Torchwood Forum http://www.torchwoodforum.com/ Torchwood Forum is the largest, most popular online community of Torchwood fans. Find all the latest Torchwood news and discuss all things Torchwood and Doctor Who. en Mon, 21 May 2012 06:48:25 GMT vBulletin 60 http://www.torchwoodforum.com/images/bluefox/misc/rss.png Torchwood Forum http://www.torchwoodforum.com/ Vote for sexiest man! http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16532-Vote-for-sexiest-man!&goto=newpost Mon, 21 May 2012 00:04:30 GMT Here is a link to AfterElton where you can vote for the sexiest guy in the world. In fact you get to name the 10 sexiest so you can have both JB... Here is a link to AfterElton where you can vote for the sexiest guy in the world.
In fact you get to name the 10 sexiest so you can have both JB and GDL on your list and still have room for 8 more (for instance Alexander Skarsgård :wink:)

So go on and get voting people!
http://www.afterelton.com/people/2012-hot-100-voting ]]> General Chat Nikki-B http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16532-Vote-for-sexiest-man! Hi! http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16531-Hi!&goto=newpost Sun, 20 May 2012 18:20:13 GMT Hi, I am new to the Forum! Just wanted to say hello to everyone :) Hi, I am new to the Forum! Just wanted to say hello to everyone :) ]]> Introductions torchwoodrules http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16531-Hi! <![CDATA[Would it be wrong if Gwen was a descendant of Jack's?]]> http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16530-Would-it-be-wrong-if-Gwen-was-a-descendant-of-Jack-s&goto=newpost Fri, 18 May 2012 20:31:49 GMT >> There was a moment in Miracle Day where Jack suggested that he...]]> God I meant descendant and I can't change the title!!! How stupid is that? But>>>

There was a moment in Miracle Day where Jack suggested that he could find's Gwen's Daughter using his wrist strap. He stated he could find anything that was connected to his DNA. But he changed the words to mean that he could reprogram it to except her DNA. For just a moment I thought we were going to find out the connection to Jack and Gwen was through blood. It would make sense, her being led to Torchwood and Jack taking her under his wing. After hear that I went back to watch some episodes that had Jack and Gwen moments. Could it be that all this time we thought it was a romantic connection it really was a family connection? ]]> General Discussion Meef http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16530-Would-it-be-wrong-if-Gwen-was-a-descendant-of-Jack-s Harmony Companion Thread http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16529-Harmony-Companion-Thread&goto=newpost Thu, 17 May 2012 19:32:20 GMT Sorry. Got this a little muddled right from the start. I had all this info in the original thread and had to cut it out to get the characters to... Sorry. Got this a little muddled right from the start. I had all this info in the original thread and had to cut it out to get the characters to fit in a single post. I should have done this first, then posted the first part of the first chapter of Harmony after it. I suppose it will suffice, though, if people want to see more they can comment here--that way I can continue posting Harmony unbroken in the story thread itself.

By way of an introduction, here is a short summary:

The Slow Path had never been more agonizing than now.
Years had passed since that fateful day when the Doctor had left him with Rose Tyler on a desolate beach in Norway. Years for both of them--and while life had gone on, he was reasonably sure his had not been the fairy tale the Time Lord might have intended it to be. Now, as fate would have it, their paths were once more to cross, leading them on a journey through Time, a journey in Space, and a journey toward Wholeness. A voice he cannot identify calls. A 17th century cannon ball lands in the garden. A blue box he never thought he would see again lands in the forest. And a Time Lord is running out of Time.


And a little background on the project:

Spoiler Warning!  
Harmony began as an exercise in creativity a year ago, a way to break away from many years of having not written much of anything at all. Life had gotten complicated and I'd lost so much, including part of my identity. That part that was the writer. That part that was, in essence, who I really was. Perhaps that was the lure. The main character in Harmony fascinated me and his world was rich and, as yet, untapped. After months of mulling it all around, I finally began to write again. After 50 pages of handwritten narrative and notes, I was ready to pull out my laptop. No looking back. No regrets. No matter that it was a closed market. Yes, that did influence my choice to render Harmony as a novella vs. expanding it into a full length novel but I was determined to make it the best thing I had ever written, I boldly introduced a great deal of original material while preserving and enhancing canon, and I was never, ever, going to stop writing again.

My sincere thanks to Ali Reis of Casperium Graphics (http://casperium.deviantart.com) for the use of her lovely "Medusa Nebula" on Harmony's website. And many, many thanks to The Boys in the Gallifrey Basement, most especially Al Dickerson and Nic Ford, for biscuits and tea and the encouragement to finish what I had started and for painstakingly creating Harmony's host site and putting up with me during its assembly. And for "my boy," Paul, who believed in me even when I didn't.

Most of all, though, I want to say thank you to "Uncle Rusty," who may never know, but without whose Tale I might not have taken up my pen to write again--and that would have been very sad indeed. I initially wrote it for myself, but in the end, Harmony really is for you.



