neveralarch: (Default)
[personal profile] neveralarch
Gallifrey fic! Ignore the nonsensical title.

On Her Tip-Toes
Doctor Who, Gallifrey audios
Rating: pg
(some minor violence)
Characters: Romana and Antonin from Reborn, John Benton and Mike Yates
Wordcount: 4,600ish
Summary: Romana goes on her adventure, with special guest Antonin.
A/N: Written for universal-invariant as part of the [community profile] morepolitics fic exchange! Universal-invariant prompted anything with the alternate Romana from Reborn, and I hope this suits (even though it turned out to have a lot of Antonin in it). Thanks to the amazing [personal profile] aralias for betaing!

When Romana first regenerates, she looks so like her alternate self that it causes a small wave of confusion. She has to remind people that her name is Romana, not Lady Astra, and that she has nothing to do with the strange events at the Citadel. Nothing that she'd like to talk about, anyway.

Romana's not particularly surprised that she imprinted so quickly on herself. And she likes the new blonde hair and the fact that she has retained her wicked smile and her ability to look stunning in a hat.

She has also retained the massive debts of Heartshaven, which are less welcome.

Antonin has mostly recovered from being stunned, but he still feels ill when he stands up quickly or moves around too much. Romana forces him to relax in a comfy chair and brings him soup, feeling pleasantly vicious in her mothering.

"You know I hate nitvil soup," says Antonin, sullenly.

"Really?" says Romana. "I don't think you've ever mentioned it."

Everyone hates nitvil soup. It's good for you, but utterly foul. Romana stares at Antonin until he reluctantly begins to eat, then she sits down at her desk and begins to look through the morning's post. Bills, advertisements, bills, official-looking letter from the High Council, bills. Romana absent-mindedly opens the letter from the High Council, on the grounds that it might not be asking for money. Antonin tries to maintain the appearance of eating without actually ingesting anything.

"Oh," says Romana. She turns the piece of paper over, but there's nothing on the other side. "Oh."

"Something wrong?"

"It's a letter from the High Council," says Romana. She fiddles with the edge of it, in case it melts away and becomes a hologram.

"We're not in any trouble, are we?" asks Antonin.

"No trouble, per se," says Romana. She gets up, and hands him the letter. "See for yourself."

"Dear Lady Romanavoradtrelundar," reads Antonin, half under his breath. Reading out loud to yourself is an irritating habit that Andred was prone to, which is why it mostly makes Romana fond instead of annoyed. "Blah blah blah, President Leela mysteriously disappeared, blah blah blah, Chancellor Dondequest mysteriously dead, blah blah, would you like to be president? What?"

"I know," says Romana.

"Are they mad?"

Romana nods. "Quite possibly."

"There must be someone more suited for the job."

Romana shrugs. "I'm sure there is."

"It's not as if you have any political experience or even tangentially relevant skills."

"True enough," says Romana, and lets her nails bite into her palms.

"They must be really scraping the bottom of the barrel here," says Antonin, and then quiets under the force of Romana's glare.

"You're laying it on much too thick," she snaps. "I could be president! I would be a much better leader than Dondequest."

"Evil snails stacked on top of each other would be a better leader than Dondequest," mutters Antonin. "You're not taking the offer."

"No, I'm not," sniffs Romana. "I'm far too busy."

"Busy doing what?" asks Antonin. "Pruning the dead grapevines? Wandering through the empty, dusty rooms? Getting married to a scandalously young Time Lord or Lady?"

"Traveling," says Romana. "I'm taking the TARDIS out tomorrow, after you go back to work. I'm going to explore the many worlds, make bold discoveries, go-"

"Where no middle-aged housewife has gone before?" suggest Antonin. He jerks his leg back from Romana's threatening foot.

"I'm barely four hundred, Antonin. Plenty of time for new experiences."

"You'll be destroyed by Daleks," says Antonin. "Cremated by Cybermen. Immolated by Infernons. At least take someone with you."

