Application: The Rani (Doctor Who)

[markoftherani]

The inside of the Rani's TARDIS was an unholy mess.

The Tetraps had done plenty of damage to begin with (and they'd left a fair amount of their effluvia behind, disgusting), and trying to get them out had done even more. An entire century's worth of experiments in wreckage on the floor, the contents of the greenhouse half-eaten, –and where in the universe was she going to get another Katraxian sunflower?– five hundred years' worth of notes in disarray, the neutron accelerator completely trashed, to say nothing of the hypersonic regulators -- and all of this on top of the fact that she'd never had a chance to repair the damage that unmitigated –here was a curse that couldn't quite be spoken with normal humanoid vocal chords– did when he separated the secondary console room and left her with that damn Tyrannosaurus...

Time to find somewhere quiet to settle down and fix the poor thing. She patted the console soothingly –there there, my love, it'll be all right, we'll get you back in order soon enough; that nice little planet in the Argos system should do nicely– flicked a few switches and adjusted one of the sliders—

The floor tilted wildly and she fell, catching hold of the edge of the console by her fingernails. Alarm klaxons screaming –Rassilon's arse, was that the cloister bell?– an awful groaning noise from somewhere down the corridors. She slammed her hand down on the emergency stabiliser and after one more stomach-jolting shake, everything was still.

She leaned against the console, taking stock. Her TARDIS was queasy and drowsy at the same time, and it made the Rani's stomach turn just a little as well. She checked her instruments and frowned. That time reading couldn't possibly be right, could it? And those spatial readings—what did those coordinates even mean?

Only one way to find out.

She pushed the door open and blinked in the bright sunlight. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that the chameleon circuit was working properly; to any other viewer, it would seem that the entrance plaza had sprouted an extra ticketing booth. She looked up at the sky and frowned. –Looks and smells like a bog-standard carbon-based-life-supporting planet orbiting a G-class star, but the time flow is all wonky, and dear Rassilon what is that?–

***

She takes a step towards the curious two-dimensional mouse, tries to walk around it, and when it talks, it has to be admitted that she jumps a little.

Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"

"Who's asking?" she retorts. When no response seems forthcoming, she says, "I am called the Rani."

"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.

Talking cats. Two-dimensional talking cartoon mice –wasn't this one from that planet the Doctor loves so much, that little third-rate watery rock with the unfortunately all-too-useful natives– and the flow or not-flow of time creating a feeling of pressure behind her eyes... She feels she's entirely justified in snapping, "None of your business."

"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"

She rolls her eyes. "As if wishes have any consequence in reality. Very well, if I must—I'd wish for my TARDIS to be repaired, for a fully-outfitted laboratory, and a planet where I can work in peace." She'd had Miasimia Gloria, of course, until everything there had dissolved into chaos. No thanks to the Doctor, as far as she was concerned.

"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"

"Is shooting the fool allowed?"

Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"

"Are you expecting a revolution? There are things that can be done, you know, to prevent such inconveniences from happening, but -- you were asking about skills. I am a scientist. I could engineer troops to handle the anarchy effectively. Were a food shortage to become an issue, I've no doubt I would be able to help find a resolution. I expect I could be of considerable use."

Of course, it's possible that her methods would have certain detrimental (and potentially lethal) effects on the subjects during the experimentation and refinement processes, but that was the cost of doing business, as it were.

The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"

She takes a deep breath, straining to keep her temper in check. This is becoming most wearisome. "Chocolate." Oh, yes, the plant-derived theobromine-and-vegetable-fat compound from that stupid backwater planet. "None. I can't stand the stuff."

"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"

–This is the biggest pile of nonsense I've had to sit through since that time at the Academy when bloody damn Mortimus decided– Not something she wants to think about right now. "I cannot believe I'm answering this infantile question, but if you've got to have one, very well -- robots and monkeys. Robots make reliable servants and monkeys uncomplaining test subjects." She shoots a look at the Cat that suggests it'd make a good one itself, if not for the whole talking thing. Talking test subjects are an annoyance.

"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"

"Not on me, no," she snaps. What's on board her TARDIS isn't up for discussion. "Now I've got a question of my own: where in the name of the Pythia am I?"


((Say hello to the Rani, mad scientist and villainess extraordinaire from classic Doctor Who. She's taken from a point after the end of Time and the Rani. Note that for the sake of my brain, she currently looks more like she does in Mark of the Rani -- long straight hair, fitted jacket, leather trousers, boots with wicked heels. No poofy 1980s hair and space-cadet getup. Here's a screencap gallery. Check out her userinfo for background tl;dr, video links, and other fun and games. The muns for the Doctor and the Master have given their enthusiastic permission to torture their characters even more.))

Comments

[kuchiki.livejournal.com]

"The Rani?" Rukia asks. Her posture is haughty, and her expression guarded, as she looks the new arrival over. "Why 'the,' if you don't mind me asking?"

[markoftherani]

"It's the name I chose," she says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She sizes up Rukia in a glance. –physically unimposing, to be sure, but there's steel in that little spine–

[kuchiki.livejournal.com]

"I see," says Rukia, nodding a little. She wasn't sure what to make of that -- choosing your own name? And yet there didn't seem to be much more to it than that. "What is a Rani, if I may ask?" Her head is tilted just a little.

[markoftherani]

"In the Hindi language of the planet Sol-3—Earth, if you prefer—it's the word for 'queen'. I liked the sound of it."

[kuchiki.livejournal.com]

Well, that made sense, Rukia supposed. "I do prefer Earth, yes, as I'm from it and that's what we call it," Rukia explained. "What is a TARDIS? What is Hindi?"

