But I Have Promises To Keep

[Xandavier]

Xandavier disengaged the modified limiter. "There," he said with satisfaction, "A first step towards learning obedience."

And then he noticed with some irritation that Sisilaya had found enough strength to escape through the doors into the main body of the TARDIS. "Pride, arrogance, and strength of will," he paraphrased himself with some amusement. "But no matter. You will be brought to heel soon enough."

He walked around the console, familiarizing himself with the controls. They were... common. Controls for equipment, for tools, not for elegant travel. Ah, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and he certainly couldn't complain about having a TARDIS again. Not now, when all of the others were most certainly destroyed.

"A Type 67, I believe." Distaste crossed his features. "A heavily modified 67 at that..." And then he laughed without mirth. "I see. Yes. Yes, it makes sense. The Meddler..."

He threw his head back, laughing loudly. "Robin Goodfellow is the Meddler? What rich, rich irony is life."

And then the time rotor roared to life. "I haven't set the controls," he snarled, "What is this?" Irritably, he stabbed the cutoff controls.

Nothing. The time rotor continued to grind and roar. He stabbed the cutoff again. Still nothing.

He ran a diagnostic, and the results were swift. Command override. The TARDIS was behaving as if the ship's master had issued the transit order...

"He gave it to her. Somehow he said must have said something that allowed this wretched TARDIS to interpret his words as a transfer of ownership." A thin smile. "Well played, Meddler. Well played."

He considered activating the modified limiter, then rejected the idea. This was not a matter of disciplining a recalcitrant TARDIS. This was a matter of changing ownership.

His eyes fell on the child, now huddled on one of the chairs. "Sister of Mine," he said, coldly. "Your Family is renowned as hunters and trackers. Find my daughter. Find her and bring her back here."

The child stared at him without speaking.

"Do it," he said, "Do it, and when I am done with her, I will give you her body to wear."

Silently, Sister of Mine rose from the chair. "I do not trust you, Lord Xandavier."

"I am unconcerned. Do as I command."

Silently, Sister of Mine left the room to begin her hunt.

[The First Doctor]

At the top of the stairs, two Acolytes with staves barred his entrance. Apollonilisaimistiri glared at them.

"You may not pass, bearing weapons," the Acolyte to the left stated firmly.

The darkness was illuminated by a blinding flare, as a Type 102 TARDIS was rent open by one of the neverwere nightmares of the Could've-Been King.

"How many times have we done this, now?" he asked.

The two Acolytes looked at each other, mildly confused.

He sighed. "Hundreds of times. I replay these final few hours, over and over again, out of sheer boredom. And every time I reach this point, you say the same stupid thing." The stazer in his hand whined twice, and the two Acolytes fell.

Apollonilisaimistiri shook his head. "Stupid."

Why did he keep coming back here? Why did he keep reliving the last hours of Gallifrey, over and over again? Boredom, more than anything else. He was bored.

And besides, he was a Time Lord. He had some limited freedom of movement, even within this hell. He could change minor things, from replay to replay. It wasn't set completely in stone, even here within the time locked chaos that Gallifrey had been consigned to.

Maybe this time, this iteration, he would manage to have the Specialist before he killed her. The thought made him smile.

---

It had been touch and go as the Meddlers made their way along the Royal Road. It was the fastest access to the Halls, but also the most dangerous. The main line of the Dalek ground assault was making (had made) its way up the Royal Road. They hadn't made it as far as the Halls, which meant the Cybermen hadn't made it as far as the Halls, but they could hear the assault. The subsonic booming of the bammats, the whine of stazer fire and the bark of heavier weapons...

The ground shook violently as a white-hot fragment of the moon, rock and nickel iron the size of a subcontinent, glanced from the transduction barriers of the Shining City itself. They held, but the power requirement dimmed the lights and sent jagged pyrotechnic bolts through the barrier.

"I don't remember it being this bad," said one of the Meddlers.

"That's because I don't like thinking about it," said another.

The regen-inf soldiers were falling back along the Royal Road, dying and rising again as they retreated in the teeth of the Dalek heavy weapon units. Knowing what was about to happen, the Meddlers took refuge inside a somewhat intact, smoldering building.

