TITLE: The Weird Of The White Witch
AUTHOR: Rebecca Ashling
GENRES: Drama, Humour, Mystery, Romance
UBER SETTING: Doctor Who
SPOILERS: The Whoverse generally.
RATING: 15 or PG-13
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and his corporate affiliates own "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". The BBC and its corporate affiliates own "Doctor Who", "Torchwood" and "The Sarah Jane Adventures". Terry Nation created the Daleks who are owned his estate. I own none of these and am writing this story for fun and not for profit.
SUMMARY: The Doctor regenerates and things are, of course, never quite the same again. This time, more so than usual.
AUTHOR NOTE: The title is a riff on the title of the novel "The Weird Of The White Wolf" by Michael Moorcock. One of our greatest fantasy authors. Read him.




THE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WITCH



Chapter One: To The Land Of Nod



The Doctor found, as he had all too many times before, that regeneration was not a trivial matter. In point of fact, it had always been quite the event. It certainly bloody well hurt, something he had forgotten. But then, it damn well ought to be painful, it was his death after all. Sort of. His body and mind, possibly his soul too, dissolved into agonised, amber light, flowing and fluxing, writhing and wriggling. His old self was dissected and demolished, his constituents sifted and sorted, until out from the humongous phase space of all potential Doctors, a new Doctor was elected to the position, forged and annealed, woven and knitted together, then quenched and cast off, to fend for himself, ready to stand on his own two feet. Or not. He felt very giddy, very wobbly on his pins, tummy a bit queasy.

The Doctor's first act in his new incarnation was to squeak in panic, to reflexively clutch at his jeans as they slithered footwards. His kecks, also overlarge, soon followed their denimy associate at the Doctor's feet. This. Was. Mortifying. Hadn't he suffered enough trauma today? He scrounged up all of his available hauteur and tried to ignore, no, deny, definitely deny, the fruits of his embarassment. A common or garden cat was good at putting on the affronted I-DELIBERATELY-meant-to-lool-like-an-utter-prat-and-DON'T-YOU-DARE-suggest-otherwise lark. A Time Lord was more than just some mere moggie so he should be miles better at this. Right? RIGHT? Of course he was right! He was, after all else, the Doctor.

"Hello, okay." The Doctor absently wiggled his fingers in a little wave at a young woman watching him. He grinned at her. Reassuringly, he hoped. His mouth felt bigger in proportion to his face than it had been. He ran the tip of his tongue along his lips, exploring their new texture. Softer. "New lips, that's weird." He frowned in thoughtful consideration. "And new teeth to go with them." He widened his eyes as an alarming thought struck him. "My teeth are clean, aren't they? They have been flossed and stuff?" He scraped a fingernail along his upper gnashers to check. As smooth as a baby's bottom, no plaque.

"So, where was I?" The Doctor continued, as nonchalantly as he could under these undignified circumstances. "Oh, that's right. Barcelona!"

But which Barcelona? The capital of Catalunya, the city of Antoni Gaudi's never finished basilica, the Sagrada Familia? Or the planet where the dogs had no noses, and unimaginatively jokey tourists got torn to pieces by enraged locals? He honestly couldn't answer that question. Not that any of his memories had been lost, oh no. They were still there in his infinitely capacious Gallifreyan brain, refiled, recatalogued, reorganised. And without an index. This happened every time he regenerated, he couldn't find a sodding thing. It was a nuisance, really it was.

Like now, for instance. Who was that woman looking at him in consternation? Short, with golden-brown hair and greenish-bluey-grey eyes. Teeth gnawing on her lower lip as if chewing the cud. Giving the impression of an especially dim-witted bovine...

"Jo! Jo Grant! Josephine Grant!" exclaimed the Doctor triumphantly. Who else could it possibly be? Sweet girl, not that bright. "Hey, Jo!"

Beaming, the Doctor rushed forward to embrace his companion, unmindful of the trousers and underwear clogging his feet. His momentum body-slammed him on to the Tardis' deck, his face whamming in it an instant later. "Owie." he whimpered plaintively, before deciding that unconsciousness was perhaps, in this case, the better part of valour, and let himself be hurtled down like a meteor to the land of Nod.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

Cool idea combining Doctor Who and Buffy, my two biggest fandoms! I'm excited to see where this goes.

