Hi, this is Rose. I'm not here now, but if you leave a really great message I'll call you back. Thanks!
Hi, this is Rose. I'm not here now, but if you leave a really great message I'll call you back. Thanks!
Rose had been twelve when she first noticed she was being watched. It had been an odd, creeping feeling between her shoulder blades that had persisted in her youth, and she'd always attributed it to the intuitive sense her Mum said children possessed. Most often she told herself it was her Dad, or rather his spirit, watching and following her whenever and wherever he could.
But one day, when she was twelve, she'd had her first glimpse of a man. A man too young to be her Dad and too old to be from school, wearing a long coat.
Rose had turned about on her skates and moved as fast to him as she was able, but he was gone as though by magic. It was something that had haunted her as long as she could remember.
Years passed without another sighting, but the curious feeling of being watched never left. Rose grew up, turned sixteen, seventeen and then eighteen, coming to the end of her last school year. The last dance of the year was always the best, and she'd bought the dress she'd eyed for months in the shop. Mum had made noises about the price but it had been Jackie Tyler who fixed her daughter's hair, kissed her cheek, and fastened her own earrings on Rose's earlobes before wishing her a good night and a good time.
Mickey had been laughing across the room when Rose felt the presence behind her again, and she whirled sharply. He was there, though without the long coat and wearing a suit in its place. Sharp black and white, the sort of thing from fairytales and dreams locked away in past years.
He'd come to her then as the band struck a melody she'd heard before, and before Rose had a moment to speak a protest he was grinning, lifting a finger to his lips to prompt her silence and extending a hand in offering for a dance.
Her fingers were small in his, and he'd pulled her near to sway to the rhythm of the music. Other girls chose to dance with their heads nestled against the shoulders of their dates, but Rose wanted to look into his eyes. She wanted to know, to be sure.
"Are you..?" She didn't know where to start, didn't know what question to ask or how to ask it. His smile stayed the same, even and charming, and Rose could feel Mickey's inquiring eyes on her back but didn't turn to acknowledge them. That could wait, as could explanations.
"Am I?" he prompted her, his smile deepening in a way that made her laugh. It wasn't an amused laugh, but a breathless sort of gasp that ended in her shaking her head. "Am I a ghost? A dream, a conman? Some frightening man trying to take advantage of a young girl?" He twirled her away from him then, resulting in her startled gasp and a little exhale as he pulled her against him again.
"I could be one, none, or all of the above," he said, and his lips were at her ear when he spoke now, something that sent a shiver up Rose's spine. His heart was pounding faster than it had been, but she didn't understand why.
"You're not going to tell me which?" she asked weakly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.
"No," he said definitively, "because it won't matter. You won't remember my face after tonight. I don't want you to. Don't think of me as a person or a name, think of me as a man. Just a man that wanted more than one dance with you."
"But it's the last dance of the night, all you can have is one," Rose said in bewilderment. He laughed again, shaking his head against the crown of her hair.
"It's not the last dance, Rose Tyler. When it's the last dance, you'll know."
Writer's Block Meme
So, it is not a secret I have been struggling of late. I have been very open with it. Strange, part of it is where time has been limited by my promotion. And yet that very promotion? Makes me want to tackly it head on.
So? I have come up with an exercise! A four day exercise, to put a point to it.
Tag here if you would like to participate, so we can cheer each other one.
The exercise is as follows.
1. Tag here, and announce your intention to participate.
2. On the first night, write a single sentence that could appear at any point in your eventual story.
3. On the second night, write a paragraph of a minimum five sentences, including the original sentence.
4. On the third night, complete five paragraphs including the one written the night prior.
5. On the last night, finish your story!
6. At any point, you make take one 'night off' as a pass.
Let's do this!
It was a promise she was breaking, without ever having made it. And by all means and trade, it should have been something rendered impossible. The gap in time and space that had enabled Rose to come back to a world she wasn't meant for had been closing itself up, and she had been forced to say yet a second farewell to the Doctor on the same beach of Norway that held horrible, heartbreaking memories. But there had been a different promise then, something for new hope and a gift that held all of the things inside of it which could not be said in words. The Doctor had given her the chance at a life with him - in a way, with him - a life that could never be shared between them otherwise.
He had given it to her, and then he had left. And Rose had known what he had meant for her, the hope he had possessed for what would be her future. He'd wanted her to live out a normal life with a man who looked like him, thought like him, had his same memories - and loved her.
But what he never could have guessed at was what would happen if that life, that sort of dream, twisted itself up into a horrific nightmare.
The sky had turned crimson in places where the fire was licking up to meet it, and thick clouds of discoloured smoke beckoned on to higher reaches. Screaming had blended with desperate pleas into a horrific melody of destruction, and blood smeared pavement like grotesque graffiti.
Peter Tyler had caught his daughter's upper arm in a viselike grasp.
Rose, listen to me.
I can't just leave -
Yes, you can. It's what -
No, I have to get Mum -
Rose, don't make me say it!
The tears had burned her eyes, clogged at her throat then, and what she had feared was roaring up to thunder in her subconscious, the same way that blood was pulsating its heavy sound in her ears. And Peter Tyler wasn't without sympathy to his daughter's heartbroken state, showing it forth by pulling her abruptly against his chest into a firm embrace.
Rose, you have to go. Go, now. The machine will still work, I've been working to refine it for months now. Do exactly the same thing you did before, and go.
