Ten Angry Time Lords

[continuum_of_drs]

Or, rather, nine puzzled Time Lords and one angry... yeah. That works.


Needless to say, they're a little lost as Ten storms into something of a common area where all the TARDISes appear to have merged into an impossible yet cohesive space. By all rights, the temporal fission of ten TARDISes stuffed into the same space should have destroyed most of the universe. Needless to say, it hadn't. None of them were willing to try and figure out the wonky Nexus physics responsible for that little anomaly and let it be.

Instead they wonder why their latest incarnation is so flailingly furious. His hair and eyes are wilder than ever and he paces and ... paces some more, and then stops in front of the nearest version of himself--the white-haired dandy in the cape--and yells:

"Next thing you know, they'll be defending Daleks!" And back to pacing. "Oh, it's not their fault they were converted and programmed into killing machines! No-one asks to be a Dalek! Or how about the Cybermen?!" This he directs at this fifth self, who looks up from a cricketing magazine with a dubious stare. "Y'don't see people queuein' up to get wired up! So give 'em a little tolerance!"

"Ah. I take it you've run afoul of the general Nexus opinion regarding Lord Rassilon," his seventh persona observes, swirling his tea in its cup.

"Look at how calm he is! Was I ever this calm?!" Ten grates through a manic grin before continuing his ranting and his pacing. "Tolerance. Y'can't have cake and death, you know!"

"Shouting isn't going to get us anywhere," Two puts in a little reproachfully, eyeing not only Ten's madly fuming form but Eight, as well.

"What will, then?" Eight replies. "When people who've never fought the darkness see fit to tell us when and where we can do what we've spent centuries doing?"

Somehow, they all find themselves looking at their first persona, the decisive one. For his part, he simply stares back at them, hands grasping his lapels. "I don't have all the answers, young man."

"No, only most of them," Three answers a little drily.

"We do it anyway. We've gone it alone this long," Nine puts in from his shadowy corner.

They ponder this, and the myriad of unsavoury titles they'd collected over the centuries just for doing the right thing--Bringer of Darkness, Oncoming Storm, and scores of others. The Doctor was hated by some races, worshiped by others and unknown to countless more, flickering in and out of their timestreams. He didn't do it for recognition or approval or even thanks. He did it because it needed done.

"He's right," Six observes after this period of thought. "We walk alone. We don't need approval or permission."

"Despite this place, their scope is still regrettably limited to the individual," Seven puts in, leaning his chin on his hand and contemplating his tea.

The rest of them look at Ten. He seems to have calmed his irate energy and is now thinking. Hard.

"What do you think?" Five prompts.

"I think I want cake, now," Ten answers.

Presumably, were they anime characters, they would have all facefaulted spectacularly that. Thankfully, none of them are, and the reaction was pared down to a great amount of staring.

Except for One.

"An excellent idea, young man!" the oldster enthuses, leaving his chair with a popping of joints. "Let's go and find some." He and Ten then disappear from the room, presumably in search of said foodstuff.

A pause. This pause stretches, like a rubberband, further and further, until the inevitable happens and it snaps someone in the face.

"Well," Seven observes. "Puts it all into perspective, doesn't it?"

Comments

[brainswithteeth.livejournal.com]

The resident vampire, from her own shadowy corner, thinks they're all being perfect idiots about this.

"Something should. The perspective none of you seem to have noticed is that the multiverse is not the universe you've saved countless times, and hardly needs a defender anyway."

[doctorbluebox.livejournal.com]

"Poppycock," Six huffs. "The universe always needs saving."

"We'd be remiss if we didn't try," Eight adds a little more diplomatically.

[brainswithteeth.livejournal.com]

"Yes, but what are you trying to defend it from? Most of what you call major threats seem to be relatively harmless regulars."