"Everyone I know is either dead, or a traitor, or you," says Romana. She hesitates to admit it, but she has lived a somewhat isolated life.

"Hm." Antonin taps his chin and 'accidentally' spills his soup all over the carpet.


In the morning, Surgeon-Master Rexus himself knocks on the great doors of Heartshaven. No one answers him.

There is a horrible screeching and shuddering noise, followed by a lot of shouting. Surgeon-Master Rexus tilts his head and taps his foot.

"You've still got the parking brake on!"

"I have not!"

"You do. Just, oh, let me at it."

"Get away from the console!"

"Why haven't you shut the doors? And you do have the parking brake on."

"It's my TARDIS, thank you."

The horrible screeching and shuddering noise becomes the slightly less horrible screeching and shuddering noise of a proper TARDIS dematerialization. Then silence.

Surgeon-Master Rexus considers the doors. He would knock again, but he expects there's no point.


Once they're in the vortex, Antonin spends a few spans researching the best vacationing resorts in all of time and space. Midnight sounds like a lovely planet, except the surface is covered in radiation and Antonin would never forgive himself if his mother came back from her midlife crisis with an extra arm growing from the back of her head due to an accidental radiation-fueled regeneration. Balosnee VI is famous for its beauty, and also its hallucinatory tides. On the other hand, introducing Romana to consciousness-altering drugs doesn't seem like a particularly good solution to her newfound restlessness. The Leisure Hive of Argolis sounds nice, but it can be difficult to get the timing right with tourist traps - their peaks are far too busy for actual relaxation, and their lows make the suites reek of desperation and economic collapse.

Antonin finally settles on Diadem, ‘the most relaxing planet in the galaxy’. He's not sure which galaxy, the travel literature wasn't very specific. Perhaps all of the galaxies. He strides into the console room, scribbled-down coordinates in hand.

"Did you know that the TARDIS has a random destination button?" asks Romana. "I can't wait to see where we'll turn up."

Antonin blinks and stuffs the piece of paper with Diadem's coordinates into a pocket. The TARDIS is shuddering, and he has to grab hold of the railing to keep from losing his feet.

"You should have asked me before just flying off," he says.

"Permission?" exclaims Romana. "It's my TARDIS, you're just coming along for the ride. It'll be a dark day when I ask you for permission to choose a destination, darling."

"But you didn't choose a destination," argues Antonin. "You just hit a button!"

Romana rolls her eyes and pointedly begins hitting more buttons.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" asks Antonin. He has a feeling that they should have discussed this before leaving Gallifrey in the first place.

"I did graduate Academy, Antonin," says Romana. "With a triple first, no less."

"Did that include practical navigational experience?" The shaking is getting worse, and Antonin's hands tighten on the railing.

"Oh, I have a perfect theoretical understanding of temporal mechanics."

"That's a no, then." Antonin closes his eyes and hopes very hard that nothing bad happens. The console room begins to lurch. "I think I'm going to be sick," he mumbles.

"I'll get you a bucket, dear," says Romana. "Just wait until we land, won't you?"

"And how long will that-" begins Antonin, and the lurching stops. Everything is perfectly still, and Antonin cautiously opens an eye.

"Breathable atmosphere, walkable gravity, and acceptably low levels of radiation," Romana reads off the displays. "How do you feel?"

"How low is acceptably low?" asks Antonin.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," says Romana, and opens the doors. Antonin looks out at a bleak landscape of brown sand dunes and brown glass slicks and brown burnt trees. Little volcanoes spit fire across the dunes, and there's no life in sight.

"We could be in a spa," says Antonin. "On Diadem. The most relaxing planet in one or possibly more galaxies."

"That sounds dreadfully dull," says Romana, and passes Antonin a canister. "Here, put on some sunblock before you go out."


Romana begins grinning the second her foot hits alien soil, and she doesn't stop for ages, even with the dirty looks Antonin keeps giving her. The volcanoes are thrilling! The sand dunes are thrilling! The faint acrid taste of the planet's atmosphere is thrilling! It's all perfectly delightful, and Romana thinks she should have begun adventuring long ago.