There were wet, sucking, blubbering noises, and sticky slapping sounds. Driven by the will of the Master, the Skaro Degradations had been unleashed within the Citadel. They were loathsome, polypous things - wet, tentacled tumors with slavering, sucking mouths and blind eyes and skins the color of raw living flesh, and they flooded the Royal Road. The fortunate regen-inf soldiers were able to get out of the way.

The Daleks took heavy toll of their cousins, but were forced back by sheer weight of numbers.

Cautiously, not wanting to attract attention, the Meddlers made their way up the stairs that led to the Halls.

---

Scub burst through the door, shrieking for attention. For the most part the other goblins ignored him, choosing instead to rifle through the contents of one of the Meddler's laboratories.

"Zizilaya!" he shrieked, waving his arms, "Zizilaya iz in danger!"

Something flashed and exploded. One of the goblins screamed as it hurtled through the air.

Moorg pulled a finger from his nose. "How, in danger?"

"Yez!" Scub shrieked, "YEZ!"

"And so," said Moorg, "you wish to tell us?"

"YEZ!! YEzYEzYEZ!!!"

"Then, you perceive, we are all ears."

"Oi ain't got no ears," observed a small goblin, wearing a cut-down sock as a tabard. Moorg clubbed him down.

"Iz Zizilaya! Zcub watchez! The Puck, he leavez the Hall!"

Moorg dug in his ear with a dirty talon. "He does that."

"He leavez through the key and the gate!"

In mass, the goblins froze at the phrase.

"No..."

"YEZ!!!! And then, zomeone who lookz like Jareth-"

The goblins broke into hysterical muttering at that name. Scub did a frantic little dance, trying to regain attention. "He only lookz lke Jareth! He not goblin! He not nize like goblin! He hurtz Zizilaya! He hurtz the Hall!"

One of the goblins, a weasel-faced thing with iron boots and a hatched and a crusty, brown hat lept to his feet. "I will kill him! I will dye my hat in his blood!"

"NOOOO!!!!" shrieked Scub. "He iz Time Lord! He iz like the Puck, but terrible! We muzt go to Zizilaya'z aid! Zhe is in the lezzer altar room!"

Moorg rose and gripped his mace. "Yes!" he roared. "You! Find the Brownies, bring them here! You! Seek the will-o-wisps that roam the corridors! You! The bean si!"

He smashed the mace into the floor of the TARDIS. "We rescue our Princess! And then, WE GO TO WAR!"

[Sisilaya Vulmecura]

Sisi blearily opened her eyes, she still had fallen asleep for, she had no idea for how long. Sitting up she rubbed the back of her head before getting to her feet. Even though it was stupid, it saved good part of her energy and she didn't feel as shaky any more. Taking a look at the console she checked the coordinates again and realised with a gasp they had stopped and had gotten back to the Andromeda Galaxy, close to the supermassive black hole. She wasn't sure if being close to a supermassive black hole was a good thing with Xandavier around.

"I wish Robin were here" She whispered, more to herself, she gently touched the controls "I'm pretty sure you would too" she gave a small, mirthless laugh. Some trouble they were in.

That's when she noticed something, the hairs on her neck standing again, but this time not out of fear. There were lights surrounding her in a large circle, small lights tinkering. She knew them well, she saw them from the corner of her eyes when she walked the halls of the TARDIS.

"Will O'Wisps'' she breathed softly. They were beautiful.

Yet when she looked in the shadows (she hadn't taken the time to turn on the main light of the control room yet, the only light coming for the working console) she widened her eye slightly in surprise. Rounding herself to the shades she took a tentative step towards them.

They were goblins and brownies.

"It's not safe in here any more" she breathed softly "You should all leave if you can.."

Then she noticed the maces and small armours. They had not come to flee from the danger, they had come for war.

That's when she noticed something bigger behind the Goblins, a tall figure dressed in white. She took a tentative step closer and gasped she she came up to full figure to the creature. It was a Bean Si. How had a Bean Si get on board? Why did she never noticed this? The paled a bit as she considered something.. Bean Si's only appeared when someone was to die, or when a birth was near. And since she definitely wasn't pregnant her eyebrows frowned in worry.

