laid Cynthia in his big red chair, before walking
up to the center of the room. The center console was that of the
coral design, but with the white colored time rotor, stretching all
the way into the ceiling, but the sides of the console were more full
than that of the average design, more bells, levers, switches,
pulleys, everything covering the faces and the dividers of the
console, as the smile on the Professor's face grew bigger.
“Not
a fan of corals....But you made it feel like home.”
The
TARDIS thrummed in response, as he eyed the screen, before hearing
Cynthia moan a bit from the chair. Quickly, he ran over to her,
sitting down and quickly changing his expression to more of a calm
man, as her eyes slightly opened, a slight smile on her face.
“You
redecorated....”
“Surely
one doesn't like the same thing for too long. How do you feel?”
“Like
I was hit by a train.....”
The
two chuckled a bit, before the Professor looked at her, his hands
connected. “We could go again, you know. See the universes, help
people, but I want you to know that I am a very different man than I
was nearly two thousand years ago. When one gets to be nearly five
thousand, he starts to think, and act more with his mind than he does
with his fists. However, I do know that violence, fighting, is
sometimes necessary to survive. When one must fight, fight to
protect, never to maim or kill.” He leaned in a bit, looking at
her. “Let me show you the multiverse, and this time, do it
properly.”
She
looked at him, then to the TARDIS console, before laying back. “We
need to get some of my things, first...”
The
two chuckled again, the Professor smiled. “Welcome back aboard.”