Chapter One begins in the first post of the other thread--it represents about a third of the chapter. This is going to take a while to post all 15 chapters. But I'll do it. If you want. :) ]]> Fan Fiction thebunnyinthetardis http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16529-Harmony-Companion-Thread Harmony (a Doctor Who Novella) by thebunnyinthetardis http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16528-Harmony-(a-Doctor-Who-Novella)-by-thebunnyinthetardis&goto=newpost Thu, 17 May 2012 19:12:25 GMT
Chapter 1

The past is but the beginning of a beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. - H.G. Wells, "The Discovery of the Future," 1901



Starlight filled his eyes, the radiance of a billion, billion suns performing their intricate, cosmic dance just for him. He floated free, turning gently, straying further and further into the shimmering reaches of Space and Time, engulfed at last in the splendour of the Medusa Cascade…

Someone spoke his name.

He blinked. The vast expanse of space was gone, replaced by the rotating blur of ceiling fan blades churning a gentle breeze against his skin. Moonlight played at the open window, the towering walnut tree outside casting long shadows across the far wall of the bedroom.

His bedroom. The room he and Rose had shared when this was their home. How long ago that now seemed.

The storm had dissipated, leaving behind the tangy scent of autumn. Gutter tea, he’d heard it called. He rather liked that. Human beings. They still amazed him. Who else in all the galaxy could put a poetic spin on rotting foliage? He had enjoyed more than his share of that aroma, having walked miles in a downpour. It was that or call for help and calling for help still wasn‘t in his nature.

He’d misplaced the Jeep. Again. And he‘d disengaged the GPS. Again. Special Op’s at Torchwood’s main branch in London claimed it was a security measure, but he couldn‘t abide being tracked that way, like a tagged animal in the wild. The mutant Time Lord, stalking aliens across what he still fondly referred to as Pete’s World. Or simply off on a lark. Granted, the missing GPS complicated things when it was time to close up shop. The Jeep didn’t beckon like the Tardis, his Time Ship, and apparently a reliable Chameleon Circuit was standard issue because it blended into its surroundings so well that he never seemed to be able to locate it when he needed it. Surely it would turn up. It always did. Almost always. But Pete Tyler--boss, benefactor, and father-in-law all rolled into one--had seemed decidedly unamused to see him walking through the side gate earlier instead of driving. He was quick to produce the key from his pocket as a sort of peace offering, but Pete only planted his face in both hands and strode away, muttering some of the more colourful expletives in the English language.

Compared to saving the Earth from the threat of the Yugglorrh Transperion, another lost Jeep was of little consequence, but he admitted it was having a negative impact on insurance premiums. Not good. Especially now with the economy being in the dustbin. Besides, they still hadn’t forgiven him for that unfortunate incident with the zeppelin.

At least this time he hadn’t phoned from the Embassy in Czechoslovenia, requesting transport (and diplomatic immunity), though, as he was wont to do, he had wandered off yesterday with scarcely enough money for chips, let alone cab fare from Scotland. Yesterday? No, no, no. That wasn’t right at all. It was longer than that. A week, then. Three at most. The seasons had yet to change and no matter how distracted he became he had never missed Christmas.

Could it be helped that he was as drawn to Trouble as Trouble was to him? Raising a ruckus, Jackie Tyler called it. Pete was less delicate than his wife on that matter, but dutifully did any damage control necessitated by his latest exploits. Not that it was intentional. Well, not usually. Well… all right, he admitted to himself, sometimes it was quite deliberate but not without provocation. Mostly. Still, it had been a long hike from Aberdeenshire, even after hitching a lift here and there. Maybe he talked too much. The last lorry driver hadn’t even waited for the next lay-by.

Blimey, he was tired. Still. He had arrived at the Taylors’ home bone weary. Weary enough, even, to bypass a proper sit down (aside from pinching a few slices of Sunday roast and four ginger snaps) and go straight to sleep. But not too weary to dream. And in his dreams he was always coming home. The first home he had had in, oh, too many years to count. All walls and floors and carpets. Where else could he go, really? Not Pete Tyler’s posh penthouse flat at Torchwood Towers where his celebrity status had long since evaporated but he was nonetheless at the mercy of those wanting too much of his time. Time he no longer had in unlimited--or almost unlimited--quantities. Nor did he feel he could go to the big old house in Scotland where he had spent the better part of his years on this world. Rose was there, patiently awaiting his eventual return. He had made it nearly to the doorstep this time. He just couldn’t find it in himself to stay.

Still trying to outdistance your nightmares, old son? Old habits and all that.

He could no longer move on--or back--or anywhere else in time except for here. Here. Now. With yesterday past and tomorrow yet to come and all of it proceeding in the dreadful, ordinary, dull, way that the people around him found comfortable and acceptable and… normal. On the Slow Path, hours dragged like a rake in the sands of time and where once he had made grand patterns, spiralling and tilting to the music of the spheres, the lines in the sand were now arrow straight, preserved until the inevitable tide washed them away forever.

He sat up in bed, scrubbing his face with his hands. His beard needed trimming and, judging by the tangled waves he had to work his fingers through, so did his hair.

Shadows advanced and retreated with the rapidly moving clouds, flashes of moonlight illuminating the large, dusty telescope crouching in a far corner of the room. A well intentioned gift from one of the Tylers’ connections in the new Euro government shortly after his arrival, he had inadvertently insulted the giver by assuming the costly item was a toy intended for Jackie and Pete’s wee boy, Tony, and not for him, the mysterious Spaceman. That mistake nearly sparked an international incident. His very first. At least on this world. Thankfully, Rose had been at his side to rein him in and dispense more diplomacy than he was capable of mustering without escalating things further. How was he to know that the ambassador from New Germany lacked a sense of humour? He had later tinkered with the device in a vain attempt to increase its functionality, scattering pieces like a brilliant, restless child until Pete suggested that nothing short of a full scale observatory was going to satisfy him and even that was doubtful. As of late he had simply stopped looking at the stars. There weren’t enough in the English night sky and they were too far away.

