At this point in the morning you were pretty sure there were
no words in existence to describe how nervous you were. Today was your first
day back after the holidays, you’d graduated top three in your year and had
been handpicked by Professor Stilinski to join his personal training program
rather than the schools more basic one.
Professor Stiles Stilinski had become world renowned for
being the first human to prove that the humans and werewolves could co-exist. He
and his wolf Derek Hale worked together for years to create the Werewolf Initiative.
As a last ditch attempt to not be eradicated by the Werewolf
race the humans accepted the Initiative and a fragile peace was settled between
the humans and wolves. Which was why you were nervously stood in the hallway of
the apartment blocks that would be your home for the next three years.
(This is the story of the Master regenerating into Missy. I figured I should put it in the internet before we see Moffat’s version)
Chapter One. Regeneration.
The Master was dying. He knew the feeling well, having died several times previously. He had, in fact, been quite dead not too long ago because he had refused to regenerate simply to spite his arch-enemy and best friend, the Doctor.
They had been like brothers once, long ago, before they had quarrelled over the fate of their world. Like Romulus and Remus before they claimed their future empire. Children of the ravined wolf at the centre of time. It was a pattern that had been echoed across the centuries from Holmes and Moriarty, to Jean Valjean and Javert, Banquo and Macbeth… But the Master liked to believe he had been the original. The original foil against which the darling gem of the world had been set.
He had a vague notion that he had left something unravelled that his much-despisèd love, most foul, most fair, would, in his desperate heroism, find somewhat incommodius. But he could not quite remember what it had been. He figured it did not really matter.
He had died for the Doctor, sacrificing his last vestiges of energy carrying out his friend’s will. There had been a definite shift in the dynamic of their interaction towards the end. The Master had begun agreeing with whatever the Doctor said and the other Time Lord was practically reduced to arguing with himself. And where had that gotten the Master? Here. Back on Gallifrey. In a cell that remained cold and dark despite the customary heat of the planet’s climate. Abandoned by his only friend and greatest enemy.
It was only a matter of time now.
The Master smiled a crazy little smile. Wasn’t it always?
For the first time since he was eight years old, the Master was free of the relentless all-consuming rhythm that had filled every corner of his mind. He had the Doctor to thank for that, and at the moment he genuinely wished he could thank him.
The silence was disconcerting. He was reminded of a line from an ancient prophecy he had once heard, ‘silence will fall when the question is asked.’ Could it mean his silence? Silence after centuries of torment?
He listened. All he could hear was the drip of water on the stone floor, the whistling of wind across the outer wall and the beating of his two hearts. Too fast. Too irregular. It wouldn’t be long now.
The Master curled himself into a ball, scrunched against the wall as though bracing himself against the cold wind, or physical pain. He gazed out at the orange sky and twin moons. Moons that he knew in a short while would be nothing but dust drifting through space, destroyed by Dalek crossfire.
The Master didn’t know where or when he was in relation to the Time War, but calculating his approximate latitude from the constellations that were just becoming visible in the darkening sky, and judging from the uncomfortable cold he was nearer the end of the war. Their weapons systems were draining energy from the very heat within the atmosphere.
His vision began to darken around the edges. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain. One of his hearts had stopped. Then the molecular structure of every cell in his body disintegrated and all he knew was the most exquisite agony.
Koschei collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. The first thing the heir of Oakdown became aware of was the thick swathes of dark hair that tumbled in every direction. So, not blond anymore, then. Next Koschei pushed the dark hair aside and knelt to examine the reflection in a puddle of rainwater on the floor of the cell. She was a woman. Koschei raised an eyebrow, watching her reflection curiously. This was new. She shrugged.
First order of business is to get out of here. The destruction of the planet was imminent. The destruction of the planet by her best beloved, she reminded herself. Imminent, of course, was relative.
‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps at such a petty pace from day-to-day, to the last syllable of recorded time,’ she whispered. Was she Scottish? She was Scottish. She shivered. The last syllable of recorded time.The end of all that is. They had stood there, together, at the end of the universe. On the very precipice of the edge of knowledge. New order of business, she thought, find the Doctor.
She glanced at her reflection again, distractedly. I guess I’m the Mistress now. Hmm. Mistress. Missy. I like Missy. I’ll be Missy. I’ll need a hat. Hats are important. And a dress, something Victorian. I’m a Time Lady now. The one you left behind, the one you left for dead. She laughed gleefully, because obviously that applied to the Doctor’s entire species.
Missy scanned the entire circumference of the room. She glared at the iron padlock on the door. Then she thought of something. Magnifique. Wait. Why am I speaking French? The Doctor like French. He randomly inserts it into sentences. Why am I having a conversation with myself? It’s because you’re narrating in stream-of-consciousness. Also you’re bananas. Bananas is good. He said bananas are good, not bananas is good. There’s a difference.
She returned her attention to the door. Or attempted to. Gallifrey was a low-density planet and towards the end of the Time War almost all mineral resources were going to the army to fight the Daleks. Which led her to believe… She punched the lock. It crumpled. Not iron. Some other alloy. She had broken her hand, but that didn’t matter. First fifteen hours of regeneration cycle, ne c’est pas? Think in Gallifreyan, woman. Or have you spent too much time on precious little Earth?
Missy considered the possibility of that she might simply be able to stroll out of the prison without being stopped, but she considered that it might be best to keep to the shadows. And there were a lot of shadows on Gallifrey. The Shining World of the Seven Systems? A romantic fool’s false nomenclature. The most literal translation of ‘Gallifrey’ had always been ‘They Who Walk In The Shadows.’ And that was what they became. They learned to step through the shadow-space, to pass through time unnoted. Or at least some of them had learned.
So happy to announce that I’ve been working with the
the Iberian Wolf Recovery Centre (IWRC) from Portugal to create a new illustrated product to help their wolves! If you’d like to know more stay tuned for more info :)
I don’t know if I’ve posted these before
this is the summer where i had braces, was on medication for my skin, and generally was not at my best so ignore me and look at the adorable baby there
her name is Flora and she was absolutely sweet you have no idea she kept licking my eyes ???? and whining at me
i don’t usually treat things dramatically and I don’t like to share things that meant something to me but this was the best moment of my boring summer and I’ll always remember it and I want to see them all again