#dalekfought

          “— the dalek thing was very impressive, though.”

          ❝ No - No, don’t touch that ! ❞    who just let these THINGS wander around anyways? here’s one, picking up his laser screwdriver  ( ‘ who’d have sonic ? ’ indeed )  after he’d dropped it -- so many rude imbeciles, bumping about into HIM, almost breaking his favored tool -- and he was NOT about to risk some random earth looking girl  STEALING it.

                                                                                       ❝ Just -- give it here. Now. ❞

                she truly had no reason to be so NERVOUS. her mother had made that quite clear, patting her gently on the arm as she ushered Rose out with the tray carefully balanced in her hands. no reason to fear her majesty -- her ROYAL HIGHNESS QUEEN OSWIN OSWALD has always been known as one of the kinder members of the royal family. growing up among the servants in this palace, Rose Tyler had encountered her fair share of royals, some kinder than others. but never before had she found herself working so PERSONALLY with one of them. raised a true domestic, Rose had mostly kept to the kitchens, the laundry, basically the deeper parts of the palace that kept it running, but also kept her on the sidelines. and yet here she was, about to step into a role working personally under the queen herself. though no one had an ill word to say of her royal highness, Rose couldn’t help the fluttering in her chest. this was not her DOMAIN. she was much more confident among the dark corners deep in the palace. not standing before the queen’s -- the QUEEN’S -- chambers, fully aware that one misstep could end up costing her her job. or WORSE. quickly, she rests the tray of tea on a table that more than likely costs more than she’s paid in a month, simply so she can have a hand free to knock on the door. immediately after, though, the tray is in her hands once again. can’t be caught without the queen’s tea.

the largest library in the universe, and she’d gotten herself lost in it.  she’d tried to retrace her steps, to find the doctor in amongst the shelves, but to no avail.  she was well and properly lost, a childhood nightmare come true.  with a heavy sigh, she turned around once again and set off back towards where she thought she’d started from.

almost as soon as she'd started out she stopped dead in her tracks,  staring down the length of the row between the shelves at another figure.  it was a woman, and though her back was now to clara, she had first seen her as she turned to the shelf.  the nose, the way her hair moved, her posture ——  it was all clara's.

she pressed herself against the bookshelf and tried to catch another glimpse of the woman's face, of her face.  when she did, it was bizarre.  how on earth was this possible?  the only explanation she could come to was that she was looking in a mirror of some kind.  some kind of space-mirror.   

walking up behind the other, she waved a hand, expecting it to pass through the other form like a hologram.  instead, she hit her solidly in the shoulder.  ❛ space-mirror, indeed. ❜

    rescue missions were hardly a rarity for the jedi, even in times of peace throughout the galaxy, yet the constant tension and anxiety of not knowing what they would find would always be worse than any battlefield she’d ever face. theoretically she’d thought she’d enjoy them----- who DOESN’T like being the hero and saving people from certain doom? except ahsoka quickly had to come to terms with the fact that the large majority of these missions ended with the discovery of charred remains and zero life-vitals to be found. not this time though. slender fingers pulled away bits of rock and metal, following the single life reading from the starcruiser Alaska. her heart skipped a beat as her fingers went back to remove more of the rubble when instead of the hard, jagged surface she’d become accustomed to over the past half hour, her fingers pressed up against something soft. it was an arm. an arm that, with a few more seconds of pushing away rubble, connected to a torso, a torso which connected with a round-ish head, dust and charcoal dirtying the pale face of the limp figure.