Antonin nearly gets burnt by a volcano, then falls headfirst down a dune.

"This was a terrible idea," he says. "And I think the air is poisoning me."

"You'll be fine." Romana climbs up a dune, looks out at the desolate plains. The only thing that could make this better would be if there was anything actually interesting in sight. At all. She'd settle for Daleks, if she had to.

"I'm serious, I can feel my throat closing up," says Antonin.

Romana sighs and slides back down to the ground. "I suppose we should go back to the TARDIS and try again. Perhaps we'll land in a city next time, or a museum. Or perhaps a battle!"

"I like the museum idea." Antonin begins to follow their footprints back to the TARDIS. "I take back any implications I may have made that you weren't adventurous enough, Mother."

They round a dune and find the TARDIS, its doors gaping open. Romana's grin shrinks a bit.

"Did you forget to lock the door?" she asks.

"You were last one out," says Antonin. "And you have the key."

"They must have broken the lock," declares Romana, grin finally gone. She dashes into the TARDIS.

"Who?" calls Antonin, still standing outside. "There's no one here except us!"

Romana can already see the gaping hole in the console. "Whoever took the Absolute Tesseractulator!"

"There's no one here," begins Antonin, and then he catches a flash of light in the corner of his eye. The light flashes again, and someone giggles.


The native life-forms appear to be made entirely of light and gossamer-thin wings. They don't need much from their planet except for warm air currents to ride and occasional travelers to pester and giggle at.

Antonin doesn't much appreciate being part of the local ecosystem.

"Do you have our Absolute Tesseractulator?" asks Romana.

The beings of light swirl around, refracting into new patterns and meanings. It looks to Antonin as if they are discussing something.

"Does it look like half of a diamond with tentacles stuck on the end?" The lights glimmer, cheekily.

"That's it exactly," says Romana.

"No," say the lights. "We've never seen it."

There's a pause. Then some giggling.

"That's a transparent lie," says Antonin. "Give it back."

"Please," adds Romana.

The lights swirl. "No."

"If we don't have it, our ship won't know where it's going and we'll die in the vortex if we try to leave here," says Romana.

"How do you know all that?" asks Antonin.

"I've been reading the manual," says Romana.

"Since when is there a manual?"

"We're keeping it," say the lights. "We like it. It's interesting."

More giggling. Antonin would quite like to shout at the lights, but he would feel silly shouting at nothing much. Romana, at least, looks thoughtful.

"Could we trade you for it?" she asks.

"Trade what?" ask the lights.

"Trade what?" asks Antonin.

"I've got a crate of Heartshaven wine in the TARDIS," says Romana. "Help me drag it out here, Antonin."

"What's wine?" The lights swirl. "Can you play with it?"

Antonin follows Romana into the TARDIS and hisses, "Mother, you can't get transcendent beings of light drunk."

"This is an old and venerable Heartshaven vintage." Romana walks into the wardrobe. "Don't question its power."

"Even if you can get them drunk, they sound like minors out there. I'm sure this is immoral."

Romana moves a few coats, revealing a sturdy crate.

"Were you hiding this from me?" asks Antonin.

"You don't have a decent palate," says Romana. "There's sherry in the kitchen if you really must have something. Take this outside, would you?"

"It's not going to work," says Antonin.


"We love wine!" burble the lights. "We love you." Romana beams.

"You're a terrible influence," says Antonin.

"Do you want your thing back?" The lights are dodging around a bit more now, like they're having trouble keeping their lack of feet.

"Yes please," says Romana, and turns her beam pointedly at Antonin.

"Everything about this is reprehensible," says Antonin, and ducks as the lights toss the Absolute Tesseractulator at his head.


The Absolute Tesseractulator slots right into place after they realize the tentacles should be pointing out, not in. Antonin immediately begins talking about some planet he's been researching, but Romana ignores him and hits the randomizer again. This is her adventure, after all.