I'm coming back, Dad.
Wouldn't expect anything else.
And then the fire roared up again, closer this time, provoking them to run. Rose took a winding, twisted way through back alleyways and side streets, the way she would go on a good day when the weather was nice and she wanted to be outside longer. This time, it was for the desire of remaining unnoticed for as long as possible. Peter Tyler was nowhere behind her, and Rose choked down the desperate sob that wanted to surge up in her throat. The truth was chasing at her heels, nipping like an angry demon, and she ran faster to keep it at bay. She didn't want to think about what might have happened, didn't want to face the possibility that her mother, and Tony -
- no. No, he wouldn't. He'd do a lot of things, but he wouldn't -
"No point in trying to hide, now. Come on out, Rose. Miss Rose Tyler..."
His voice sounded macabre, something out of a dream-turned-nightmare, and it only served to make Rose run faster. Harder and faster now, down the paved streets and through the glass doors, her access card swiped to gain her entrance. Everything was deserted now, even the strongest and bravest (or such they claimed) taking to the streets and any kind of shelter they could find. It didn't matter that there was nowhere to go that he wouldn't find.
Rose flicked on only the one light she would need, enough to show her switches and panels and twisted wires that would make no sense to anyone other than a handful of people. It didn't matter, because she already knew exactly what to do. Outside the fires roared again and she had to fight the desperate urge to look back over her shoulder. There was no point in looking back.
Bright, blinding light flared up, and then Rose ran through the breach.
The transition from one reality to another was always disorienting, but she had been able to catch herself upright before. This time she fell, her knees buckling beneath her from either strain or lack of preparation, she wasn't sure - but the fall itself was enough to break her resolve. Rose let herself fall to the damp pavement, on the streets of a city she didn't recognize. Her jacket was ripped and stained, and dirt was smeared across her face, only smudging itself away by her tears.
It was only then that Rose let herself cry, the heartbroken sobs she had been holding in for much too long.
I wanted to send my love to the people over at realityshifted for welcoming me and making everything so much fun. I'm so glad that I was accepted into the game, because I have a feeling there are a lot of great things to come!
Also, my love to timelordly for..well, you know! >>
To rude_not_ginger for <3!
And to metacrisis_ten for emoemoemoemoemoemoemoFLUFF!...and more emo!
"You can never really know someone completely. That’s why it’s the most terrifying thing in the world, really—taking someone on faith, hoping they’ll take you on faith too. It’s such a precarious balance, It’s a wonder we do it at all.
— Libba Bray
The scent was what pulled her from sleep.
It wasn't unpleasant, but rather light and completely subtle. If she hadn't been so accustomed to waking to an alarm clock without fail for years she would have missed it completely. But going from spending her time alone, save for the working days, to sharing her flat with another person had required certain changes and accommodations to be made. He would close the cabinet doors she might leave ajar after she'd gone from the room, leave the cap off the toothpaste, forget to turn off the television, but never leave the front door unlocked. Little things, but different all the same.
Same man, but not. Same Doctor, but different name. It had taken her a good while to be able to call him John, because John Smith had been the name that made the most sense. It had taken her time and she had done it, but it still fell into the category of things that were different.
At first, different had scared her. Petrified her, really, sometimes left her mouth dry and her throat aching with just how afraid the idea of different was, and doubled those things when she was confronted with them. Because he was different - so very, very different - while exactly the same in other ways. The similarities were more disorienting than the differences because sometimes she'd catch herself wanting to ask him where they'd go next, tomorrow or the day after, with the stars stretched out in front of them like a dream-created tapestry.
And then she would remember.
The remembering wasn't bad, because in reality they were happy together. Happy with what they could have and - though neither of them would admit it aloud to the other for fear of a result in pained feelings - missing what they didn't. But they had a life, and that life was together because it was where they wanted to be.
Her hand passed over her eyes, still asleep and a little disoriented, then reached for the lamp on the bedside table. The room was illuminated in a partial wash of gold light, and little rays caught and flickered in the glass of the vase.
The vase that hadn't been there when she had fallen asleep. The vase that was made of blown glass and perfect, with iridescent swirls of different shades of colour and made a perfect home for the dozen pink roses blooming inside. A small, white card peeked from behind a pair of them and she tugged it gently free.
Rose smiled and tucked the card back beside the vase. She knew he had left, probably for something for breakfast, but she knew he would be back soon. The same way that she knew what her answer would be.
It might not be the life she had thought she would have, but it was a life she had let herself dare to dream of. And it was one that she wanted. One that she wouldn't give up, and one that made her happy.
And that was more than enough.
Muse: Rose Tyler
Word Count: 520
[ooc: For timelordly, rude_not_ginger and metacrisis_ten (because meta!Ten is adorable!love! <3]
|I needed a bit of fluff in my day, and this has been in the back of my mind since I heard the adorable song. It's about Rose and the Doctor she meets, and the dreams he brings into reality for her as well as so much more. Simply put, it's fun, sweet and cute.|
|A farewell to the Tenth Doctor. I'm reluctant to say more in the interest of avoiding spoilers, so I'll forgo a description with that in mind. Footage used does go up through the End of Time in both parts, so please consider this your disclaimer. |
Comment here with one of your character's names for a big block of text about how mine feels about yours. Return the favor!