Usual disclaimers apply; at the moment, the only thing in this story I own
is Laurelesvanadraliana (try saying *that* ten times fast). Also, just for
the record, the Time Lords never called anyone officially a Time Lady-
Romana was an acolyte Time Lord, as was Susan before her. So what would
happen if they *did* create one for a specific purpose? With that, here
goes-let me know if you think I should keep up with it.
~Autumn~
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Tales of a Time Lady
Space: the final frontier.
Or so it was thought. Space, however, can never be mentioned without time following shortly behind it. Contrary to popular belief, space was not the final frontier; more importantly, time was. Just now, a strange object was ricocheting through both space and time, careening off of one, bouncing into the other, and generally spinning its way through them.
The object was a blue police box, circa England, 1963.
Laurelesvanadraliana, better known as Laurel, stood at the helm of the TARDIS. While she could not be considered tall, the apparently twenty-six year old auburn-haired woman projected a certain assertiveness that often made strangers assume her to be taller than she actually was. Her green- grey eyes, while warm and kind, also held an authority one did not trifle with. Unlike many of her kind, she dressed in a fashion drawn from the planet Earth that actually made sense. She paired denim pants-blue jeans, she had explained to the curious Council-with a charcoal grey sweater and topped the whole thing off with a black trench coat (she had always had a weakness for Earth detective stories). Her shoes were modeled after the two- toned black-and-white wingtip shoes of the American 1920s. Finally, a cloth cap based after the British turn-of-the-century style lay, at the moment, stuffed into one of the deep pockets of her coat.
She fingered the cap in her pocket. She had found it in the TARDIS wardrobe years ago, lost it (*No,* she told herself, *not lost. Misplaced.*), then found it again two days ago. The day before she left.
She had left Gallifrey with much ceremony, though she knew she would never return. Not if she could help it, at least. There were too many memories.
But had she taken the memories with her?
The Council had been thrilled to dub her first officially named Time Lady. They had been so proud, they told her, so honored, to give her that title. but she could not help but think how shortsighted the Council was. They had the secrets of time, but they knew nothing of the troubles of the universe. Veiled in formalities, they avoided the world outside of Gallifrey while others explored. Laurel had been an acolyte Time Lord to the Doctor during his eighth regeneration, much as Romana had been to the fourth Doctor before her, and after years of journeys as a renegade, he shocked the whole of Galifrey by announcing his intention to retire. "I'm getting old," he told Laurel. "I feel much older than I look. It's time my meddling comes to an end." She had smiled at that, though she felt saddened by it; his "meddling" was what had defined him uniquely as himself all these years. Then, when she had been awarded the honor of being the first Time Lady Gallifrey had known, he had handed down the TARDIS to her. "We've seen some interesting times, the three of us. You know her better than any of my other companions ever did. Let's see the two of you off on your own," he said.
The wardrobe had been cleared of the Doctor's things and replaced by an endless supply of clothing suited to her. She had found, though, hanging from the edge of the door, the cloth cap she now carried in her pocket.
And so they had pushed her onwards, roaming, exploring, constantly on the move-always to report back to the Council, of course. That was why they had let her leave. How else would they continue to expand their records? That had been their main purpose in naming her Time Lady; to send her on a never- ending reconnaissance mission. They had not given her any guidelines as to where they wanted her to go. On her maiden voyage alone with the TARDIS, they had told her simply to go forth. Collect data. Report back. Continue on. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Her official title had never seemed emptier to her as it did then. Navigating blindly, sadness, ambivalence, a sense of loss and of something that could never be replaced, and a strange element she identified as a relative of fear tore through her as the trusted time ship sped on through the stars.
CRASH.
Just then, an enormous explosion shook the TARDIS, tossing Laurel to the ground. She picked herself up, eyes flickering frantically over the TARDIS's countless monitors as another bang threw her across the console.
What was going on?!
************************************************************************
Tales of a Time Lady
Space: the final frontier.
Or so it was thought. Space, however, can never be mentioned without time following shortly behind it. Contrary to popular belief, space was not the final frontier; more importantly, time was. Just now, a strange object was ricocheting through both space and time, careening off of one, bouncing into the other, and generally spinning its way through them.
The object was a blue police box, circa England, 1963.
Laurelesvanadraliana, better known as Laurel, stood at the helm of the TARDIS. While she could not be considered tall, the apparently twenty-six year old auburn-haired woman projected a certain assertiveness that often made strangers assume her to be taller than she actually was. Her green- grey eyes, while warm and kind, also held an authority one did not trifle with. Unlike many of her kind, she dressed in a fashion drawn from the planet Earth that actually made sense. She paired denim pants-blue jeans, she had explained to the curious Council-with a charcoal grey sweater and topped the whole thing off with a black trench coat (she had always had a weakness for Earth detective stories). Her shoes were modeled after the two- toned black-and-white wingtip shoes of the American 1920s. Finally, a cloth cap based after the British turn-of-the-century style lay, at the moment, stuffed into one of the deep pockets of her coat.
She fingered the cap in her pocket. She had found it in the TARDIS wardrobe years ago, lost it (*No,* she told herself, *not lost. Misplaced.*), then found it again two days ago. The day before she left.
She had left Gallifrey with much ceremony, though she knew she would never return. Not if she could help it, at least. There were too many memories.
But had she taken the memories with her?
The Council had been thrilled to dub her first officially named Time Lady. They had been so proud, they told her, so honored, to give her that title. but she could not help but think how shortsighted the Council was. They had the secrets of time, but they knew nothing of the troubles of the universe. Veiled in formalities, they avoided the world outside of Gallifrey while others explored. Laurel had been an acolyte Time Lord to the Doctor during his eighth regeneration, much as Romana had been to the fourth Doctor before her, and after years of journeys as a renegade, he shocked the whole of Galifrey by announcing his intention to retire. "I'm getting old," he told Laurel. "I feel much older than I look. It's time my meddling comes to an end." She had smiled at that, though she felt saddened by it; his "meddling" was what had defined him uniquely as himself all these years. Then, when she had been awarded the honor of being the first Time Lady Gallifrey had known, he had handed down the TARDIS to her. "We've seen some interesting times, the three of us. You know her better than any of my other companions ever did. Let's see the two of you off on your own," he said.
The wardrobe had been cleared of the Doctor's things and replaced by an endless supply of clothing suited to her. She had found, though, hanging from the edge of the door, the cloth cap she now carried in her pocket.
And so they had pushed her onwards, roaming, exploring, constantly on the move-always to report back to the Council, of course. That was why they had let her leave. How else would they continue to expand their records? That had been their main purpose in naming her Time Lady; to send her on a never- ending reconnaissance mission. They had not given her any guidelines as to where they wanted her to go. On her maiden voyage alone with the TARDIS, they had told her simply to go forth. Collect data. Report back. Continue on. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Her official title had never seemed emptier to her as it did then. Navigating blindly, sadness, ambivalence, a sense of loss and of something that could never be replaced, and a strange element she identified as a relative of fear tore through her as the trusted time ship sped on through the stars.
CRASH.
Just then, an enormous explosion shook the TARDIS, tossing Laurel to the ground. She picked herself up, eyes flickering frantically over the TARDIS's countless monitors as another bang threw her across the console.
What was going on?!