They land on Skaro, which makes Antonin both worried and smug, but it's perfectly safe. They've thousands of years before the Daleks are created, and right now the planet is covered in lush greenery and fluffy quadrupeds.

"They're probably venomous," says Antonin. A quadruped is winding between his legs, whistling softly.

"Don't fret," says Romana. She walks up to the edge of a ridge, tips her hat back to gaze down at the valley below. Ancient trees reach up toward her, and a roar disturbs a flock of birds with sixteen wings apiece.

"I suppose it seems friendly." Antonin sounds unhappy about that, and when Romana looks over her shoulder she catches Antonin bending over and patting the quadruped awkwardly. Romana smiles, and looks down at the valley again. If she could just get a foothold on the cliff face, perhaps she could clamber down...

"Nice mammal or possibly reptile," mutters Antonin. "Nice mammalian-like organism." Romana investigates possible trails while he's distracted. There's one path that ends with some sort of nest, but there's another animal trail which seems to go all the way down. Romana's only just put one foot on the path when Antonin yelps.

"Don't worry!" she calls. "It looks perfectly safe."

"Help!" yelps Antonin, and Romana looks back. The forest is now teeming with quadrupeds, a horde of them converging toward Antonin. The one he was patting opens its mouth to reveal row after row of sharp glistening teeth. Antonin kicks out, and the quadruped fastens its teeth in his boot.

Romana considers the situation, and steps back from the ridge. And another step, and another, until her stiletto heel is stepping on a quadruped's tail.

The quadruped hisses and thrashes and manages to escape, but it crashes into four other quadrupeds while making the attempt. Those quadrupeds turn on the first quadruped, and they begin to fight, careening into more quadrupeds and beginning fights with them as well. The scene becomes very confused (particularly as Romana couldn't really tell the quadrupeds apart in the first place), so she wades through the battle and takes Antonin's elbow.

"Back to the TARDIS, I think," she says.

"How the hell did you do that?" asks Antonin, and knocks the very first quadruped off of his boot.

"You need better shoes," says Romana. "Or perhaps a large stick. A large stick would work just as well, I think."


The next planet is Phaidon, and they get arrested by the Warpsmiths for temporal trespassing. Fortunately Antonin has studied the legal system of every major temporal power, and he's able to get them out on bail.

He tries not to feel too pleased about finally being useful.

"Oh, good," says Romana, when Antonin and the guards come to retrieve her from her jail cell. "I was becoming bored."

"What, sitting around in a dark, secluded, moldering building?" Antonin takes Romana's elbow and pulls her along the corridors. "I would have thought you'd feel at home."

Romana pulls away from his grasp, walking faster to outpace him. "Antonin," she says, "your attitude is extremely tiresome. First you want an adventurous mother, then I begin adventuring, and now you are scolding me for it."

Antonin shrugs, feeling like a sullen youth rather than a mature political operative. He lowers his eyes to the ground, watching Romana's heeled boots clack across the floor. Dangerous items of footwear, more purposive and threatening than just about anything Antonin's managed in his life.

"Anything to say for yourself?" prompts Romana.

"Not really," says Antonin, and pushes the prison-doors open. It's a bright day on Phaidon, the sun-lamp satellites shining down on the glistening glass buildings. Romana radiates, and Antonin feels himself falling into her shadow.

"You don't think you need me, do you?" says Antonin. "I did save the day, here. What would you have done if I hadn't gotten us out? Stabbed a guard and staged a prison uprising?"

"Probably something less violent." Romana looks confident, like she already had a plan if Antonin had done nothing. She really doesn't need him, she would be fine on her own, and Antonin wonders why he's even here.

Romana reaches out a hand and takes Antonin's shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. Antonin squirms and does not feel any better or older or less annoyed with the whole situation.


They land on Earth, which Romana has always believed to be a charming, backwater, little planet. The kind of world that quaint had practically been invented to describe.