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"To days to come."
"All my love to long ago.

I hope, we'll have more happy ever after
I hope, we can all live more fearlessly...

~Jas

Right there with Crazy, my two biggest fandoms colliding!

OMG I'm so excited, and you've got an internal monologue that sounds so Doctor but at the same time sounding so new! Can't wait!

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"If I can't be a good example, might as well be a horrible warning."

"Friendship is obviously magic. Love is a sorta super strong friendship. We gay people love so hard we broke 'Social Norm'. Ergo, we gay people are ultra-strong wizards."

CrazyTaraWitch, Faolan228, I have three more chapters already written Glad you like it so far

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

TITLE: The Weird Of The White Witch
AUTHOR: Rebecca Ashling
GENRES: Drama, Humour, Mystery, Romance
UBER SETTING: Doctor Who
SPOILERS: The Whoverse generally.
RATING: 15 or PG-13
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and his corporate affiliates own "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". The BBC and its corporate affiliates own "Doctor Who", "Torchwood" and "The Sarah Jane Adventures". Terry Nation created the Daleks who are owned his estate. I own none of these and am writing this story for fun and not for profit.
SUMMARY: The Doctor regenerates and things are, of course, never quite the same again. This time, more so than usual.
AUTHOR NOTE: The title is a riff on the title of the novel "The Weird Of The White Wolf" by Michael Moorcock. One of our greatest fantasy authors. Read him.



THE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WITCH



Chapter Two: She Yelled

Aspirin. Acetylsalicylic acid. There was a whole bottle of it lying in wait by his bed as he awoke. Pills of the evil stuff, with a glass of water standing by. Toxic to Gallifreyan physiology, alas, but it was very thoughtful, very kind of Jo to provide it. Even though he had once emphatically told her it was pure poison to him. Such a silly girl! She meant well and... Whoa! Wait a minute! The Doctor felt suddenly ashamed of himself, the capillaries of his cheeks swiftly a-flush with blushy blood, his shame intense enough to make his face glow in the dark. Not Jo, Tara! Tara, Tara, Tara. How could he have possibly forgotten the name of the young woman who had so recently saved HIM from the monsters? From the monsters of monsters, from the Daleks, no less. True, he was somewhat neurally discombobulated but still... The Doctor gave himself a shrewd slap on the back of his head and, for good measure, boxed his own ears too.



It was all coming back to him now, those final fraught minutes on Station 5, before he had regenerated. The last of the Doctor's allies, Faith Lehane, had just been killed. His eyes had been closed as he awaited his own extermination. A fusilade of massed energy blasts from the confronting Daleks would have meant the end for HIM. Then the regeneration cycle would have been activated. Another volley of weapons fire in the middle of that... Well, that would have been the end of THE Doctor. About time, really. He truly couldn't have said he hadn't earned this. And he couldn't help but relish the irony of the Daleks being given free licence to commit genocide, all because he had been too squeamish, too chicken-hearted, to commit genocide himself, to sacrifice the paltry billions of Earth for the sake of the uncountable potential victims of the Daleks. Either way, the people of Earth had been doomed. It had all been funny in a bittersweet kind of way and you had to take your consolations whenever, wherever you could. But of much bigger, much greater comfort to him, that had warmed him from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes? His beautiful, gentle, fantastic Tara was safe. Then filling the space station, there had been this pandemonium, the infernal racket of one thousand indignant, trumpeting mammoths having one thousand rectal probes shoved where the sun never shone, all punctuated by a THUD like the doors of eternity being kicked shut. The Tardis had returned, and he'd tasted true despair as his stubbornly devoted, usually blessed with commonsense, fantastic Tara had dealt herself back in the game. Hmmm, he couldn't quite recollect what transpired after that, he'd have to ask Tara later. But he was morally certain, utterly convinced in fact, that she had rescued him.