"You haven't come to call for my death, have you?" She asked softly.

[Xandavier]

Xandavier wandered the aisles of the Museum of Impossible Things, amused and disgusted all at the same time. The displays were all, he had realized, of anachronisms. Things that never were, in the primary lines of history.

It was all in bad taste, but it was such aggressive bad taste that he couldn't help but approve. This was the madness of the Meddler, cast in physical form.

But this was no time to consider aesthetics. He had a purpose.

Reviewing the displays of the primary console, he had discovered a mass of small life forms with disproportionatly powerful bioenergetic signatures. Instructions for more details were refused by the TARDIS, alledging systems malfunctions. Instructions to initiate the vermin control protocols were likewise refused.

He knew what the signatures were, of course. Lesser sidhe, of some sort or another. But the refusal of the TARDIS had irritated him.

So now he wandered the aisles, examining the displays, considering what amongst the shelves would serve as a weapon against the sidhe. At the same time, it kept him away from the console.

He did not consider himself a cruel man. He took no pleasure in the suffering of others. And so, the museum served to give him something else to consider as he disciplined the TARDIS again.

Ah, yes. This had potential. A long, straight, two-edged sword. The plate proclaimed it the "Sword of Saint Raimon Rogièr". The name meant nothing, but the balance was good and the quality of the steel was excellent.

He buckled it around his waist, hoping he wouldn't need it. He preferred to let others dirty their hands for him.

[The First Doctor]

"Hey! Bozz! Zhe'z waking up!" Scub ran around in a frenzy, waving his arms over his head. "Zhe'z waking up! The Prinzezz! Zhe'z waking up!"

Moorg punched Scub in the face. "Silence, you!"

"It's not safe in here any more" she breathed softly "You should all leave if you can.."

"How, not safe?" Moorg said, as if the thought had not occured to him.

"I think that's what she said," the iron-booted goblin with the crusty brown hat said, sounding offended. "Not safe?" He jumped up and down, his iron boots crashing and clattering. "By my hat, I'll say it isn't safe! And that's why we're here!"

"My Princess," Moorg said, falling to one knee and bowing low - a gesture that would have seemed more courtley if he had been wearing more than dirty boxers and a chain mail vest, "We have not come to you for safety. We have come because one of the Lords of Time seeks to usurp your Hall." He offered Sisi his mace - really, just a piece of rebar with something that looked like it had once been high-tech welded to the end - and did his best to look valiant. "Command us, Princess, and we shall make him die for you."

He looked a little offended when he realized she was staring at the Bean Si.

"You haven't come to call for my death, have you?" She asked softly.

no, whispered the Bean Si, but, unless the usurper is stopped, i must soon sing for the goddess of the hall, for she fights him

The assembled Brownies gasped in horror and began to bustle about in a panic, cleaning and polishing. Moorg smashed threw his tiny fists in the air and roared "THEN WE MAKE HIM DIE!"

"Feast until you are filled," the goblins began to sing, in various keys and tunes (and frequently with no tune whatsoever), "Upon the corpses goblins killed!
"Search the pockets
"Steal their stuff!
"Goblins never get enough!"

They swarmed towards the door

"Drink his blood!
"Slake your thirst!
"Have some mercy
"Kill him first!"

[Seren Ash]

She had been in this loop for so long. She was aware of it, aware of each time she fell to the Council members gun. The twisted nature of everything, even if you tried to change it. Time was fluid here, and where there was once the Specialist of the Halls of Gallifrey, now there was a woman that played with time like she was it's master. Of course her strict training prevented her from turning into a monster. But she tried time and time again to save herself from the hall.

She had replayed this loop, over and over again. Waiting for the day that he would arrive. That The Meddler would return, and remove her from the halls. She waited for that day, with bated breath. Her hearts stayed calm as she waited ever so patiently. There was soon to be chaos in these halls. And for these first few moments, before the Hall started to fall, she allowed herself to cry. Burying her face in her hands, and just sobbing out what she knew was going to happen.