Well, to be fair, it probably isn't usually under attack by life-hating robots.

"Run!" shouts Antonin, and Romana jumps over debris as the robots fire laser beams. A couple of soldiers from UNIK or UNUT or something follow them, presumably because Antonin looks like he knows where he’s going. Romana hopes they won't be too disappointed when they realize that Antonin doesn't even know what country he's in.

The soldiers begin firing high-powered projectile weapons back at the robots, who laugh mechanically.

"Don't be foolish," says Romana. "Bullets won't stop them. Don't you know anything?"

"I should have guessed," says the soldier with the button things on his shoulders. "Where are we going, ma'am?"

"Ask Antonin," says Romana, and concentrates on keeping her footing.

"Sir!" calls the soldier. Antonin's out in front, because he got his height from Andred's mother and thus has usefully long legs. "Sir, where are we going?"

"Away from the robots!" shouts Antonin.

The second soldier laughs, though he doesn't sound particularly happy.

Romana trips, reaches out to keep herself from falling, and grabs hold of a railing, which leads up a ramp, which leads to a door. An important-looking door, with a suspicious lack of debris.

"In here," she says. "Follow me!" She shoves at the door, and the four of them pile in.

The rooms inside don't have any robots, or humans, or anyone. Just office furniture and a big computer with a scrolling display of numbers and letters.

"I wonder why this is empty," says the second soldier, who has stripes instead of buttons.

"Be quiet, Benton," says the soldier with buttons, and all of them hush until the sound of the robots' lasers and clanking footfalls grow distant. Then they hush for a little longer, just in case.

"Why," says Romana at last, "don't you both have buttons? Your uniforms aren't very uniform."

"I'm not clever enough for buttons," says Benton. "They mean Captain Yates here is in charge."

"It's not a matter of being clever," says Captain Yates. "But I am the ranking officer here. Captain Mike Yates, ma'am. Can I ask who you two are?"

"This is the Lady Romana, and I am Antonin." Antonin peers intently at the soldiers. "We're Time Lords. Aliens."

"Oh, more of you," says Benton. "Come to help us out?"

Antonin frowns. Romana thinks he was hoping to awe the pre-spacetravel natives.

"I think this computer is important," she says, in case Antonin tries to awe them again. "Let's have a look."

The scrolling code moves at a breakneck speed, and it takes a while for Romana to understand it. A few minutes, at least.

"Something to do with the robots?" asks Captain Yates. "That would be a handy coincidence."

"I think so," says Romana. She taps the side of the computer, thoughtfully, and a keyboard pops out.

"We probably shouldn't meddle with it," says Antonin. "Something this complex, we might make things worse without realizing."

"I don't know, it doesn't look too difficult to work with," says Romana. "I'm sure I can do something about the robots from here." She follows a line of code with her fingertip. "Look, there's the self-replication command. And here's the sequence that tells them to hate humanity and squirrels. I suppose the rest of life must be on different coding lines. Oh, there's dolphins!"

"What do you know about advanced artificial-intelligence coding?" asks Antonin. "I think we ought to let the human scientists deal with this, Mother. If we can find any."

Romana looks at Antonin side-long. The boy can be so thick, sometimes. "My dear," she says slowly, "your father and I hand-coded your genetic sequence before you were loomed. I do have experience in creating intelligent life."

"Oh," says Antonin.

"Well, reasonably bright life," says Romana, and cracks her knuckles. "Just sit back and let me deal with this, darling. I'll have those robots deactivated in no time."

Antonin backs away, and Romana immerses herself in the code, tapping away at the keyboard. Captain Yates looks between them.

"Your mother, is she?"

"Yes," says Antonin.

"Seems like a pretty-" begins Benton, and then looks thoughtful. "A very-"

"I think the word you're looking for is formidable," says Captain Yates. "A formidable woman."

"Yes," sighs Antonin. "I suppose she is."

Something bashes against the door.

"Would you get that, Antonin?" mumbles Romana, absently.

"I think we'd better not," says Antonin.