The Doctor seldom got the chance for a good, old lie-in after a regeneration. There was always seemed to be something that needed sorting out. Hapless innocents to be helped, terrible, geophysical disasters to be averted, brutish corporate, or governmental, leviathans whose nasty existences needed to be cut short, invaders to be firmly ejected from pastoral paradises, and just as firmly discouraged from dreams of reconquest, opposing factions of civil wars to be reconciled... Problems, problems, problems.



Anyway, he'd had enough kip. Time to take a look at himself in the mirror, time to make faces, examine his tongue, tug at his ears, pull his hair, squeeze his nose, have a thorough critique of his new physiognomy, moan at the unfairness of what he'd been given. One thing he did know, courtesy of that unfortunate wardrobe malfunction he had suffered earlier, he was smaller, a lot smaller. Other evidence: he was still wearing his tee-shirt and it swallowed him up like a hungry, cotton drashig. Also, Tara had considerately restored the modesty of his nether regions by redressing him in a pair of her shorts. They fit him pretty well. So, oh yeah, tiny.



Where was the mirror? Ah, other there where it usually was, at the foot of his bed, cunningly disguised by having his jacket draped over it. By Tara, presumably. That was worrisome. She evidently hadn't wanted his reflection to be the first thing he saw when he woke up. That bad, eh? He hoped his visage hadn't become too freaksome. Padding over to the mirror, he hovered indecisively for a few moments before giving into his curiosity. Curiosity, his fatal flaw. "Tally-ho!" he cried out, and uncovered the mirror.



Silky, red hair, huge hazel eyes with emerald flecks, soft, pale skin, a quirky, mobile mouth and... The Doctor froze in shock, made a tentative, tactile confirmation.



"What. The. Frilly. Heck!" She yelled.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

Well, at least he's ginger now

_________________
"If I can't be a good example, might as well be a horrible warning."

"Friendship is obviously magic. Love is a sorta super strong friendship. We gay people love so hard we broke 'Social Norm'. Ergo, we gay people are ultra-strong wizards."

Indeed, Faolan

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

TITLE: The Weird Of The White Witch
AUTHOR: Rebecca Ashling
GENRES: Drama, Humour, Mystery, Romance
UBER SETTING: Doctor Who
SPOILERS: The Whoverse generally.
RATING: 15 or PG-13
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and his corporate affiliates own "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". The BBC and its corporate affiliates own "Doctor Who", "Torchwood" and "The Sarah Jane Adventures". Terry Nation created the Daleks who are owned his estate. I own none of these and am writing this story for fun and not for profit.
SUMMARY: The Doctor regenerates and things are, of course, never quite the same again. This time, more so than usual.
AUTHOR NOTE: The title is a riff on the title of the novel "The Weird Of The White Wolf" by Michael Moorcock. One of our greatest fantasy authors. Read him.



THE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WITCH




Chapter Three: A Good, Strong, Mocha Instead

The respiratory bypass system was an extraordinarily useful part of Gallifreyan biology. When it functioned, that is. The Doctor had never found it entirely reliable, but it had always worked in a pinch. Such as that time when she had survived being throttled by a robotic, Egyptian mummy. Well, what could have been pinchier than that? And handy for panicky hyperventilation too, it would seem. When had she last had a panic attack? Oh, way, way back in her second incarnation, four or five subjective centuries ago, give or take. Poor, old Two! He'd never really had the temperament to handle the scrapes he'd get into. He would always work himself into a tizzy, worry and wail, and generally carry on in a fashion unbefitting a Time Lord. And as for his companions... They had been no help whatsover, showing too little initiative or too much, always nagging the miserable wretch during a crisis, pestering him while he was trying to salvage some precious pearl of victory from the pig slurry of defeat. Idiots! Thank goodness for the sterling companionship of such friends as Sarah Jane, Ace or Tara, who could, if necessary, and by golly it was always necessary, actually act with proper independence from the Doctor. She thought fondly of bright and brittle Sarah Jane, of energetic and excitable Ace, wondered what had become of them.