The blanket he had wrapped himself in fell to the wet floor as he swing his feet over the edge of the bed. His sodden clothing still lay in the heap he‘d dropped it, but a cup of tea had been placed on the bedside table, a pile of sticky sugar cubes sitting beside the saucer. He stuck a finger into the cup and put it in his mouth. Cold. Tea leaves floated on the surface like micro lily pads in a dark pond. He wondered who had brought it in and when. Seeing as he had been unable to find any pyjamas whoever it was may have gotten an eyeful. He glanced behind him, but, no, Rose was not there. Of course not.

In the midst of her exasperated scolding earlier Rose’s mum, Jackie, had said something about flocks of sheep gone missing around Cairngorm and how the young Duke of Edinburgh, quite the student of paranormal activity himself, had rung up Torchwood, adamant about it being a bona fide Rift. That and the weather was worse than normal. It only made sense they would dispatch Rose to investigate the anomaly, seeing as she was just miles away from Balmoral Castle. He knew he should have answered his mobile when he saw her Torchwood exchange. But honestly, thunder-storms and sheep swallowing holes in Space and Time? How the mighty had fallen. Jackie admonished him further for not ringing them up even once while he was gone this time (he had memorized most of that tirade) and suggested that if he persisted in being a rover, dragging in without so much as a by your leave, he cold flop in the orangery with what she called his “coral monstrosity.”

Since his last modifications to the dimensional stabilizer the Tardis was indeed growing at an alarming rate and he admitted the Time Ship had entered an awkward stage of development, but there was no need to insult a growing trans-dimensional entity. Jackie would have torn into him even deeper had it not been for her older son, Tony. Something in his tired face had registered on the boy. He had seen it mirrored in the lad’s eyes and was grateful for the interference as Tony steered his mum away, sparing them all from her tirade. Or his own foolish response. That left wee Rusty Tyler standing midway down the stately manor’s entrance hall, watching him with eyes so much like Rose’s that it made him hurt inside just to look at the boy. He stood, dripping in silence at the bottom of the grand staircase, until the housekeeper’s annoyed tut-tuts broke into his reverie and he’d dragged himself off in search of a towel.

The Tylers were awake now. His senses had been retooled to something more akin to normal human senses, but they were often abnormally keen. Jackie and Pete were quarrelling in groggy voices over whose turn it was to put little Rusty back in his cot. Ah. That explained the cold, leafy tea--though how the lad had managed to enter the room without him knowing, he could only guess. He was relatively sure human children possessed unique super powers governing stealth.

A narrow band of light shown beneath the door, followed by a giggle and the patter of small feet down the hall. By the heavy footfalls and weary groan, he knew it was Pete’s turn to chase the boy down and, with Tony’s help (and the lure of bickies), coax Rusty back to bed. Not long after came the murmurs of a now-familiar bedtime story and promises of taking the ponies out for a picnic in the nature preserve. Pete, he reflected, had become the very dad Rose had dreamed of, here in this world of second chances. He smiled. Good on you, mate. Good on you.

A noise below his side window caught his attention. Snapping brittle twigs betrayed some unseen night visitor. He rose stiffly to investigate but it was too dark to see anything. A badger, perhaps. Or weasels. He had seen a pair of the slinking devils not a month past, darting along the hedgerow, beating a fast retreat from Jackie‘s yapping little Westie, Petunia. They reminded him a little of the tafelshrews back on Gallifrey--so did the little dog for that matter-- and he wondered if they tasted as bad. Probably not half as bad as the trufflemorphs From Zelioridon. Oh, now that was a planet to behold. Beautiful rainforests under half a dozen moons circling a now ancient star. He’d intended to take his good mate, Donna Noble, there on holiday until it became clear that Donna’s idea of a break did not include invigorating hikes through dense jungles filled with eight foot long millipedes--milli-milli-bazzili-pedes--, dark purple winged sloth bats that would eat bananas right from your hand, and the most intoxicating blooming carnivorous plants that smelled like mocha latte. For some reason no one he had ever taken there had been all that enamoured of the place. Maybe that was because they always seemed to run out of bananas before they found the sloth bats. Or was it the millipedes?

He should have taken Donna to Felspoon to see the swaying mountains. Now he’d never get the chance. For all she was a part of him--that very strange, human part of him--Donna Noble was no longer part of his world. Nor was she part of his adopted world. This not-Earth-gingerbread-house he had been placed in and left to do what exactly? Grow old?

Someone spoke his name.

Why don’t you hear me?

He breathed deeply and closed his weary eyes, focusing on the steady drip, drip, drip of water in the down pipes. The Time Lord’s legacy to himself. Echoes back across Space and Time. He always heard them. Dreamt them. But his name? It wasn’t even his name. Not really. Not anymore. Not since he had had been splintered off the man he used to be. It wasn’t his life. But it was still his past and he had a very good memory. Fat lot of good it did him.