[tomato-fiend.livejournal.com]

((after spending my evening being forcefully sat down in front of torchwood by my flatmate, she's now squeeing and telling me to send someone over. Just so you know.))

Duckula hadn't been by to meet new arrivals recently, and he felt like he should have, so told himself to go do so. And he generally did stick to his word, Duckula, apart from when he didn't realise what he was doing in the first place.

He sauntered over and smoothed down his jacket before looking up at the woman, "You know, that was a very utilitarian outlook on who is the best."

[markoftherani]

((Ahaha.))

Rassilon's filthy singlet, what is this? Another sort of thing like the mouse?

She forces herself to respond with something like civility, since that seems to be expected of one. "What else should it be? There's precious little room for sentimentality in science."

[tomato-fiend.livejournal.com]

Duckula raises an eyebrow, as much as a duck can, and looked at her curiously, "But it was hardly a scientific question. There's little room for science in personal opinion."

[markoftherani]

"Perhaps that's true for others." The way she says others implies lesser minds, among other things. "Science is my life, however, and so science and personal opinion are inextricable from each other."

[tomato-fiend.livejournal.com]

Duckula didn't quite like the way she referred to others, and took a little umbridge, "So you don't have emotions? Lovely."

[late-born-myth.livejournal.com]

"'The name of the Pythia'?" asks Psyche curiously. "Hello."

[markoftherani]

There's a sensation in the back of the Rani's head like something being locked up and twisted. She's already disoriented enough by the not-flow of Time in this place, and having something show up that's—

Oh, this is just not fair.

"What are you?" she snaps.

[late-born-myth.livejournal.com]

"I'm Psyche."

[markoftherani]

She has to backtrack via linguistics to make the identification, although of course that doesn't take very long. –psyche, Sol-3 English word referring to the mind or consciousness, derived from Greek in which it is the name of a–

"You're impossible." It's a cross between an accusation and an observation along the lines of telling the sky that it is blue.

[late-born-myth.livejournal.com]

Psyche laughs, not unpleasantly. "So I've been told on more than one occasion. Nevertheless." She cocks her head. "I'm sorry - am I bothering you?"

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor’s world hasn’t been so full in years. –It’s a subtle thing, the psychic connection between Time Lords, a general feeling of being together, even when you’re an exile, even when you live and love and lose among humans on human planets. Not enough to identify the species at close range (although, sometimes, if the person is familiar enough, one just knows) but enough to know that you share your universe with others.–

He grew so used to knowing that he was alone, and then suddenly he had the Master, and then just as suddenly he lost him again. And now he has him, one last moment of grace from an otherwise unforgiving Universe –Universes. Universeseses….– and then suddenly there is more, there is someone else, and for a moment he is lost in this new world.

And then the park speaker system comes, piped through the TARDIS via the link he built, and he hears a very familiar voice.

“No. No no no no no no…”

He doesn’t bother switching off the BBC documentary on Sophocles he is watching –playing ‘spot the historical inaccuracy’ is less fun when you’ve met the figure in question, but suitably mind-numbing for his purposes– just leaves the TARDIS in a flurry. Before the Rani has even gotten to the business about revolutions he’s pelting down the street of Toon Town toward City Hall, shouting.

“Master!”

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

It's like an itch at the back of his neck at first. –and then the drums are quieting, not too much, but enough that he feels the difference, like an ebb in a tide–

And it's not the same for him as it is for the Doctor because he's never had proper time with it, so it's more like a gap –a bloody gaping chasm– in his perception, a hole in the wall covered over by plaster so no one notices the shoddy workmanship, and he's not sure that he wants to know exactly why or how or--

Rather distinctive voice, wasn't it?

He feels his spine go taut and freezes so abruptly that he burns his hand with the welder he's using.

"Oh, stop it. No, no, no, no...."

He can hear the Doctor shouting his name and he manages to move, very slowly, to the doors of City Hall. He opens them, steps out, shuts them behind him very quietly and stares at the Doctor's fast approaching form, looking disbelievingly wide-eyed and perhaps a little pale.

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor doesn’t slow until he’s practically on top of the other Time Lord, at which point he skids to an abrupt and nearly over-balancing halt, arms flailing.

“It’s…” he starts, “but she can’t, I mean it's…" He stops, looking vaguely desperate, and finally blurts;

“What do we do?!”

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

It's a mark of how deeply disturbed the Master is that he doesn't even hold out his hands to halt the Doctor and prevent himself from being bowled over. He still has his fingers fixed to the doors behind him, still appears a little hypnotised. –oh haha, very funny–

Finally, he straightens imperceptibly. "First thing," he tells the Doctor, straighting his own tie in an attempt to normalise, "you're going to calm down. Because if you honestly think it's a good idea to be acting like this," and he waves a hand up and down to indicate the Doctor, "when you talk to her, you've got a lot of things coming, and all of them likely involve partial dissection, painful examinations and time bunking in a cage next to a particularly rowdy Schlessivnix."

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

“But... but,” the Doctor swallows, tries to collect himself, and mostly fails. “But she can’t be. She...” –is dead. She’s dead Master. I killed her.–

His eyes widen a little.

“I don’t want to be dissected.”

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

"Okie-dokie, Rani. You ready to find out which of our excitin' lands you'll be livin' in?"

[markoftherani]

"I've been ready for some time," she replies.

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

"That's swell! How'd you like to be in Tomorrowland?"

[markoftherani]

"That sounds absolutely perfect."

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

"Keen. Then I'll put ya there. Your mail will go to Rani (http://community.livejournal.com/dizzy_land/tag/rani). Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth!"

((And contact info here (http://community.livejournal.com/dizzy_backstage/1307.html), of course. :D))