The Doctor's breathing had finally steadied, her emotional equilibrium on a more even keel. Thinking on Two's misfortunes, her own past misfortunes, had been a grand way of calming the seething ocean of her agitated mind. When you were a Time Lord, schadenfreude had somewhat peculiar ramifications. Her sudden frisson of fright over the matter of her changed gender struck her as odd. This possibility, while uncommon for most Gallifreyans, had been, during her distant schooldays at the Time Lord Academy, explained to her and the rest of her class of sniggering, secretly scared adolescents, with dry precision and in exhaustive detail. She had had good chums, like the Corsair (well, only one pal quite like the Corsair), who had customarily become, with each one of their regenerations, any one of the four Gallifreyan sexes. Yes, this was all something of an exceptional circumstance for the Doctor who had, in this one particular, become set in her ways, but it was no big deal. Not really. So why had she kicked up such a fuss? Why such freaked out unease?



Well now, back to more serious business! The Doctor continued her old and valued post-regenerative tradition, the appraisal of her new reflection. She grinned dazzlingly at the richly vibrant hair. She had always had a hankering to be ginger. Ginger! Such an inadequate word for this gorgeously foxy shade, almost insultingly so. It was good to be ginger again. Heck, it was good to be a girl again! She saw the bridge of her nose scrunch up in puzzlement, then her lambent, liquid eyes widen in sudden alarm. Those were decidedly odd things to think. Since when had she had red hair? Or been a woman for that matter? Not ever, for either. Of that, she was positive.



With an act of will, the images of every one of her past selves were brought to stand before her inner gaze. From the one most recently gone, the haggard, guilty survivor of the last, great Time War, down to the very first Doctor, that fierce, hawkish elder, his head crowned with silver locks, his gaze stern. They were all there, all nine of them (plus Him, the holder of the Moment, who the Doctor would never talk about), none of them female, not one a redhead. But wait! There! Lurking at the back, eclipsed by the distracting bombast of her sixth incarnation... Someone else. Someone she had forgotten, someone she had no suspicion ever existed. A shape, shadowy and blurred, a memory of sorrow and loss. But definitely feminine, the Doctor was certain of it. The marrow of her bones ached with unspoken knowledge, and she knew if she could but only name this unexpected stranger, she would understand how the Stranger belonged to her.



What to do? The Doctor could sequester herself in the Tardis' zero room, centre herself with rest and meditation. That was the recommended procedure for a dodgy regeneration but that didn't quite sit right with her, felt too cerebral. She sighed in vexation and decided to let the Stranger be for now. It was time to get dressed and find Tara. As old a soul as she was, as seemingly serene as she was, Tara was still not entirely inured to the excitements of the Doctor's dangerous lifestyle and needed to be reassured. Then mash a pot of tea, a good, strong brew. The Doctor's lips twisted in a moue of disdain. What was she thinking? No, make that a good, strong mocha instead.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

TITLE: The Weird Of The White Witch
AUTHOR: Rebecca Ashling
GENRES: Drama, Humour, Mystery, Romance
UBER SETTING: Doctor Who
SPOILERS: The Whoverse generally.
RATING: 15 or PG-13
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and his corporate affiliates own "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". The BBC and its corporate affiliates own "Doctor Who", "Torchwood" and "The Sarah Jane Adventures". Terry Nation created the Daleks who are owned his estate. I own none of these and am writing this story for fun and not for profit.
SUMMARY: The Doctor regenerates and things are, of course, never quite the same again. This time, more so than usual.
AUTHOR NOTE: The title is a riff on the title of the novel "The Weird Of The White Wolf" by Michael Moorcock. One of our greatest fantasy authors. Read him.



THE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WITCH




Chapter Four: As The Memory Took Her

But it was not that easy for the Doctor to let go of the Stranger, for she dearly loved mysteries. Or they loved her. She was so often bumping into, or stumbling over them, that doubtlessly the mysteries themselves considered her to be some kind of creepy, klutzy stalker. Enough! She had to stop yammering to herself. Thus it was, with reluctance, that the Doctor, before she could spin it into flimsy threads of baroque conjecture, dropped the yarn of her woolgathering. She shook her flamey (extra flamey!) hair from her face, briskly smacked the palms of her hands together. Time to be clad! Time to get dolled up in flash, new togs. In a way, clothing defined the Doctor, set the tone for a given incarnation, made said incarnation a nonpareil, told miscreant monsters just who, and what, they would be messing around with this time.