Felspoon, Zelioridon, Kastopheria, Spiridon. They might as well be notations in John Smith’s Journal of Impossible Things. Visions from another life. Only this time he had not consciously altered his genetic code to disguise himself among humans. This time every cell had been overwritten without his consent. But that didn’t change his memories. Didn’t erase the dreams of another lifetime. Not his lifetime. His single, short human lifetime. All right, perhaps a very long lifetime by human standards given the genetic cocktail that had spit him into existence. Instantaneous biological meta crisis indeed. As if. All the intellect of the Time Lord he had been with none of the perks.

Yes, the chunk of Tardis coral he had been given possessed the heart of a Time Ship, but it was as much a complex space-time event as he was and they were both out of their element in this universe. As he aged and died a little more each day, the ship aged and lived. It would fly again. Oh, yes. But the question remained whether it could be properly primed after his first aborted attempt to operate it had ended so disastrously, destroying the only briode nebuliser he had, to date, been able to assemble from scratch. Not for the first time he considered that his altered Time Lord genes were insufficient to imprint. Without Rassilon‘s Imprimteur the fledgling Tardis would never withstand the stresses of entering the Time Vortex. It would be disintegrated, he and Rose with it. Assuming Rose would go with him this time. Without a Tardis he was stranded. Exiled. Again. Without even the likes of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart to wage words with. Even the fastest airship this world currently offered couldn’t travel fast enough to get him far enough.

Someone spoke his name.

No longer a hushed whisper but spoken with an urgency that made his single heart beat hard against his chest, growing in intensity.

Help me...
 ]]> Fan Fiction thebunnyinthetardis http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16528-Harmony-(a-Doctor-Who-Novella)-by-thebunnyinthetardis Technical Question regarding posts here http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16527-Technical-Question-regarding-posts-here&goto=newpost Mon, 14 May 2012 17:34:37 GMT Sorry to start a new thread for this but I've searched the FAQ's and either it isn't there or I missed it (which is entirely possible). Before I start posting anything long, I need to clarify something so I can plan better.

What is the character limit per thread post? My story, Fimbulvinter, was short enough to post as a single entry, but when I put up Dust, it was too long (though still what I would consider rather short for a story). At the time I didn't jot down the limit, just picked a good place to divide it--not realising that I wouldn't be able to post the second half until the first half had been approved by the Mods. I will need to divide the chapters of my novella, Harmony, up quite a bit as they average 4-5k words and one of them is 9k. I'm worried that dividing it up this way is going to make the reading experience a little less than ideal, but if I go into it with a plan, knowing exactly how much I can post at a time, it will flow better and readers will, hopefully, enjoy it more fully.

Thanks for any an all input! And thank you again for being such a friendly forum. :smile: ]]> Fan Fiction thebunnyinthetardis http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16527-Technical-Question-regarding-posts-here Living on £1 a day? A challenge by some random people.... http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16526-Living-on-£1-a-day-A-challenge-by-some-random-people&goto=newpost Sat, 12 May 2012 14:45:39 GMT I actually live on less than that sometimes but heres the link as to how poverty can suck. I really wish could help feed others as while I may live... I actually live on less than that sometimes but heres the link as to how poverty can suck. I really wish could help feed others as while I may live on less than a quid a day occasionally? Im nowhere near starvation.

https://www.livebelowtheline.com/uk-thechallenge


rather than 5days? Try a month...


I really wish could feed the world!! ]]> General Chat squinky http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16526-Living-on-£1-a-day-A-challenge-by-some-random-people <![CDATA["Fimbulvinter" by thebunnyinthetardis]]> http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16524-quot-Fimbulvinter-quot-by-thebunnyinthetardis&goto=newpost Sat, 12 May 2012 00:43:26 GMT The Cold Sleep hunts us all--be we the stuff of nightmares or a lonely Gallifreyan boy... who smell of starlight. *Fimbulvinter* by...
The Cold Sleep hunts us all--be we the stuff of nightmares or a lonely Gallifreyan boy... who smell of starlight.


Fimbulvinter
by
thebunnyinthetardis



I should have killed him straight away.
It would have been a mercy.
I’m capable of mercy.
But…
…he smelled of starlight.


This one is thin. So little meat and my children are hungry. So very thin. Could it be that his tribe has cast him out and he, too, is running from the Cold Sleep? His marrow will be warm, though, his blood sweet. Unlike so many of the others, his young face belongs to his young body. Not like the ones who came before. Not like the ones who have lived so many lifetimes that can only be seen in their eyes.

Hesitation would bring me shame if there was anyone left to know. But I am alone. Alone in the wilderness, cut off from my world. Alone like he is. His keen dark eyes gaze into mine without fear. And he should be afraid. Very afraid. Perhaps the Sleep has stalked him even longer than I, drinking deeply from the warmth of his soul. It is a patient hunter on any world, but I am swift. My blood burns with my anger and my need. I will snap him in two to feed my children and clean my teeth with his small bones.

Wind and cold swirl about my body. The second star is low, soon to be eclipsed by the mountain. I must away from this place with my prey. My children are hungry. This meat will have to sustain them. I cannot tarry. Darkness hunts us as surely as the Cold.

I raise my paw to strike him down, expecting him to flee, to flinch, to close his eyes, but he does not. His eyes are proper eyes, dark and large. Stars shine within them; so many stars, burning brightly, turning slowly. He has gazed into the Heart of Time, that much is clear, and he is running. Great wisdom for one so young.

