nitro_is_ace: (You love me anyway)
[personal profile] nitro_is_ace
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.

Date: 2010-02-22 04:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"I don't..." She bites her lower lip, gnawing in a worried manner that has the potential of becoming habitual if this ... thing, goes on for too long.

But, if she's being honest with herself, she can't stop him.

She's never had the ability to stop him from doing much of anything.

"Don't get hurt. I'm lost if y'get hurt." She blurts, suddenly, then abruptly continues on her path towards the center of the maelstrom of fire and screams.

Date: 2010-02-22 04:21 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (h b&w stare)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
"Bodies die. I do not."

It is all there is of comfort he has to offer, and it probably isn't much.

So it goes.

He keeps moving anyway, fingers already tangling through a knot of red-gold thread.

Date: 2010-02-22 04:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
She's all for being cautious, getting out of this mess before the war can drag her in before its time, but...

Then the screaming resolves into words she understands.


The part of her that remembers fifty years of peaceful, regulated life with friends (and some not) howls furiously at that, and suddenly, she's gone, completely abandoning her hidden tracks to lunge across the blasted plain, Nitro-9 in hand.


Date: 2010-02-22 04:36 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (h b&w stare)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Well, that narrows Raven's likely choices of action.

Which is to say he abruptly pulls two knots tight.

And blows a small phalanx of Daleks on the high ground into so much smoking wreckage.

Too bad there are a lot more waiting in the wings.

Uh oh.

Date: 2010-02-22 04:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
There are two young Time Lords trapped under the crossfire of the encroaching Daleks armies, both in the green and brown robes of the Arcalian chapter of the academy - researchers, academics, not warriors. One looks terrified... the other is beyond such things, and Ace feels the familiar tingle of a Gallifreyan's regenerative energy underneath her hands as she helps haul the damaged lad out of immediate danger.
There are startled demands for identification from the surviving Arcalian, but Ace's answer, falsely confident in firm Prydonian accents soon calms the mini-storm.

She still isn't entirely sure what to do about the surviving Daleks.

The nearest ten suddenly come to a fiery end as she sends some nitro in their direction. Let'm chew on that for a bit.

Date: 2010-02-26 02:25 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (h b&w stare)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Several others simply cease to exist.

Or maybe they just decompose.

Meanwhile, Raven moves up behind Ace, head tilting ever so slightly.

"You are so much for having a plan, perhaps?"

Date: 2010-02-26 02:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ace grabs the collar of his coat and pulls him aside. The surviving young Time Lord kneels by the body of his companion, babbling about how it's going to be alright, traumatic regenerations can't be as bad as they're taught.

"They're worse." Ace mutters, wincing. "An' no, I haven't a plan, bird. An' I don't like this combination. Last time this happened, I nearly crossed m'own time stream, an' spent sommat like a week fightin'.

Date: 2010-02-26 02:51 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (Default)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
He tilts his head, hands busy twisting a few more knots in his skein of thread.

Another Dalek bites the dust.


"Leaving will also be tricky, yes?"

Date: 2010-02-26 03:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Hellacious." Ace replies, shifting her stance as the ground rumbles under their feet. "The planet's not handlin' the temporal stress well. We'll be bloody lucky if... oh no."

She's not looking at her brother, or the Daleks that have reorganized and are once again heading in their direction. She's looking at the regenerating Gallifreyan, who's once-boyish features are beginning to crack and meld.

The screaming has started. They teach, on Gallifrey, that those undergoing a regeneration tend not to feel any pain. How can they, when the nerves are, in effect, no longer connected to anything that might record what they transmit?

The surviving Gallifreyan looks rather green. It's not a good color for him.

Date: 2010-02-26 03:13 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (h b&w stare)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
"Possibly passing out is better," Raven observes.


His fingers twitch the thread into a more complex array of knotwork, and somewhere out in the madness of battle a sinkhole opens up and swallows a phalanx of the enemy.

One day maybe an archaeologist will find them and be very confused.

Date: 2010-02-26 03:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
The archeologist might be dead, if those Daleks survive their entombment. One might feel sorry for him.

Back in the current time, Ace winces, and tries very hard not to think about how her Doctor was killed.

"Right. So we can pretty much guarantee that there's plenty of people on both sides here, they don't need us." It's not entirely clear who she's trying to convince here - Raven... or herself. "He might even be here. We just need t'free my TARDIS an' bug out."

Date: 2010-02-26 03:24 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (h b&w stare)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Raven makes something else explode, messily, then turns to Ace.