From somewhere to her left, the Doctor heard a clickety-snick noise. She span about on the balls of her feet and peered inquisitively at the source of the sound. A door. An open door. Through which she could see clothes. Ha! That was nifty. For whatever bizarre reason a nine-dimensional consciousness might have, perhaps for the sheer joy of it, the Tardis sometimes liked to play hide-the-interior-dimensions-from-the-Doctor. Not on this occasion, however. The Tardis was being helpful for a change. The Doctor had had her hearts set on a bow-tie and a fez, fezzes being, in her humble opinion, cool. So when she entered her wardrobe, she was deeply disappointed, deeply desolated, deeply disconsolate to find that the Tardis had rather slyly hidden all her boy clothes. Maybe not so helpful after all. She pouted crossly. "Meanie!" Grumbling to herself (there was nothing wrong with her dress sense, nothing!), she stomped her way to the spiral staircase which linked the levels of the great, multi-tiered space, banged and clanged her feet on each one of its steps as she climbed it. All about her, racks of clothing in rallied ranks displayed a total galaxy of garb. Everything she could possibly want to wear. On the distaff side, at least. Still fuming, an expression of grim resolve hardened her face. Showtime!



After much dithering and deliberation, the Doctor had finally been able to put together the first of the many outfits that, in the next couple of hours, she would be giving an audition to. She surveyed her reflection with a critical eye. She liked it, this plaid dress over a blouse, but even to her alien aesthetics, those white tights were hideous. Utterly horrid. Besides, this particular combo? It made her look so young, it made her look like a child, and she was so not a kid. Childish, yes. She certainly couldn't argue with that. Her fourth incarnation had once told Sarah Jane that there was little point in being a grown-up if you couldn't be childish. The Doctor nodded emphatically to herself. Darn tootin'! She smirked reminiscently. Four could overdo the tantrumy petulance at times and to be truthful, he always had, but he had in no way been as bad as Six. Six. Six, Six, Six. She grimaced at the thought of that... excrescence. It brought a bitter odour to her mind, a noisome taste. Six had been a braggart and a bravo, seemingly colour-blind, sartorially challenged, violent. A bully. And the Doctor could never abide a bully. Never.



From the morass of her murky memory, a childhood recollection stuck its hurtful snout out of the Doctor's muddy past. On long lost, timelocked Gallifrey there had been this vile approximation of a shrub that had been imported to that world during an unhinged fad for the grotesque. You really had to see and smell the repulsive thing to comprehend its full awfulness. It wasn't anything at all like a malefic melange of a putrid bear, a haemarrhagic piglet or a leprous donkey. Not unless the light was very dim, not unless you were even more insanely optimistic than Pollyanna on ecstasy and crack. Oh, no, it looked much, much worse than that. And the stink of it! Abominable beyond both imagining and endurance. The plant, if that had been what it was, proved to be extraordinarily useful. Its exotic biochemistry produced a vast pharmacopeia of all kinds of wondrous things. So it alone had been suffered, long after all its unspeakable, fellow immigrants had been expunged, to exist beneath the orange skies and twin suns of Gallifrey, to befoul the planet's scarlet fields and silver forests with its noxious presence. It had become a naturalised, but still unloved, citizen of the worldscape. Sort of the local equivalent of the willow of Earth. It had been dubbed the doctor tree...



The Doctor! That hated, hated nickname. The Doctor's stomach convulsed in vain as it tried to void its empty contents. Bile burned her pharynx. Her fingers compressed themselves into fists, their knuckles whitening, their nails forced into her palms. She wanted to be brave but to no avail, hot tears of humiliation leaked from the corners of her eyes, bloody drops dripped from her clenched hands. She fell to her knees and screamed. A keening wail of grief for herself, a guttural cry of rage at the bitch who had thus branded her. When her throat turned too raw, too tender, when even she could not draw sufficient breath, her screaming broke down into muted, gulping sobs as the memory took her.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

Can I just say that I love the mental berating of 6? Because Colin scares the shit out of me?

