nitro_is_ace: (N is for...)
People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but *actually* from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff. ~ The Doctor

Everyone knows what happened to Ace McShane. She's the one who, backed by one of the most unconventional Time Lords of ever, proved an entire super-advanced race wrong in regards to the worth of humans, giving them all a (figuratively, at least) supremely rude gesture as she did so. She's the one that ended up in the Time War, using her non-traditional views of piloting TARDISes to make for some very bad days for the Dalek armies. She's the one that fell into a bar at the end of the universe when she was still kinda sorta on the borderline of legal drinking age (depending on where you were from) and formed a life there as well, finding love and friends and family and a whole lot of fights to be in. She's the one who gladly traded the name McShane for Witherspoon, and somehow ended up with kids, and somehow that didn't cause the universe to collapse on itself. She's the one with a really cute dog.

She's the one who stumbled home in the middle of the end of the universe with her brain and emotions and sense of time scrambled like an egg thanks to the stresses of a dimensions-twisting war between two powerful opponents and a complete lack of concern for acceptable safety standards on her part. She's the one who hitched a ride home with her not-really-a-god-except-how-he-kinda-is brother and confused the hell out of a pack of werewolves except for the part where they knew that sort of thing entirely too well.

Everyone knows what happened to Ace.

Except the part where they're wrong.

Except how, in another version of the same events, the TARDIS never kicked the tweenager companion into a dimensional pocket at the end of the universe and she kind of stared at the Professor like he was growing a second head when he mentioned Gallifrey and she never actually ever got a dog.

Except how, eventually, she realized that she wasn't actually going to go on following this mad, wonderful, amazing person around forever because that's not what she was supposed to do - she waited until they had pulled someone else into that world, and then carefully bowed out.

(No she didn't, she got in a raging fight and then went to go blow up some Daleks. A lot. Earned a bit of a name for it.)

She also went in for a second round, and she finally called him Doctor and he called her McShane and at one point there was a nurse that she roped in to their madcap life and he spent a lot of the time denying the obvious, which she thought was hilarious.

She still doesn't like the name Dorothy.

She still carries enough explosives on her to take out a small country.

She still adores the coat (though she has accepted that perhaps variety is the spice of life).

Wibbly wobbly, time-y wimey..... stuff.
nitro_is_ace: (gleeful)
The TARDIS is humming along brilliantly, and Ace is kicking back, perched on the edge of the control console while she waits for the end of their trip.

A bit of warm Italian sun will be brilliant. Plus? Gelato. Win!
nitro_is_ace: (behindme)
Ace is, in a phrase, Not Best Pleased. It's not that she's unfamiliar with mental constructs as computing devices - her universe (this universe, this post-war universe she probably will never visit again except by proxy) is full of them. Cybermen, the Matrix on Gallifrey, that freakishly disturbing... person, on the Gamestation... This is not a new idea.

This is the first time, however, she's been inside one.

She doesn't much like it. However, she doesn't think it's terribly polite to say so. Besides, she did (sort of) ask for this - they could have just as well gone to find the books in question up in the library in the bar. While she did (sort of) promise Spoon she'd keep as well out of trouble in the bar as she could, she wouldn't have minded a crack at the vampire she's heard rumored that has started hunting up there.

But River seemed so excited about the idea. Not that Ace can blame her - she feels the same way when someone says they'll come along on a trip in the TARDIS.

She'll just... keep her mouth shut. Smile and nod, Time Lord. Smile and nod.
nitro_is_ace: (You love me anyway)
Ace is humming happily in her TARDIS' control room, a mug of cocoa steaming on a flat bit of paneling, as she decides where they're off to next. Sure, it's fantastic traveling around with her husband.

But sometimes?

There's a need for sibling time.
nitro_is_ace: (bzuh?)
Ace groans.

That... landing... did not go well.

On the grand scale of landings, it's somewhere near 'Hindenburg', right behind 'Admiral Kirk blows up his own damn ship'.

nitro_is_ace: (cheetah gold)
A door opens into the cool Yorkshire evening.