"There are instructions? I am, I think, not so good with electronics."

Among other things.

Date: 2010-02-26 03:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
There's a bit of green gunk in her hair. Ace is trying not to think about it. She's mostly failing miserably. Emphasis on miserable. The screaming is still going on. And it seems the other young Time Lord is in the process of losing his breakfast.

"Instructions are for wimps." Ace sighs, scrubbing the side of her face furthest away from the green gunk. "The interference is from..." She consults a small, boxy, beeping thing from her pocket, and points away to the north. "There."

Date: 2010-02-28 03:05 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (bird close flying)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Raven's gaze follows Ace's pointing finger.

A second later he is taking off, a tiny black-feathered bundle zooming off in a perfectly straight line.

Maybe that is deliberate.

Or maybe not.

Date: 2010-02-28 04:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"... Or maybe that way?" Ace adds on, not noticing immediately that her brother has disappeared. Again.

After a few minutes of frowning at her little device and absent-mindedly balancing during nearby explosions, she does notice that it is rather quiet. Well. Not quiet, but there's a distinct lack of brotherly bothering.

".... Um." She considers the implications of this, and sidles a little further away from where the newly regenerated Time Lord is trying to sort out what is going on now. "Bugger."

Still, there's a job to be done, so Ace trudges in the second direction, exploding Daleks who are unfortunate enough to get in her way.

Date: 2010-02-28 04:52 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (bird close flying)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Raven explodes Daleks in the direction he chose to follow, too.

At least until he notices that is all there is in this direction.


Backtracking would take too long.

So he cheats.

Reality winces.

Date: 2010-02-28 05:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
So does every Gallifreyan Time Lord in the area. And a few of the more advanced Daleks cry out as well (or, rather, cry out louder). Ace stumbles, less because of the whiplash through reality and more because a phlanx of nearby Daleks have decided she needs to be EX-TER-MIN-ATED, but have rather horrible aim - the ground underneath her is suddenly churned and crisped.

Date: 2010-02-28 05:42 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (Default)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Fortunately those self-same Daleks are also churned and crisped.

Just in reverse.

Raven is a very helpful brother.


Date: 2010-03-19 03:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
A few minutes later, a very grimy hand (thankfully currently attached to a grimy body) shows from under the pile of Dalek bits.

"I had..." There's a pause as things shift, and Ace struggles a little closer to the surface of the pile. "Everythin' under control."

Date: 2010-03-19 03:32 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (Default)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Raven snorts.


"It is a word, that one."

He is not impressed.
Edited Date: 2010-03-19 03:33 am (UTC)

Date: 2010-03-19 06:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"I'll give you a word, in a minute." As threats go, this one is pretty weak, but she doesn't have much to work with here. With rather a lot of irritation, she shakes herself free of the entangling mess, pulling her somewhat tattered rucksack behind her.

"An' stop wanderin' off... some high poobah on the Gallifreyan side gets wind of you an' they might reconsider who's the bigger threat." She grumbles, attempting to tie the left-hand strap of her rucksack back into some sort of serviceability.

Tricksters have earned themselves a rather nasty reputation in her 'verse. Ace makes exceptions.

Date: 2010-03-21 02:45 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (Default)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
"That, I think, would not be very entertaining."

Raven will allow that this once.

For ten minutes.


"There are other places we should be for getting to?"

Date: 2010-03-24 05:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Yeah, yeah. Dalek sector command, seems like, seein' as the Daleks are gettin' better armored in this direction." Ace grumbles, not at all pleased by the green scorched gunk that's currently soaking into her hair. She's fairly sure there isn't a cleaning routine in the multiverse that'll get that stuff off easily.

"Should've packed more nitro." She adds in, crankily, heading off in the correct direction once more.

Date: 2010-03-26 02:16 am (UTC)
creator_raven: (Default)
From: [personal profile] creator_raven
Raven, very helpfully, fishes around in his pockets.

Sometimes things just fall in!

Like --


Hopefully Ace recognizes whatever he is attempting to hand her.


Date: 2010-03-26 02:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Holy..." Ace breathes more than curses, and if anything she's more careful with his gift than he is, despite the fact that if the both of them were to be strewn across the landscape in bits, she at least would be back in some sort of reasonable physical order faster.

The fact he'd be alive, for a given value of 'alive', long before she would be is UTTERLY beside the point.

"It's even crusted. When the bleedin' hell did y'pick this up, a couple centuries ago?" Ace asks (or, rather, demands), cradling the crusted, seeping stick of dynamite carefully.

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