His lips, small and pink, move, but I do not know the words he sings. The prey things never speak to me. They only scream. That I understand, but this? Why would he speak to me? Why should I listen? His teeth are small and round like a child’s, his flesh beneath another creature’s skin is naked. What a sad creature he is, this traveler in the wilderness whose eyes are filled with stars. Eating him will be a mercy. I am capable of mercy.

You don’t have to kill me, you know.

His words enter my mind and I can only stare at him. He, all pink and thin and lacking meat for my children. Speaking to me. Speaking into me. Cold Sleep rides swiftly on the night air. I strike a single blow, knocking him down, silencing his Voice. As I scoop him up I notice blood on the snow. It smells sweet. It tastes sweeter. I will have to kill him, of course, but it is a shame. I press my nose against his soft, dark hair. He smells… of starlight.



The moon is bright. The storm is gone. The Cold surrounds us. Within the cave, my children are sleeping. If they are not dead. It is difficult to tell these days. I count them. Four. Only four. A fifth one huddles outside the nest. Alive, but only just. What remains of another lies to the other side of the nest. That is why they can sleep. Their bellies are full. Soon enough they will need to eat again. I lay my kill out for them to wake to.

My kill. But not killed. He did not die. He will be good sport for my young when they wake. They must learn to hunt. Someday I will be gone. Someday I will not come back. They must learn… After they have eaten their fill, I will empty his bones of their marrow and perhaps I, too, will sleep.

I crouch at the entrance to the cave, the wind stiff against my face. Below the mountain the world is warm and the grass mirrors the burnt orange sky. The trees are silver and the night is still. I have hunted there. I have killed there. I am a dark legend in that country. The Great Houses send their mightiest against me, but I am swift. I am fearless. I am their worst Nightmare. But, I do not venture there anymore. I cannot leave my children. Not yet. They are too small. Even we are vulnerable when we are small. So I do not go. But they have music below, and sometimes, if I listen very carefully, I hear it.

My children press close against the gift I have brought them, seizing what little warmth is left in his body. They should not lie so close to him. They should not take comfort from anything except his bloody flesh. But they are children and they have never seen the likes of this creature before. He bears so little resemblance to the enemy I am accustomed to. Only one of his hearts beats for this world. The other longs for the stars.

As I watch, he stirs, one pale, reddened hand touching that place on his thin face where I cuffed him earlier. It is mottled, blue and green. The blood has congealed. He stares at his fingers dumbly, then at me, as if to challenge me for my actions. Then he sees my children waking around him, stretching their small bodies, extending their claws, teeth gleaming as they grin at him. First one and then another strokes his face with a taloned paw, then presses a muzzle against his dark hair. They inhale and their eyes dance and they look at me and I smile. If he was not frightened before, he will be now. Unless he has no wits left. But not a one of my children strikes. They only sit and stare into his star-filled eyes. I have looked into the Heart of Time. I have seen the past and the future. I have seen, and I have seen everything perish. I wonder if he has seen it too.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches beneath the layers of fur that are not his own and draws out an instrument that emits light and some faint warmth. I am unconcerned. A child’s toy. But the light is hypnotic for my children, and they watch intently as this half-grown, child-thing holds it out to illuminate our meagre surroundings.

I hate this place. I hate it as much as I hate the two stars that rise in the flaming sky of this world. I hate it more because it was the path that led me here and then offered no chance of return. The mountain shook. The skies grew dark. Winter came early and I was trapped. Then my children came and so we are all trapped. But I knew of this world. I knew the stories. I knew they could send me home. But they did not. They would not. And so I hate them, too.

The child-thing wanders with his light and I am amused. My children follow him, licking their lips, planning their feast, divvying up his limbs. Four of them for four children. The Fifth One, the one that wasn’t moving, creeps after them now. Slow. So slow. It would be better to sacrifice another to feed the stronger, but I am pleased. Five is stronger than Four. The small pink lips are moving again, his song rising in pitch. My children listen, but I turn away, listening to other sounds on the night winds. There is no music outside, but there is life. More of his kind. More food for my children.

I can send you home.

His Voice is inside me again. I understand his song. He has given me the key. I growl a warning, but he is too busy with his small blue light and his clawless fingers tracing patterns on the wall as if he were reading them with his hands. He scampers deeper in the cave, climbing amid the rocks, and begins to dig. My children scramble after him, pushing aside rocks, their laughter a music I have longed to hear. The smallest cannot follow as swiftly and cries so pitifully I am almost moved to put him out of his misery. But I am not the only one listening. The child-thing, the… boy… climbs back down and does the unthinkable.

He takes the fur from off his body.

He lifts my child in his arms.

He wraps my child in his… cloak.

He looks at me and I hate him. I hate him. But I see what is in his eyes again and I know I cannot kill him. I give him my thoughts and he smiles.

Your destiny is in the stars…



They dig. Five children. Four of them mine. One of this world. A Gallifreyan boy. One day he will be a Lord of Time, but not today. Today he is a boy. Today he still belongs to me. The last child–mine–sits wrapped in the boy’s cloak, content to be warm. Despite my misgivings, despite the ill wind that blows up from below the mountain, I allow it to happen. I allow my attention to be diverted. I allow Death entrance to my domain.

