It took me forever to design Tegan's dress. Now I want one.
The dress came to rest on her skin like a soft breeze. Tegan regarded herself in the imager. When she flirted her hips, the skirt swirled around her calves. The material resembled matte white silk, but the right angle of light awoke gleams like sunlight on snow from embedded crystals.
Leela's influence had pruned the excesses of Tegan's imagination. The style made her think of old-fashioned glamour. All that was missing was cleavage, for the neckline modestly skimmed her collarbones. In back, it dipped far enough to show the corners of her shoulder blades. It satisfied Tegan to wear something that was definitely not a high collared Gallifreyan style. Look at the human being. She has skin, and she's not afraid to turn her back on you.
"Hah! Now… close-up," she said, and the imager produced a magnified vision of her face so she could check the minutiae of her make-up. Knowing she'd be surrounded by women who were centuries old, Tegan had not tried to compete in dignity and had chosen a fresh-faced look. There was one unusual touch. She'd requested something to add a bit of shine to her hair along with the curl control. Her gelled fingers had run through her dark auburn hair, sculpted it off her neck in softly tousled curls, and left trails that now sparkled like embers.
The door chime sounded. If she knew the Doctor, that was the sound of his patience running out. She grinned at her image and twirled to make her snowscape dress shine. It was Tegan vs. Gallifrey. She walked to the door in long, free strides. Her dress would be fine. Leela knew what was appropriate.
"Ah, Tegan, at last," said the Doctor when she came out.
"I thought you'd have to ring again." Turlough turned to look at her from his lounge seat. His eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he quickly stood up. "Very nice, Earth Female. I see we all made an extra effort."
He had gone with a military cut outfit in deep green with accents of tan. It had unfamiliar lines that Tegan supposed came from Trion styles.
Of course, the Doctor was in Presidential white and gold. Even in unofficial moments, he'd told her he felt it best to remind people who he was, especially as his physical appearance was so youthful. Like Turlough, he had shed the usual long robe for jacket and trousers. His clothes resembled the uniform of the Presidential guard, but lacked armor, weapons, helmet, and cloak. Something about his appearance was familiar, and she caught herself staring at him. She quickly turned to Turlough. "You both look nice. Are you going to dance, Turlough?"
"How could I not show my support? Certainly I will." He was smirking, and she couldn't figure it out, no matter how much she glared at him.
Tegan missed the Doctor's approach until he offered his arm. "Let's go. It's bad form to be late to my own party." She put her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. His hair had been trimmed, and he looked not much older than she and Turlough. She realized he reminded her of a dancer she'd seen in a ballet, the Nutcracker. It had been all over the television the last couple of Christmases. His broad shoulders and lean form added to the impression of a fairy-tale prince. Of course, his trousers were nowhere near as tight as Baryshnikov's ballet tights.
She hoped she'd be able to look at the Doctor without thinking that, or else she'd spend the rest of the evening blushing. Tegan deliberately held herself straighter and set her chin at a defiant tilt.
"Tegan, you look like you're going to do battle. This is supposed to be a party," the Doctor reminded her.
"Then why do you keep fiddling with your collar?"
"I do feel a bit, er, shall we say, shiny?"
Tegan patted his hand. "We look twice as shiny together. No one will be able to see us for the glare. Is that all the choice there is in Gallifreyan formal party wear? Either a robe or a uniform?"
"A robe would have been the normal choice, but not for a party that includes dancing. The wearer expects to move at a brisk walk, not a foxtrot."
Turlough said from behind them, "The uniform cut was my idea. My home planet has a militarized culture. Uniforms are always appropriate formal wear. For those who don't actually belong to the military, there's the concept of a Clan uniform that's appropriate for functions with an official flavor. We wear Clan colors. It saves one from having to live with the outcome of one's personal taste. No one can be blamed for a uniform."
Tegan nearly stopped in her tracks, but the Doctor was still moving and she took a long stride to catch up. "So what are other people going to be wearing?" she asked, her mind boggling.
"As event coordinator, I did send out suggestions. How they were received is anyone's guess. We could be walking in on a fashion disaster of epic proportions."
"Then the Doctor will feel right at home." Tegan grinned over her shoulder at Turlough. He made a little snort of laughter and the Doctor sighed.
"And the two of you will be in the thick of it with me," he retaliated.
"I'm ready for it, Doctor. I'm wearing high heels." Giddy, she spun out ahead of the Doctor and let him draw her back to his side. He was smiling, one eyebrow quirked. Tegan did not realize there was something odd about the silence afterwards until Turlough broke it.
"Save the dancing for later. I think we're going to have to ease the guests into it," he said, glancing at the Doctor.
"Dancing is basically visual music, and thus inherently mathematical. They should be able to follow the patterns after seeing them, but I don't know how many will enjoy it," the Doctor said. Tegan glanced at him as he spoke, and caught him quickly looking forward and away from her.
Turlough added slyly, "You do realize that the guests will be mostly male, yes?"
He was trying to catch her in some human sexual hang-up. Tegan considered herself broad-minded. "As long as they can settle who's going to lead without a fist fight, I don't see that's a problem."
"There will be a higher proportion of women here tonight than the average ten percent. Lady Flavia supplied me with a list of invitees that she desired should attend," the Doctor commented. "You know that women are underrepresented in our government. An informal occasion can be an excellent opportunity to mix with people of high rank."
"I thought tonight wasn't supposed to be political," Tegan said in dismay.
"Dancing is a continuation of politics by other means," Turlough quipped.
Tegan had a vision of the Doctor swamped by eager young Time Ladies who wanted to get close to the most highly ranked Time Lord on the planet. "You still owe me two dances, Doctor."
