#trickyandwicked

 “Because–Because it won’t work.” Missy pulled the purloined coat more tightly around herself, but kept her eyes steadily, boldly fixed on the Doctor and her chin held high.

 “I’m not ticklish in the slightest.” She boasted, unblinking and completely unaware of the lie she was telling. “Tickling me won’t do anything, you’ll just end up looking silly, and I’ll still have your coat.”

“Are you sure? You forget, Missy, our bodies change when we regenerate, and I’m willing to bet money that nobody has tickled you since you regenerated, so that would mean you don’t actually know that for sure.” He spoke confidently, pointing his finger at her on the ‘you’ for emphasis. 

     — In a small southern town like Mystic Falls the closest thing to 'cosplaying' he had EVER witnessed was the stupid Founder's Day crap (he still despised the celebrations thanks to a certain evil slut vampire who would remain unnamed *cough* Katherine Pierce *cough*) where people dressed up as Confederate soldiers and so-called 'southern belles' and even reenacted the battle at Willow Creek.

Damon hated those days.

But something straight out of a Penny Dreadful episode? Nope. Not common in the slightest.

The vampire stopped in his tracks and turned to look over his shoulder in faux stunned disbelief as the brunette passed him on the sidewalk, cerulean hues flaring with a smirk as the smart ass remark came up like word vomit unable to be contained around a low chuckle of amusement. "Don't tell me this boring SPECK of a town finally decided to jump on the comic con bandwagon." he sighed in dramatic disgust. "Didn't you get the memo? Vanessa Ives called, she wants her wardrobe back."

“Missy!” The doctor called from down the hall. “Ive finally figured out what im going to wear!”

She Walks into the console and gives a twirl, her grey-blue coat fanning out around her.

 “Yes. I really should…” She muttered darkly, taking in the extent of Clarke’s injuries with nothing short of fury in her eyes. Whoever had done this would be dead by her hand, and soon.

 But that obviously wasn’t what Clarke wanted, so she’d have to be subtle about it, make sure the human wouldn’t find out. Later, though, later–right now, something had to be done about that black eye and split lip.

 “Hold still, let me take care of this.” Missy reached out a hand and brushed her fingers lightly over Clarke’s lip and eye, sending a small burst of regeneration energy out through her fingertips as she did so. “There, that should do it.”

      “Oh --” She blinked, surprised at first the golden light -- then the lack of pain. Tentative she prodded at the recently split skin around her eye. It didn’t hurt. She could feel flakes of dried blood, but otherwise, it was like she’d never been hurt at all. 

     “Wow, um -- thank you!” She smiled sincerely, taking Missy’s hands. “That is not a special ability I would have pegged you for --” As far as she was concerned she thought she’d dodged a bullet and didn’t have to admit how she’d gotten hurt in the first place. 

      “I’ve had much worse though --” a casual gesture at her leg. “So please don’t worry about little things like that in the future. I can handle a little hurting and it wasn’t like my eye had swollen shut --”

      She realized she was coming off as a little ungrateful. 

“Millennia of servitude, Abhorsen. Chained by trickery, treachery... captive in a repulsive, fixed-flesh shape...but there will be payment, slow payment —not quick, not quick at all!” Sabriel, by Garth Nix

      A wolf in chains. Yes, she wore the face of a woman, the body of her human self, but that didn’t change her nature. That only the silver kept her from springing free and ripping apart the man who stole her memory and would soon steal it from her again. Edith glared at tent flap across the room, flexing her hands. Feeling her teeth grow and shrink with each ragged, hate filled breath.

      But then the cloth rippled. And a stranger entered. She let out a low, hissing breath of outrage. 

“That I can help ya with.” Frobisher perked up. “I know way too much about the media of Earth in this century. Indiana Jones was a series of action movies ‘bout this archaeologist who spent a lot more time shootin’ at people than digging up old artifacts an’ still ended up with more treasure than most archaeologists ever see.”

The whifferdil kept pace with Teatime as they approached the ride.