“Look out!”

Another creature dressed in fur that is not his own. What he holds in his hand is not a toy. I have seen it before. I have felt it burn. But I am swift. I am as Cold as the Night. And I will kill this one.

But the weapon is not meant for me. It is aimed at a point high in the rocks. A weak point. Above my children. The light blinds us all. The cave collapses as I move to gather them to safety. Two of my children are crushed before my eyes. Two flee into the snow. The last one lays unmoving behind the boy who is screaming. I understand screaming.

“What have you done? What have you done!”

“Don’t you mean ‘thank you?’ She’d have killed you! I couldn’t find you in the storm. I‘ve been searching all night. I thought you were dead!”

I have been given the key to his song and his words are lies, all of them. Lies. His pale flesh is warm and dry. His belly is full. He is as patient as the Cold Sleep, as calculating as any Hunter. He stands over my broken body. He touches my fur. I have just the strength to kill him where he stands but he reeks of betrayal. His blood would be poison.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m always all right. You could have–”

“–stood by and watch you be killed? Wouldn’t that have gone over well at the Academy. Coming up here was your idea, remember? We were only going to look for the monster, not be dinner for it.”

My last two children have scattered into the Night. The Cold. The Dark. The Cold Sleep will silence them. We will never see our home again.

“But I was right, don’t you see? It’s written on the walls for anyone to read. There’s a portal back in the cave. I saw it just before you fired. She couldn’t reach it but I was going to send her children home. I could have sent them home!” His face is glistening, like rain.

“Are you crying?”

“You wouldn’t understand. I knew you wouldn’t. Never mind.”

The Murderer turns away, a cruel smile tugging at his lips as he dresses his face the way he has dressed his song. His face is as light and dark as his soul. He casts the weapon secretively into the snow, then pushes the body of my dying child from the warmth of the fur cloak. I hear other Voices now. Old Ones. They do not look Old, but they are. They think themselves wise, but they are fools. They Watch from their Citadel. They Watch while planets burn. They Watch, and do nothing when the desperate flee and their children are hungry and they teach their children to do the same. Many have lived too long. I know what it is like to have lived too long.

The child-thing that is not mine hesitates. He kneels beside me but does not touch me. I could still kill him. For all the woe this night has brought me, I would be within my right. He seems to know this too.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me, laying my last child close to me. My broken child. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“For pity’s sake don’t talk to that monster,” the other one says, barely turning. “It was going to kill you.”

Barely turning. But enough. Enough for me to see his eyes. Bright chips, burning with stars. Burning with hatred. This one has looked into the Heart of Time as well. It beats a song within him too terrible to be music. A swirl of snow stings my eyes and when I look again, it is gone. So is he. I gaze into kinder eyes. He does not see what I see. He isn’t running from the Monster, but he should be. He will be. And all his stars will grow dark.

I should have killed him straight away.
It would have been a mercy.
I’m capable of mercy.
But…
…he smelled of starlight.





Fimbulviner originally appeared in the Companion Chronicles Prose Series II: Epistles of the Enemy on Gallifrey Base. A series of stories from the POV of an enemy of the Doctor. In this case, though, who really was the enemy? ;) ]]> Fan Fiction thebunnyinthetardis http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16524-quot-Fimbulvinter-quot-by-thebunnyinthetardis Wales Comic Con 2012 http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16523-Wales-Comic-Con-2012&goto=newpost Fri, 11 May 2012 16:00:34 GMT Anyone else going? Only GDL from Torchwood so far but the rest of the lineup looks amazing! :smile2: Anyone else going? Only GDL from Torchwood so far but the rest of the lineup looks amazing! :smile2: ]]> Events Napster http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16523-Wales-Comic-Con-2012 Are you a donor? Blood or Organs? :) http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16522-Are-you-a-donor-Blood-or-Organs-)&goto=newpost Thu, 10 May 2012 18:34:28 GMT This story breaks my heart for her family but I hope those who recieved her organs live their full lives! ... This story breaks my heart for her family but I hope those who recieved her organs live their full lives!

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/jemima-layz...r-organs-.html


I do donate blood when Im allowed to and have it in my medical records that Im an organ donor as after I am dead? What am I going to do with my various body bits and bobs? I mean its not like am going to have any use for them :)

Can I just also ask people to please donate blood if you can? Blood banks are always in need and hey? Might save a life :) ]]> General Chat squinky http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16522-Are-you-a-donor-Blood-or-Organs-) Dieselpunk http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16520-Dieselpunk&goto=newpost Tue, 08 May 2012 20:33:52 GMT anyone heard of this genre iv just learn about it through the League of S.T.E.A.M http://www.dieselpunks.org/ anyone heard of this genre iv just learn about it through the League of S.T.E.A.M

http://www.dieselpunks.org/ ]]> General Chat adam http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16520-Dieselpunk Hello Woodies!!! http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16519-Hello-Woodies!!!&goto=newpost Tue, 08 May 2012 16:11:10 GMT Just got myself an account! Hows everyone? hope your all having a good day xxxx Just got myself an account!
Hows everyone?

hope your all having a good day


xxxx ]]> Introductions Lady-Torchwood http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16519-Hello-Woodies!!! Happy Birthday traceywood! http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16518-Happy-Birthday-traceywood!&goto=newpost Mon, 07 May 2012 11:03:41 GMT HAve a great Torchwoodian Birthday! Image: http://i1006.photobucket.com/albums/af183/I_Am_Soniced_Up/images5Cproducts5CHappy_Birthday_Cakejpg.jpg HAve a great Torchwoodian Birthday!