So much blood on her hands, on the hands of others. She fought tooth and nail for her Acolytes. They say belief is power, and that a Time Lord especially, when they have a follower, belief really is power. She had been gathering their offerings, their belief in her. She had been harvesting all of that for a very very long time. It just continued to build, each cycle she continued. Each time she woke up, after being slaughtered. The disorientation, and the sound of his boots coming down the hall again.

This time she sat back in her desk chair, and stared ahead. Palmed in the cup of her hand was a gun. Not just any gun, but a Compression gun. She was going to get him this time, make him pay.

[The First Doctor]

Apollonilisaimistiri sighed in irritation as he shot another Acolyte. Always the same. It was always the same. They were Time Lords as well. After countless iterations, they knew he'd be coming.

Couldn't they, just once, try something different? An ambush, perhaps. Or an assassination attempt, before he left the Panopiticon? Just something, anything, to alleviate the boredom.

Being beaten to death by staves would, at least, be a change of pace from the repetitive death he was going to suffer at the alloy hands of the Cybermen.

More Acolytes. He didn't even bother responding to them - he knew their parts as well as he knew his own, and he simply didn't care. His stazer whined, and they fell.

Maybe the Specialist would be a challenge, this time.

---

The Meddlers reached the top of the stairs. "Hey," one of them said, "I don't remember this."

"What?" asked another. "Of course you don't," said a third, "I don't get here for another hour, easy. I'm still building the Moment."

"The Acolytes. They've been murdered."

"Of course they have. I already know that-"

"Am I really that thick? Murdered! Not burned down by Cybermen, like I originally thought." He gestured at the bodies. "Those are stazer burns."

The other Meddlers clustered, standing or kneeling to get a good look at the bodies. Then they looked at each other. "The Chancillary Guard?" "But why would they..?"

"Apollonilisaimistiri," one of the Meddlers interjected.

"Eh? What?" "Apollonilisaimistiri?" "Why?" "He hates me, not the Specialist."

"It's obvious," the speaking Meddler said, sitting on the low marble wall. "She made him look like a fool, invoking Privilege to let me escape."

Comprehension dawned on the faces of the other Meddlers. "Makes sense." "Yeah." "Why didn't I see that?" "She did almost get him brought to trial over the Initiation..."

"Oh, hell," said one of the Meddlers.

"What?" said several of the others.

"That means she wasn't killed by the Cybermen."

"That means we're nowhere near as early as we thought!"

Breaking into a trot, and then into a run, the flock of Meddlers sped through the Halls, following a trail of corpses.

[Seren Ash]

The Specialist strode around her office now. Building a purpose through her, already the children were sneaking down the passageway. "Captain, take them and run. It's almost time for me to die. But don't worry, I will return." She said calmly. She said this every time, and then they vanished, only to return to the loop for a little bit. She knew they had gotten out though, thank the Gods for that. She really appreciated him saving the children.

Now she turned around, her hand pressed to her stomach. Perhaps he always hated her, because of those failed attempts they had so long ago. The failed attempt at a relationship. When everyman, including him decided to mark her as someone unworthy of companionship, because they could not produce a child with her. She slowly pulled up the compression gun, and then looked it over. Modifying it in a small way. It wouldn't compress the whole person, just the part of them she pointed it at.

Strapped to her side was a ceremonial blade, one that had been sharpened and honed over the ages. It was a relic of great potentials, and magical capabilities. It whispered like some other items tied to time. But she was ready for him, already facing the door. She had been bidding her time, and building her energy. He had no idea what he was about to face, and what she was about to do to the world at large, when she was released from this place.

[The First Doctor]

It was a bored, bored, bored Apollonilisaimistiri that finally reached the doors to the chambers of the Keeper. As always, the molylock was engaged. As always, he had the override key. He started to open it, then paused.

The Specialist was known by the Council to have a nearly unique connection to Time. An extremely rare gift, and one that had been possessed by two of the Deca - the Timekeeper and the Meddler. And one of them was dead, and the other had escaped. If anyone remaining in this omnioccurrant hell they had been trapped in was capable of fully independent action, it would be her.

He thinned his lips in thought. He had... ideas about what he wanted to do here first, but he at least wanted the satisfaction of killing her again. She'd cost him greatly, in prestige and in power, and murdering her was one of the few things he had left to look forward to.