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"If I can't be a good example, might as well be a horrible warning."

"Friendship is obviously magic. Love is a sorta super strong friendship. We gay people love so hard we broke 'Social Norm'. Ergo, we gay people are ultra-strong wizards."

Colin Baker, the worst Doctor ever.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

Welcome to the KB and congrats on posting your first fic! I can tell from your avid posting just how excited and happy your are to be getting this out there for all of us to read. It makes me very excited for you. Lol. You may want to slow down just a bit. I've learned that writing a story is more of a marathon than a sprint. Plus, you want to give us readers a chance to catch up to what you've written, digest it, and comment.

Also, not being a Who'vian myself I was wondering if you might add some kind of synopsis with some definitions of the other verses you are using so that I can understand the difference between Brit-speak I don't know and other shows that I haven't seen. I am really enjoying what I am reading, but to be honest there is about 1/5 of it I just don't get because I don't know any of the backstory.

Keep writing. Looking forward to more.

_________________
Tara: " I got so lost."
Willow: "I found you. I will always find you."

Remodeling: The Reconstruction of Tara Maclay / W/T Potpourri

I have always felt my three favorite characters in fiction were (in no order)
1.Mr Spock
2.Willow
3.Dr Who
So I was pretty excited to see this. I'm a big fan of your work RJA and the detail you do with it.
I told you that you would like the board

Hello, True_Love Glad you're enjoying the story All the chapters I've written so far have been posted so progress will be at a more sedate pace from now on. I know about reading fics in unfamiliar fandoms and how confusing it can be. My personal solution is usually to hit Wikipedia. I once wrote a Buffy crossover with an obscure fandom (The Wraeththu Mythos). I provided a synopsis and footnotes. Never again! *shudder* That fic wasn't a total disaster but... Anyways, I'm pleased you like this story and I hope you keep reading

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

Hey drlloyd11 The Doctor and Willow are favourites of mine also. Thank you for the egoboost Oh, for Kittens who have been wondering what has become of our beautiful, gentle, fantastic Tara , she'll be making her POV debut in the next chapter

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

The original title of "New Doctor, Old Memories" was always meant to be provisional until I could find something better. Which I think I have. A blatant steal from "The Weird Of The White Wolf" by Michael Moorcock who, in my humble opinion, is one of our geatest fantasy authors. The new title has the twin virtues of emphasising Tara's importance to the story and of being alliterative. Anyways, hope you like.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

I was asked by RJA and Kajun to provide the smallest possible introduction to Dr Who, a show that first aired the day after John JFK was assassinated and has had 784 episodes, 2 movies, 3 spin offs, and had the lead played by eleven different actors. It recently had a *very* successful reboot performed by Russel T Davies (A gay Joss Whedon without the meanness ) So strap in... I have added some random clips for context.
Feel free to move this if you need to.

Intro music.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mxHe8T_QVA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNPhX565xnM
Terms
Time lord: An ancient race who has mastered time travel and sees them selves as the guardians of time. They are stuffy and paralyzed with caution. They live in a huge dome on the planet Gallifrey.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ji1xPQX9dAY

Regeneration: The Time Lords are near immortal. When injured badly enough they will regenerate in a new body (they can do this 13 times only). The new body is the doctor, and has the same memories and a same "soul", but has a different personality and look. These tended to happen after an actor playing Doctor Who asked for a raise. The best way to think of this as if you cast a new actor for a part with his their own style. If they recast Buffy with Tina Fey and how they would change the way they write the character.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXCpY_3Sac8

TARDIS: Time And Space In Relative Dimensions. The main mode of travel for the time lords. It can appear as anything (The 'is broken and only appears as police phone box circa 1960). The inside is larger than the outside and includes, among other things, a swimming pool, a lab, costume room, and relics from past. It can vanish and reappear anywhere in time, space, or alternate universes. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hnjQSyovec