]]> Birthdays Undead Medic http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16518-Happy-Birthday-traceywood! Happy Birthday Longarm!!! http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16517-Happy-Birthday-Longarm!!!&goto=newpost Mon, 07 May 2012 11:00:24 GMT Happy Birthday Ali! Image: http://i1006.photobucket.com/albums/af183/I_Am_Soniced_Up/119498631918056439birthday_cakesvgmed.png I hope you have... Happy Birthday Ali!



I hope you have a great day!

(Maybe Doc2 and Jamie will pop round with a cake for you :wink:) ]]> Birthdays Undead Medic http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16517-Happy-Birthday-Longarm!!! <![CDATA[Dust (a DW story featuring the Ninth Doctor & Original Companion)]]> http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16516-Dust-(a-DW-story-featuring-the-Ninth-Doctor-amp-Original-Companion)&goto=newpost Sun, 06 May 2012 01:58:49 GMT Hello Torchwood Forum. I'm new in town, just starting to find my way around and do some reading here in the fiction section, but thought I'd jump in feet first with a short story. Dust originally appeared in the Companion Chronicles Prose Series over on Gallifrey Base. I hope you enjoy it.




Sometimes the hope we need in dark places comes from something as simple as a hand to hold...and the dream of 40 flavours of Christmas marmalade




“Dust”
by
thebunnyinthetardis




Dust.

My first coherent thought, following the obvious realization that I was still alive, was that I was covered in dust. Dust I could handle. I had been cleaning up after other people my whole life.

Brushing grit and debris from my hair, I sat up amid the rubble of the collapsed building and peered around. The space had been transformed into an eerie jumble of broken walls, the only light a flickering old incandescent that had, until minutes before, been affixed to the ceiling. The ceiling itself lay broken beneath my feet and what now passed for a ceiling, I was relatively sure, had been several floors up before the ground had shifted and much of the south district had dropped into another forgotten mine. The light fixture whined like a low-level blasting charge. I knew that sound. Before long it would be out altogether, plunging me into darkness. If I were to escape the wreckage, I had best be about it.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been caught in a mine drop and survived. No doubt it wouldn’t be the last. Living on asteroid R-2112 on the edge of the Empire meant living on top of the endless warrens previous generations of ’belters had mined and subsequent generations had forgotten. Once, such oversights had been considered criminal, but as demand for Zeiton-7-9er increased, safety regulations decreased. At least that’s what Granddad always said.

I knew only too well to avoid the tangle of electrical leads and dripping water pipes as I made my way slowly through the remains of the south district city centre. There was scarcely room to move, let alone stand up, and as I crawled on my hands and knees, sharp bits of fallen plas-crete and twisted iron tore at my tunic and trousers, biting into my skin. The most likely escape route also appeared to be the one furthest from the light. I looked back over my shoulder, blinking more dust from my eyes. That was there no matter where you went on R-2112. Dust from the mines. Dust recycled by faulty ventilation systems. Dust of the ages settling over the decaying mining colony. Another water pipe broke and I heard a rush like the artificial rivers in the Central Dome. There, it would have been a delight. Here, it meant the danger of electrocution was growing.

Turning back, I began to pick my way once more over the uneven surface, calling softly, then with more gusto.

“Hello? Is anyone else there?”

A rustle to one side caught my attention and as I watched, a chunk of pearl-white plas-crete tumbled down, revealing… a hand.

Mercy!

I drew a sharp breath, startled at the sight, afraid for a moment that it was no longer attached to its original owner. But I could see no blood, and the hand was reaching toward me as surely as if whoever it belonged to knew that I was there.

“Hello? Oh, my God,” I said, scrambling over sharp edges to get closer. “Are you all right? Are you trapped?” Are you dead?

A wave of crackling energy swept over me, the ground beneath my hands and knees shivering as if in response. Without an active stabilisation field we were going to be in for another bumpy ride. And if the dome itself had been compromised…

“Hold on,” I whispered, as much for myself as anyone.

I flattened myself against the debris and reached out, desperate for the warmth of another’s touch, closed my eyes, and prayed.



Darkness.

The local power supply had failed, but that was probably for the best. Behind closed eyes I’d seen a flash of blue light just before the shuddering preamble of a secondary mine drop. Then nothing. I could still hear the steady stream of water somewhere behind me, spilling like a waterfall into the depths of the mines below. In the cloying bleakness I anchored myself to the only other living person I had found. At least I was relatively sure he was alive. And relatively sure it was a he.

“Are you there?” I whispered again, squeezing the fingers I’d wrapped my hand around before the lights had completely gone out. I hoped I hadn’t done the poor, misfortunate soul further injury.

A moment later, I felt a firm, gentle grip on my hand.

“Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

A muffled laugh was the reply, then:

“That’s debatable. Do buildings often collapse around here?”