Standing to the left of the door, he disengaged the molylock and carefully pushed in inwards. "Specialist?" he called, allowing himself to recite the now-ritual phrases, "The High Council has sent me to see to your safety."

[Seren Ash]

It was time to fall into all of the same patterns again. That dance of interesting effect. She let him get close, but this time she was the one that was going to get him. She slid her robes over the blade, so that it was hidden. She walked over towards the door and calmly pulled it open further. "Thank you, I was quite worried. I've already told the Acolytes to begin evacuation procedures." She said as she turned and walked back to her desk. She followed every step as it had been done, back that first time.

The way it had happened each time since then, each repeat. Hundreds, thousands of times. She had repeated this, never ending, never stopping the pattern. Till this time, because she felt a change, a ripple in time. Something that only she could sense. She spun around to face him, scrubbing at her face as she had all of the times before. He would think her tears were from fear. They were from the repeat of this cycle, and she hid that she knew from him.

She would hide it till the last minute. When he decided to get close to her again, as he did each time. This time, this time she wouldn't turn away his advance, and when he least expected it, she'd skewer him with the blade. She would run him through, and then she would protect herself, till the Meddler could arrive to retrieve her from this place. She just hoped that breaking this cycle, breaking from this place, might make the full cycle stop repeating. But who knew, perhaps that constant repeating, without her in it, might change history itself.

This she was interested to see.

[The First Doctor]

The Meddlers sprinted through the Halls. Too late, they thought, we're going to be too late...

Then one of them skidded to a halt. "Gentlemen," he announced, "I'm going about this entirely the wrong way."

The others slid to a stop. "What?" "Huh?" "What do you mean?"

"One of you told me that we're freely mobile within the unitary spacetime within the moment, right?"

"In point of fact, it was one of you that told me..."

"No, it was..."

"Gentlemen!" the first speaker raised his voice, "I am willing to table the debate about which of us is the original - since all of believe ourselves to have that honor, there is no point worrying about it right now. But may we focus?"

A chorus of "Yeah" and "Sure" and "Of course" echoed back.

"Now, I am freely mobile in local spacetime, right?"

"Right" the others agreed, and it was clear they were seeing where he was going with this.

"Then, and I ask this purely as a matter of disinterested curiosity, why am I concerned about arriving in a timely fashion in linear time?" He smiled a mad smile. "I am the Meddler, after all. And I intend to... meddle."

With that, he shifted his frame of reference, sliding into a parallel moment of time. Laughing, or swearing disgustedly at themselves, or merely shaking their heads, the others followed suit.

---

She walked over towards the door and calmly pulled it open further. "Thank you, I was quite worried. I've already told the Acolytes to begin evacuation procedures." She said as she turned and walked back to her desk. She followed every step as it had been done, back that first time.

He smiled in anticipation as he followed her in. She hadn't even noticed the stazer. I think she doesn't even care, anymore.

With a sudden motion he kicked her in the back of the knee, causing her to stumble. As she started to go down, he twisted his fingers in her hair and smashed her down face-first across her desk, jamming the barrel of the stazer in behind her left ear. "You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this," he hissed into her ear. "No idea at all."

Behind him, on all sides of him, the Meddlers began to appear.

[Sisilaya Vulmecura]

Goblins by all means were the probably the most chaotic and mischievous beings the other realm had. And even though they were filthy and often beyond ugly, she could never help but smile at their antics. She gave a soft sight as she straightened the overly large pot used as a helmet so one of them could at least see again.

When one of the Goblins bowed down low and called her Princess.. she.. her eye twitched. Since when was she a princess? "I'm not a prince-" but she was already cut off as the Goblin continued rambling.

"Command us, Princess, and we shall make him die for you."

"I'm afraid 'making him die' will not be as simple, he controls time. We do not. We have to play this on smarts, gentlemen."

She looked at the motley crew before her and suppressed the urge to groan. The Bean Si's word echo'd through her head. he was.. he was killing the TARDIS? The looked at the console, losing track of the Goblins for a moment as worry crossed her face. No, she would never let such a beauty die. She had to stop this. She only turned around when the chanting started, Goblin war chanting. It was usually so horrible that the enemy fled at the sheer sound of it, and she understood now as she pushed one of her fingers in her ear. Ouch.