The Doctor: The main character. He has given no other name and like a lot of Time Lords he is an archetype (the embodiment of an idea) . He is a brilliant scientist and found of impersonating people. He *Never* uses direct violence and always works to help the helpless. The name refers to his role as a protector and healer. In general he is male but canon has shown that Time Lords can change sex. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSXc9qkESkM

Companion: The doctors assistant(s). Usually one or more normal (almost always at least one of which is a woman) humans who tags along after an adventure. At first they tended to get kidnapped, hypnotized and ask a lot of expository questions but now is a lot more feisty.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUlS-oSRETM

Sonic Screw driver: The Doctors all purpose tool that can be used in pretty much anyway (scanner, door opener, tweezers, mending).http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXliD189bss

The Master: Arch villain of the Doctor. A time lord dedicated to ruling the galaxy and other sorts of evil (Typical evil plan here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UszT_L4QWII)

The Daleks: The original villains and as well known in England as "The Joker" is here.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B6t692kpqhs


The Time war. Introduced in the newest series


All apologizes if I seem to have done some hand-waving.

Heya drlloyd11. Thanks for the explanatory notes. It's hard to summarise a phenomenon like "Doctor Who" but you've done a decent job here. Thank you

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me

BIG Thank you drlloyd11. This really helps out a lot.

_________________
Tara: " I got so lost."
Willow: "I found you. I will always find you."

Remodeling: The Reconstruction of Tara Maclay / W/T Potpourri

Hi Rebecca I'm really enjoying your Dr. Who/Willow&Tara story. I love the original way you've joined the two shows to make the story up with the Dr. regenerating into Willow instead of the girls meeting the errant timelord, even more so as (s)he's replaced David Tennant as the tenth Dr. as opposed to using the current encumbent of the Tardis, Matt Smith.

I also love your use of language, in particular when you are describing the ugly plant in chapter four and refer to it as 'a malefic melange of a putrid bear'.

not unless you were even more insanely optimistic than Pollyanna on ecstasy and crack.

This line really made me laugh, you evidently have a fun, quirky sense of humour.

I thought you were a bit harsh on the second Dr. and his companions as Jamie and Victoria Watefield were from the past so they had less of a knowledge of things, especially on futuristic adventures though in 'Tomb of the Cybermen' both VIctoria and Jamie are more than capable in aiding, as best they can, the Dr. as he attempts to stop both Klein and the Cybermen. That said the second Dr. is my favourite so I'm probably biased.

I was wondering where you posted the story 'The Wraeththu Mythos' as I'd like to have a read at it. It sounds Lovecraftian from the title and I'm always up for something related to Cthulhu.

Keep writing, this is turning out to be really a fun story.

Oh god, you wish it was Cthulhu based.
No disrespect to what could well be a good story,
but the Wraeththu setting is quite, quite awful.

I've heard it described as "gay slave rape death" and while that's a bit over kill, it's not inaccurate.
*Shudder*

That having been said, i wouldn't mind reading the story.
Roses grow from muck after all.

R

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“All I feel is sunlight. All I hear is music.” Willow
How i Met Your Mother - By Ariel

My Story: Coming Home

What worries me (worried to the point of being reluctant to follow this story) is the Doctor's *next* regeneration, which is inevitable.

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Snapshots:http://thekittenboard.com/board/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=10210 a Love Story
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Kim: (breaks off the kissing) I l... (Sue stops her with a hand)
Sue: We don't talk about things like that right after, you know that, no saying those things in The Moment.
Kim: (moves the hand aside) Screw The Moment. I *love* you.

OK, I got writer's block and then the canon continuity got changed in an inconvenent way. I have overcome these problems and have begun the next chapter. Many thanks for your patience. Oh, for people worrying about Willow!Doctor's longevity. Firstly, she can regenerate into herself. Secondly, she can live for at least a few centuries before old age necessitates a regeneration. Thirdly, this is the Kitten Board. Willow and Tara live happily FOREVER after. Always.

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the Inward Eye, the Sightless Sea, Ayala flows through the River in Me