Now, Yorkshire has seen it's share of scary lately - how many other shires have two werewolves living there full-time?

But this is something different.

This is a Cheetah who is pissed enough to not care about losing it anymore.

Just... don't run, okay? Don't run. She'll go for you if you run.
nitro_is_ace: (patches)
The last scrimmage... didn't go well.

It wasn't really expected to go well, but... it went spectacularly unwell.

The word 'catastrophe' came up once. Or twice.

Or quite a lot more.

So after the debriefing, which was endless, and handing a list of repairs off with the mechanics, which was nearly as endless, Ace has decided to take a bit of a holiday.

The fact that this includes a bonfire, well. People believe she's a little bit barbaric anyway.
nitro_is_ace: (patches)
Growing up, Ace didn't have much in the way of memories surrounding the kitchen.

Not good ones, anyway.

Mum didn't really cook, and neither did da. Endless take-away and vegemite sandwiches don't really leave that much of an impression. There was the incident with the coffee mugs, but Ace doesn't talk about that, just like how she doesn't explain how she came by the scar over the back of her right shoulder.

Food got scarce in the kitchen, at the end, when she resorted to dipping into her own paycheck to make sure there was something in there other than the vaguely green bread that'd gone off some time during the start of the Cold War.

That's why the Wells kitchen had been something of a revelation. It had food, both in its more elemental form, and in the delicious creations Annie whipped up. And it wasn't just that.

There were family breakfasts (and lunches, and dinners, when everyone was there and not moonstruck). There were down-and-dirty card games, with chores used as chips. There were cups of tea when things went to hell. There was one memorable night (afternoon, to be very honest) when everyone was out except she and Spoon... and the smirking from elder Wells for the rest of the bloody month. There was midnight raiding parties, cookie-making attempts between pyro and daughter, a food-fight Annie had smacked them all for, and...

And it was good.

Which might be why, after the longish sort of day Ace has had, trying and failing to patch together her brother, she pauses on her way to the stairs and sits, a bit limply, in one of the kitchen chairs.

Or maybe she just needed a place to sit, before falling on the floor became her only option.

Either way, the chair and the table are comfortable enough that when her husband comes down to investigate, she's sound asleep.
nitro_is_ace: (bzuh?)
Ace is learning, the hard way, that not only are manual materializations a bitch and a half to run, doing multiples thereof in a short span of time is proving somewhat impossible.

It shouldn't be. She can prove it on paper.

It's bloody frustrating. She and Skrith have been over and over it, arguing, ripping the theory apart and putting it back together in a kaleidoscope of fashions and, on one memorable night, they got ridiculously drunk (Ace had the absinthe) over it.

Yes, that would be the night they managed to sneak past the MPs and paintballed Romana's TARDIS.

G'on. You know you think it's hilarious. Besides, what were you lot expecting when allowing two cats to hang out together for a prolonged period of time?

But beyond earning a reputation for being more than a little insane as a fighter and tactician, she's earning a reputation of being... a little unpredictable. Not that anyone's running on an even emotional keel these days, but more than one person has had their heads bitten off by a suddenly growly pyro.

Ace's TARDIS, and those of a dozen of her better pilots, shudder into existence in the ranks. Ace steps out first, and peers up at the top of her TARDIS, scowling, before disappearing back inside.

Guessing by the way the other pilots avoid Ace's TARDIS like the plague? It's a grumpy night. She comes back out eventually, with equipment to scale up to the top of the ship and find out what's still smoldering up there.
nitro_is_ace: (say what?)
Ace hums as she works, off-key as always, but that's alright. There's no one here to be tortured by it. Even Magic is at the farm just now, since this is only a quick jaunt to straighten out a few bugs with the temporal brake. Now she knows why the Doctor was always rooting around in the innards of his TARDIS - the amount of upkeep these machines need is somewhat ridiculous.