She called out though when they charged for the door.

"NO!" She called out, holding out her arms for empathise.

A slow smile spread across her face, mischief etching her visage.

"I have a much better plan.." And she grinned, grabbing the one who identified himself as Moorg by the scruff and lifting him up.

"You, my brave warrior, I have an important mission for. I will open a gateway for you to your home, the castle beyond the Goblin City. I want you to find your Master, King Jareth and ask him permission to use one of his Oubliettes. Can you do that?"

She looked at the Goblin, blinked as she got a better idea and put him down. Running over to the console she opened up one of the floor panels and indeed found some emergency things. One of them was paper and a pencil. She quickly scribbled down a note.

King Jareth,

Your Goblins have recently found their way into my Godfathers TARDIS. I find that I am in dire need of your help and ask your permission to use one of your best fortified Oubliettes. I have need to dispose of an unwanted guest.

She bit the back of the pencil. This was by far not good enough to get the help of a Fae, they were by nature prideful creatures. She bit her lip as she scribbled down the next line, she knew she was going to regret this, specially since they were talking about the Goblin King here.

I'll be in your debt.

- Sisilaya Vulmecura
Daughter of Eibhleann.

She quickly folded up the paper and got back to the Goblin.

"Guard this with your life and give this to King Jareth as well. It's very important."

With that she punched in a few good coordinates and flicked over a lever, the Goblin disappearing through the floor.

Straight to the Throne Room of the Goblin Castle.

"Please let this work" She whispered and turned back to the rest of the Goblins.

An Oubliette in the TARDIS, Robin would be proud of her if she could get it done. She grinned.

[The First Doctor]

"I'm afraid 'making him die' will not be as simple, he controls time. We do not. We have to play this on smarts, gentlemen."

"Yes!" the iron-booted goblin with the crusty brown cap shouted, "YES! We plays it smart, we do! We kills him! And then we kills him again! And we keeps killing him, until he dies!" He began viciously hacking at imaginary opponents with his axe, giggling "Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!" over and over again. The other goblins backed away from him.

Moorg shrugged. "Redcaps," he said in a 'what'ch'ya gonna do' tone.

The goblins surged towards the door, singing their war song (except the Redcap, who was still giggling "Kill! Kill him! Kill him again!") when she stopped them.

"NO!" She called out, holding out her arms for empathise.

The goblins stopped, milled about in front of the door confusedly, then turned to face her. All except for one goblin, still singing, who was vigorously trying to push the door open. Since he weighed less than a pound, and since the door opened in, he wasn't making much progress. Moorg cuffed that goblin into submission.

A slow smile spread across her face, mischief etching her visage.

"I have a much better plan.."

"You do, Princess?" asked a goblin.

"But the plan is killing!" insisted the Redcap, scandalized. "Plans don't get no better than when the plan is killing!"

"Tell us, o Princess," said Moorg, attempting another courtly bow.

"But... but... but... killing!" the Redcap said, almost whimpering.

And she grinned, grabbing the one who identified himself as Moorg by the scruff and lifting him up. "You, my brave warrior, I have an important mission for. I will open a gateway for you to your home, the castle beyond the Goblin City. I want you to find your Master, King Jareth and ask him permission to use one of his Oubliettes. Can you do that?"

Moorg blanched. Most of the other goblins hid their eyes at the Name. "But, killing!" the Redcap interjected, almost plaintively, "What about the killing! It's a good plan, the killing is!"

"Ah, well, that is..." Moorg hesitated. With a deep breath, and a small, scared voice, he forced himself to say "Aye. I can do that for you, Princess. I'll carry your message to his Dread Majesty."

The goblins gaped. "Moorg is the bravest I've e'er known," said one. "Brave, and strong," said another. "Can I have his stuff, once he's dead?" asked a third. "But what about the killing? That's a brave plan, killing is!" the Redcap almost whined.

