The sky was clear one afternoon, a polished expanse of copper from which twin suns shined. Below this alien sky, two girls who found it to be familiar stood, waiting for a friend. His name was Angelowryredred, of no relation to one particular Castellan, or so he insisted. That of course, was a lie, since he was of the House of RedLooms, but they let him and his lie be.
People lied a lot on Gallifrey.
But as children of thirteen years of age, they hadn't yet learned to mind the lies, only to accept them, or at least the more believable ones.
At long last the boy arrived. He ran out from the Academy building, his shoes hitting the pavement and his bag hitting his side awkwardly with every stride. He looked small from far away, and was still small when he reached the girls' side. He was ten years old.
"Bernadette, Talitha," he said, out of breath. "Sorry I'm late." He gave a slight bow, but his awkwardness only succeeded in making the girls laugh. Bernadette tried to hide it with a hand, but Talitha did not, her grin spreading wide enough to dimple her cheeks.
Once the laughter was contained, they started to walk home together, just as they always did. As they followed the brick-paved path into the city proper, Talitha heard Angelo hum a somewhat familiar tune. After a short while, she recognized it as something from a duck-and-cover lesson that she'd seen as a loomling.
They passed several shops with their wares and posters, then entered the neighborhoods, then their own neighborhood with its neat arrangement of houses.
Angelo's parents thanked them for bringing their son home, their red hair as bright as their smiles.
Bernadette waved goodbye and went inside her own home, leaving Talitha alone in the square.
She looked up at the sky then wandered into her house, closing the door behind her.
Inside was darkness, then some light. It was empty apart from her and the furniture, so she went over to provide it some company.
Living off Academy grounds had its ups and downs. It was just her, the house, and for one minute a day, her father. He was always in various stages of leaving the house, forever speaking to her in passing.
"Sit up straight. Is your work done? I'll be out for some time. I saw your grades. Your mother wouldn't approve."
The last one was her personal favorite.
She leaned back in her chair and put her shoes on the table, covering her unfinished homework in dirt. She looked across at her mother, who smiled. She always smiled, and in the picture frame beside her own, Talitha's father stared back disapprovingly.
She stuck out her tongue at his portrait in reply, picked up a stylus, and tossed it over, hitting the name beneath it. The tool landed on the 'o' in 'Roaldin', striking dead center.
Perfect.
He deserved it, she thought. He was out far more often now, his presence growing rarer to the point of unexpectedness. He had left her completely alone.
But Talitha didn't mind, she liked it that way. She told herself that she liked it that way. As the dalek ships grew closer and closer, she all the more assured herself that she liked it that way.
She of all people should not have known the locations of the enemy, but everyone who cared knew. All it took was a telescope and a healthy distrust of whatever the radio said to discover that Gallifrey was at war, and they were losing.
There were only a few who bothered. It was far easier to just go about business in usual, but in her thirteen years she hadn't been able to get a clear idea of what was supposed to be "usual".
She took her shoes off her papers, retrieved her stylus, and got to work, humming as she worked.
"Duck and cover, cover your face and neck..."