I grinned. A sense of humour was a good sign. Granddad always said that you’d be fine if you could maintain a sense of humour in the face of disaster. It was the ones who panicked that didn’t survive. The ones that gave in to despair. I’d once waited the better part of three days to be rescued after a mine drop. You just had to believe. It was rather like Christmas back on Old Earth. So far away as the year began, but eventually, it came, rescuing you from the darkness of winter. In space it always seemed like winter.

I pulled myself closer to the man in the rubble and patted his hand gently, worried about the extent of his injuries.

“Your hand is so cold.”

“Cold hands. Warm hearts. That’s me,” a friendly voice assured me.

“I’m bel-Keegan.”

“Hello, bel-Keegan.” He seemed ever so relaxed for a man trapped beneath a building. “I’m called the Doctor.”

A Doctor? I had no idea that any Doctors had been in the building that morning. If he wasn’t too badly injured he would be worth his weight in Zeiton 7-9er once we were free and he could ply his trade among the survivors.

“Which Doctor are you?” I asked, stroking his hand, hoping that he would keep talking to me. His voice was nice and it was so dark here. I hadn’t been frightened before, but it was getting warmer, the air closer.

“Nope,” he said, “not a witch Doctor. Just the Doctor.”

I smiled. “Just the Doctor?”

“Hello!” he said cheerily, and he squeezed my hand.

“Hello,” I said back, feeling more than a little foolish, but people said strange things and acted in strange ways during times like this. I ought to know. I’d been not far from here last year when part of the old town had gone down. That time I had been trapped with six others. Only four of them made it out alive.

“So. What do we do for fun now?” he asked. I could hear him shift somewhat on the other side of the rubble. “Just sit around and wait for someone to notice this entire sector is sliding into the centre of the asteroid?”

“I can start digging--”

“No! No,” he said again, more calmly. “Too unstable. No. Best you stay right where you are. I expect help’s coming. Or will be.”

A faint whir tickled at my senses and I swallowed deeply, wondering what bit of equipment might still be powered up. A moment later it was gone.

I coughed, feeling the dust settling in my lungs. That was the greatest danger--if you didn’t fall through into a deep shaft--not getting enough fresh air. Sometimes the disaster response teams drilled holes into the wreckage, piping in good, breathable air. If you were lucky they ran lines from the centre of the city where everything was maintained better. If not… it was just more recycled dust. It rather depended on where you were and who you were trapped with. No one would be looking for me. I knew that. But if they knew a Doctor was in the building… I licked my lips, hating to spit precious moisture away but knowing that was preferable to letting the dust clog up my airways.

“Are you all right?” the Doctor buried in the rubble asked.

“Fine and dandy,” I answered. That’s how Granddad always put it. “You?”

“Couldn’t be better. Well,” he amended, “maybe I could. But I’ve got good company and that’s what counts, eh, Keegan?”

I blinked, nodding my head even though he couldn’t see me. It was kind of him to drop my class distinction and just call me by the name my mother had given me. Yes. Good company was what counted. I did not realize that I hadn’t told him so out loud.



“...in the end there wasn’t much for it, so I just held my nose and I jumped!”

I smiled at the image of the Doctor running from a swarm of furry little … mice, he called them… and being forced to take the plunge into a vat of orange marmalade. Mice, I’d never seen, but I’d found a tiny jar of marmalade in my Christmas stocking once. I’d have been willing to face a hoard of those fiendish unknown mice in pursuit of such a rare delicacy.

I liked the Doctor. He told a good story with an accent unlike any I had heard before. He was tall, I thought, judging by his fingers. His hand was smooth, but strong. I hated the thought of him being trapped like this, crushed under the weight of so much misery. It hadn’t occurred to me until then to wonder in which part of the old asteroid colony he resided. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t a native ’belter. He was the Doctor. My Doctor. The only Doctor to have visited the south district since the dome shift had forced everyone who had the means to relocate to leave. I could have gone. I’d saved my wages. But Granddad was still alive then and stubbornly wished to remain. I would have missed him if I’d gone then.

“Keegan?” the Doctor asked suddenly, tightening his grip on my hand. “You still there?”

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” I assured him, squeezing back. I stroked his cool fingers. “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You’ve had so many adventures,” I sighed. “I should like to see some of those places.”

“Well, it just so happens I have a ship, Keegan. What do you say you come with me--once we’re clear of this place, that is. Anywhere you’d like to go. My treat. How does that sound?”

That sounded wonderful! I’d dreamed of travelling off-world, however unlikely such an eventuality might be. Not someone born to the asteroid belt mining class. Oh, it had happened, I knew. My own aunt, my mother’s older sister, had left years ago, on an outbound Old Earth transport stopped over for repair, and never looked back. At least she never came back. We’d heard from her now and again, how she’d taken a husband on a faraway world and raised her children to become scientists and teachers and dancers, rather than miners or menial servants like so many generations of her family had since they had indentured themselves to the Faolchu Olc Corporation. Always indebted to someone else. Always looking after someone else’s children. Tidying up someone else’s home. Sweeping up someone else’s dust. Well, not me. I was going to fly away. I was going to fly away with the Doctor, and I wanted to tell him so, but I was so tired that I lay down my head against his cool, tender hand, and slept.



continued in next post ]]> Fan Fiction thebunnyinthetardis http://www.torchwoodforum.com/showthread.php?16516-Dust-(a-DW-story-featuring-the-Ninth-Doctor-amp-Original-Companion)