With a look of impending, unavoidable dread on his face, Moorg watched Sisi draft her letter. "Guard this with your life and give this to King Jareth as well," she told him, "It's very important."

Moorg nodded mutely, trying not to let his hands shake as he took the letter. He watched as she did something to the console ("the lesser altar" as he thought of it), and the door opened. Beyond, there was no sign of the supermassive black hole, no trace of the Andromeda galaxy. Just a vast throne room designed by M. C. Escher on a mescaline trip.

Shuddering, Moorg stepped through the door. He fell to his knees and crawled towards the throne, abasing himself.

"Please let this work" She whispered and turned back to the rest of the Goblins.

"Moorg can do it," said a small goblin with a nose like a carrot, "He is brave, and strong."

"But the killing..!" wailed the Redcap.

(OOC: Instead of having the portal appear inside the TARDIS, I assumed that Sisi actually had the secondary control room's door generate the portal as it opened.

The oubliette, of course, will be projected through the door and to wherever it is that Sisi needs it.)

[Xandavier]

Xandavier shut down the modified limiter circuit again, and checked the displays. This time, the TARDIS was too subdued to oppose his will.

The small life forms with the disproportionately powerful bioenergetic signatures were, indeed, minor to moderate examples of the sidhe. The TARDIS lacked specific knowledge about what types, which did not surprise him. While it was possible to generally classify them, it was usually not worth the bother to quantify any further than the gross power they possessed.

In fairness to the TARDIS, the vermin control protocols were offline. Physically disabled, and recently. He could repair them with time, he was a Grandfather of House Arcalia, after all, but that would require time. Not to mention the effort of determining which physical components had been disabled. He would, most likely, have to have the fae vermin hunted down and killed.

A blinking light appeared on the console. He looked, and realized it was an indicator showing that the secondary control room's four-space interface door was open.

"Now," he said curiously, "what is it you are playing at, my daughter?"

He opened the primary control room's door. Outside was blackness, the view dominated by the supermassive black hole.

"Absurd," he said, closing the door and returning to the console. "What are you really doing?"

---

Sister of Mine stalked through the hallways, her movements far more fluid and far more predatory than any (apparent) little girl had any right to be. Behind her, moving in a clattering, flopping, crawling mass, came figures constructed of junk and furniture and books. An army of homunculii, driven by her will.

Her prey was not alone. So she would not face her prey alone.

[Seren Ash]

The Specialist went down, but her body moved fluidly, too fluidly. She felt her face split open on her own desk, but still she calmly removed the blade from the folds of her garments. It was an easy stab, a sharp one and then a twist as she activated the gem on the handle. It was a blade meant to kill a Time Lord, for it suddenly split in two, spinning for just a moment, shredding and ripping twin hearts. Then she pressed the gem again, it closed and she slumped.

She was soaked in his blood, finally. He was dead, at her hand. She kicked him off, staring down into his face, with the brightest and most cheerful of smiles. Bloody gore was all over her, all over her office. But calmly she walked towards the Meddlers as they arrived. Her eyes started to glow like the Schism itself, black swirling with the light pale tones of her eyes. The light color turning to silver. She pushed out her hands, and let them glow a little, her head tilted back. "I could change this all, right now, if I wanted to. Do you know how long I've been collecting worship, and love, and praise, and fear, and everything they had to offer the Keeper of this Hall?"

She stared at the Meddler, but wrapped her arms around him. Burying her face in his neck, and shaking. "But I'm not that kind of person, I am definitely not that kind of person. I care too much, but why am I bare...." She whispered this, as she had so many years ago. She pulled back and pressed her forehead to his. "I could fix your mind too, if you'd let me. But you wouldn't, would you Meddler? Are you afraid you'd become like me?"

Bare no more, Guardian of These Halls. The loop of death is broken, the reward for your dedication, is life. Not just yours, but the life of another generation. the multi-toned voice echoed, causing the woman's eyes to widen. Her cheeks going pale, as she knew that the Meddler could hear it as well. "Oh, do you think it means...." You will bear fruitful, once more. The poison of the Council is leeched from you. Go forth, use your powers for good. You must fight him, you must. She looked at the meddler and closed her eyes.

"To your TARDIS then!"