Regeneration
That was sorted, she thought, ascending to the clouds. The Banks children had worn on her hearts overmuch, causing her to question herself. Had she corrupted them, as she had intended, or saved them? At any rate, something amiss had come of her complete upheaval of the family's order.
She snapped her fingers and the doors opened. Before, it had seemed only sky. Fortunately, it was prior to the humans' invention of airplanes, otherwise her TARDIS might have been detected.
She stepped in, set down her carpet bag, let the doors shut, and removed both her hat and shoes. Being good, even halfway so, was exhausting.
She stood up, flipped a switch here, turned a dial there, and spun a gear half way round. Mary. She rolled the name she had used for this and at least one other effort around in her head. Such a plain name. And that Bert, such a sap and she'd played him.
She thought on her fellow Gallifreyan, noting that he was a sap too. She didn't know what to think of him since taking on this form. She sat down again, letting the TARDIS' engines fly themselves. She cupped her own breasts, noting that she hadn't thought of her change in gender, save to select a style for the period. And this style was one she liked. One could be evil, yet not be seen as such. The Victorian style and gender stereotypes worked to her advantage. She could get away with more. Yet, she had taken a leaf from The Doctor's book. It disgusted her.
She unpacked the carpet bag. It was a purse most human women would envy. It was, of course, like most things made by her race, bigger on the inside. Bigger on the inside, like the living time machine that powered her flight to her next scheme. She had stolen it, just as her rival had his. The other Time Lords hadn't seen it coming a second time.
She tired of this goody-goody form. The Doctor hadn't figured the secret to regenerating yet. His subconscious controlled it mostly, save once, on Karn. He had controlled it with the aid of the Sisterhood, only to become a warrior haunted by something he'd thought he did. She could control it as one called River had.
She leaned over and grasped her ankles, focusing all her energy and pushing it out, pushing Mary out. She was the Master—no, that wasn't quite right. She was more of a Mistress. THE Mistress.
She kept pushing and pushing, until the energy washed through her in both pain and pleasure. She heard a ripping as the energy tore the innocence of Mary's dress and petticoats from her body, leaving her in her underthings. She felt the energy stabilize in a rush.
She ran her hands through her hair. Long. Sexy. She looked down. Bigger breasts. Fun. She stepped out of the ruins of Mary's torn dress, kicking it aside, making sure it burned in the heart of the TARDIS. Goodbye goody-two-shoes Mary Poppins.
She strutted to the nearest full length mirror. She could rock this look, the corset, lacy black panties, garter belt and stockings. Add a riding crop or some type of flogger… Maybe a person willing to take some pain… She could live up to the title of Mistress.
No, better to appear innocuous. Better to call herself Missy, seem feminine and girly. All the better to get at him, The Doctor, the muck-about do-gooder.
She selected an outfit that was prim, like that of her former incarnation. However, she chose plum, the naughtiest of colors. Move over black. Move over red. Maybe someday, she'd show the Doctor the corset beneath. She momentarily relished the fantasy of her rival bound, gagged, and subject to her whims. And of course, he would like it. Either that, or he would be conditioned to like it. She liked that thought better. She painted her lips a sinful red. Perfect. Prim, yet edgy. Just her style.
She felt the TARDIS come to a stop. One could feel the difference the longer one traveled about. Hers seemed to sigh as she landed and take the appropriate shape. Missy stepped out of the TARDIS, noting how beautifully it resembled a filing cabinet.
The plan fell into place. She would engineer that impossible girl in his direction. She would let him be so caught up in the mystery of Miss Clara Oswald, as he was wont to be with any puzzle, that he would fail to see the bigger picture. He'd fail to see the deaths that would surround him that would be connected to her, his mortal enemy, his ever-friend.
She would be at the center of the web, subtly tugging the strings. He, the fly, would be drawn into her trap. The deaths would serve a purpose, as they always did. Death was such a beautiful thing, really. Death could be the end of one thing. It was less often perceived as a beginning.
Missy heard the beat, as she often did. It had, in the past, tormented her. She would get the Time Lords for planting that there at the exact point at which she would gaze into the vortex. She let the sound fuel her now. It sounded almost metallic.
Metallic. The plan took more concrete shape. Yes, Death would be required. She could use what already existed in the ground, the remains of the humans. It was too delicious an idea. Play on the humans' belief in an afterlife. Play on one of The Doctor's many nemeses, the men of metal and flesh.
Yes, Death was a beginning- the beginning of an army.