With this calm, peaceful atmosphere, she should be grateful she doesn't actually crack her skull open when the cloister bell rings, deep and sonorous and not at all conducive to said peaceful atmosphere.
nitro_is_ace: (Barbarian cheerleader)
Ace is nothing if not persistant. And Christmas really is her very favorite holiday (even if she can't quite get behind the religion of it all).


She's going to make another attempt at sharing her fondness of the Christmas season.

We're so sorry, Lissar.
nitro_is_ace: (patches)
On an island, there is a mansion of Victorian influence.

In that mansion, a certain pair of adventurers are having a very hard time. It probably would have been better, had they obeyed the 'don't split up ever' rule, but neither of this pair are particularly good about rules.

Neither, it seems, is this house or its occupants.
nitro_is_ace: (bzuh?)
When they get back to their bedroom, all evidence of an attack is gone. There also appears to be a duplicate hand mirror, matching the one Ace took with her up the stairs.

Ace fails to be surprised, at this point. Sighing, she puts her hand mirror near the bed so she can grab it if necessary, and flops onto the mattress.

"Nothin' good has ever come of Victorian mansions. They should all be torn down."
nitro_is_ace: (No seriously - you're kidding right?)
Ace, who had been enjoying a very nice dream involving Spoon in a cowboy outfit, nearly jumps clean out of her skin as the bloodcurdling screams rent the air.

Give her a minute. She's never been a morning person. Or, in this case, a dead-of-the-night-ungoldly-AM person.
nitro_is_ace: (bzuh?)
It's cold.

It's... moor-esque.

It's freaking raining.

Ace peers out the door of her TARDIS and wonders if she really, really really, has to go out in that muck to investigate a temporal anomaly. Honestly. Who's going to notice one more temporal anomaly, more or less, out there?
nitro_is_ace: (closeup)
When Ace comes home to the farm that night, she is very well fed.

She's also rather knackered. She's proud that she's not wobbling anymore, but she's sure she won't have any problems sleeping tonight.


In fact, you know, taking a break at the kitchen table before attempting the stairs sounds like a great idea. She's just... taking in the ambiance. Yup.
nitro_is_ace: (Ace)
After getting her mate and her friend settled on the couch, and after getting her own brain settled, Ace excused herself, telling them she would be back soon, and they were under no circumstances to get themselves even slightly hurt while she was gone.

She made a short stop at the bar to get cookies, then traced an often-traveled path to her brother's door. Once again, she fails to knock.

Mostly because she's afraid of the reception, and just wants it over with.
nitro_is_ace: (Ace)
Today she got a letter with her cocoa.

She never had that cocoa.

The letter is in the inside pocket of her coat.

She knew this would happen (but hoped that it wouldn't ever) because everyone leaves (she's told it isn't true, but it keeps happening) and it's held true for eight decades, why should it change now?

She wants to scream.

She wants to run.

Or cry.

She doesn't go back to Yorkshire tonight. She can't. She'd only pace and doubt and worry and fret all night long, and besides depriving everyone of sleep, she'd probably disappoint them in how she doubts.

She doesn't doubt. She believes.

She believes she will lose everyone.

Somehow, that's one faith that never seems to get shattered.

She doesn't bother knocking. If he isn't there, she couldn't bear the wait outside. If he is, he'll understand.
nitro_is_ace: (pissed)
Some days Ace goes for subtle.

Some days Ace is just a little too ticked off for subtle.

The door lock gives way under the force of a particularly emphatic kick, the door slamming back against the wall.

Guess which sort of day this is?
nitro_is_ace: (whimsical)
Yorkshire in the spring, near summer, is really marvelous. Especially when the weather cooperates, which thankfully it is today. Thankfully, because if there was a combination of tulle and rain, someone would have to scrape Ace out from under the bed.
There is an explosion of blue out back, courtesy of Cora the wedding planner. There's quite a lot of fantastic food, courtesy of Annie.

There's a lot of freaking out going on upstairs, courtesy of Ace.

Nerves are normal, right?
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