"I remember." The Doctor laid his hand lightly over hers where it rested on his arm. "I shall claim them if I can get through the mob." He sounded amused, but there was no time to find out what was so funny. They had arrived.
The evidence of Senfadrell's aesthetic sense lay accomplished before them. The hall projected warmth without coziness and peace without monotony. Tegan had dragged Senfadrell up to her garden and talked his ear off about natural light and he had treated her to a tirade about artistic clichés. Tegan looked around and considered that she'd won that argument.
- o - O - o -
Lady Flavia swept up to them. She wore Prydonian scarlet and orange, but the exact shades were carefully balanced and gave her the warm glow of a Queen Mother. Her gown was reminiscent of an Elizabethan style, with a high back collar and a square neckline. She did not do anything so radical as show skin: the neck was filled with the same heavy gold lace that trimmed the hems of her dress. The skirt, however, was not the giant bell of Elizabeth's court, but a soft drape, full enough for easy motion. "Ah, Doctor, there you are. I'd like to present some of the junior Time Ladies to you before the festivities commence. Do you have a moment?"
Tegan followed the Doctor's glance over to the cluster of Gallifreyan women. They were dressed along the same lines as Flavia, though with different colors according to chapter. They were as stately as a patch of lilies, though not even one wore white. Tegan felt a qualm about her dress and resolutely quashed it. She'd expected that the Gallifreyans would resist dipping below the level of formal wear.
"Certainly," the Doctor said, smiling.
"Thank you. Tegan, Turlough, I wish you felicitations of the day. I understand you had a hand in the arrangements. Well done."
"Thank you, my lady," they chorused. Lady Flavia bore the Doctor off. Tegan watched amusedly as the women did indeed cluster. She wondered how it felt for a Gallifreyan male to be surrounded by Gallifreyan women. That must be a rare occurrence.
"He looks like a prince tonight," Turlough said.
"You both do," Tegan said generously. Turlough looked self-assured in uniform. Perhaps that's why he'd hung onto his school uniform for so long.
"Thank you. We had quite an argument over my designs. He threatened to wear his cricket clothes and I asked him if he was going to gild his celery."
Tegan laughed. "I bet he wishes he'd won that battle. I'm glad he didn't."
"I did mention that you were dressing in Presidential colors to honor him. That was a clincher."
Tegan glanced over to find Turlough looking thoughtful. "Penny for 'em?'
He grinned at her. "You may find this hard to believe, but I've enjoyed planning this event. Not because I care about tonight so much, but it felt good for the three of us to be together again. It felt like he was the Doctor again, and not the President."
"But you've been working with him all this time on… political stuff." Tegan waved an impatient hand. "I've hardly seen him at all, and when I have he's so tired and so busy I feel like I'm adding to his load."
"You should go ahead and intrude. The Doctor needs more breaks in the routine. He asks me about you; wants to know that you're doing all right. He'd probably prefer to hear it from you." Turlough glanced over at the Doctor. He stood out easily as the tallest person in the group. "You're right that he's busy. I may see him every day, but I work on the periphery. The senior Time Lords aren't really interested in what an alien exiled from his own world has to say. There's nothing so hidebound as a mind that's been thinking the same thoughts for a couple of thousand years."
"Professor Omicron isn't hidebound."
"Who is that?"
Tegan paused. She'd expected Turlough to know the name, either from the Doctor or from the students. "He's retired from teaching. I met him in the library. I thought you spent a lot of time at the Academy."
"I do, but not in the library. The student body is a political organization, you know. Kind of a microcosm of Gallifrey in the future. Time Lords mentors groom their potential juniors, offering them advanced training and field experience. The whole question of how to manage the Web of Time is one of political science. Is something wrong?" Turlough touched her shoulder.
Morbius is a proscribed topic. "No wonder it's such a pressure cooker. Look, I thought tonight was not supposed to be business. That's what the Doctor said."
"He meant that the High Council is not supposed to conduct business. He wants people who usually don't speak to rub elbows."
Tegan nodded her head towards the Doctor and his bevy, trying not to smirk. "Is that what he's doing now?"
Turlough smirked outright. "Close enough. We're supposed to mix, too. In your case, I suggest you simply dance with everyone who asks you, and enjoy yourself."
"We'll see how the dancing goes over with this crowd. Did you really send out a briefing for the party with dance instructions?" Tegan still couldn't believe it.
"Certainly. It's mathematical, like music; music represented visually. Gallifreyans should be able to pick up the steps easily enough."
"It's an art, not a science," she grumped, "It's more than putting your feet in the right place, it's the whole line of your body."
"Then you'll have to show them."
- o - O - o -
"The light over the dance floor is deliberately obscuring the space while other areas are bright so as to concentrate the attendees into a social dimension. I've planned extremely delicate effects to occur during the dancing activity. It was a last minute thought, but one must work with the inspiration of the moment."
Senfadrell had insisted on leading Tegan everywhere around the hall to show her his final setup. She wondered if she'd be tired before the party started. "That's what dancing is supposed to be. And what sort of effects might I expect?"
"It shall all work perfectly well. My work engages with life and motion, and transcends mere mathematics. Technology is for machines. This has been quite an interesting challenge."
"I'm glad you agreed to lend us your genius, Lord Senfadrell." Tegan had noticed early on that he never minded a bit of extra flattery.
"You have a talent for design. Your own dress suits the theme of this evening well, even if it is quite… human. It's cut specifically to facilitate motion, yes?" Senfadrell examined her with more interest than he usually showed a design element.
"For dancing, yes. Look, there's Turlough waving at me. I must join the others. Thank you, Senfadrell, it all looks splendid."
The guests had assembled. It was time to rock Gallifrey.
tbc