"Barricade the door," says Captain Yates, all business again. "Buy Lady Romana some time."

They shove a table and a filing cabinet against the door, but the pounding just gets louder and heavier. Benton and Captain Yates lean against the filing cabinet, trying to secure it with their weight.

"Could you try and hurry, ma'am?" asks Captain Yates.

"I've nearly got it," says Romana. "I think I can engage a remote self-destruct, but it's encrypted and I'm using ninth-level matrices to-"

The pounding drowns her out. The table and cabinet are shaking, Benton and Captain Yates are shaking, and Antonin reluctantly puts his shoulder to the table to try and help.

"A minute more!" shouts Romana, and the door bursts open. The three men go flying back, and a robot crunches through the furniture, brandishing its laser. It takes aim at Romana and the computer bank.

Antonin makes a very quick calculation. Two Earth soldiers, one life apiece; one mother, several lives left but engaged in important technical work; one Antonin, twelve regenerations to go and doing nothing particularly useful at the moment.

"You're a terrible influence," he tells Romana, and throws himself in front of the robot.

The laser gun flashes, Romana shouts "Done!" and Antonin's world goes dark.


Romana does not cry, nor does she scream. She remains perfectly calm and pulls her son's head into her lap with trembling, white-knuckled hands and everything is awful.

"He'll regenerate, he'll regenerate," she tells herself, but she doesn't quite believe it because Andred was supposed to regenerate and he didn't, and what if Antonin sold his regenerations without telling her? What if-

"-all right, ma'am-" says someone unimportant, and Romana is going to tear apart every robot by hand, never mind that they're all dark and deactivated now, she'll pull their bolts and wiring out, guts and blood-oil and code-

Antonin opens his eyes, and pours out light.

"Is that supposed to happen?" asks Benton.

"Yes," says Romana. "Oh, yes, yes it is."

Antonin's new body, when it stabilizes, is shorter than before, with a bit of a paunch and wide brown eyes. The first thing he does with it is give Romana a hug.

"I'm so glad," says Romana, "I'm so glad, I'm so-"

"Shh." Antonin's arms tighten around her. "I'm here, we're here."

"We should go home." Romana's eyes feel wet, and she realizes she's been crying after all. "I never should have brought you along. Adventures? What was I thinking? We should go home."

"I won't say no to home," says Antonin, carefully. "But this wasn't your fault, and you're actually quite good at adventures. I'm sorry I was jealous."

Romana sniffs.

"But we can still have adventures at home," says Antonin. "Come on, Mum, smile. We're all right."

Romana doesn't smile, but she does ruffle Antonin's hair.

Benton and Captain Yates seem to disappear, although what they actually do is step over the disabled robot and close the door quietly behind them.

"I love you," says Antonin. "I think I'm more affectionate in this body. Did I ever say 'I love you' before?"

"Usually sarcastically," says Romana. "But I could tell you meant it, really."


They land the TARDIS in the middle of the High Council chambers. The TARDIS shifts into a podium, and Antonin and Romana climb out from inside of it, met by the astonished murmurs of a bunch of upper-class stuffed robes.

"I've come back to be president," says Romana.

There's a pause. Councilors shove each other and try frantically to remember if this was their idea.

"Really?" asks a short man at last. "Who are you supposed to be? Why do you think you should be president?"

Romana begins to say something, but the short man has an orator's voice and his words drown her out.

"I," he says, "am Lord Bombriartusktian, and if it were so easy to become president I would be one three times over. Simply walk in and ask for the job? Land a TARDIS in our private conference? You are extremely rude, madam, and I ask again: who are you supposed to be?"

Romana looks extremely put out, and Antonin suspects that she will begin to shout if he doesn't do something. So he does.

"This," says Antonin, still half-manic from regeneration, "this is the Lady Romanavoradtrelundar. My mother. She's brilliant. I've seen her do things you can't even imagine, defeat enemies you would run screaming from, and go far beyond what is advisable or even polite. You should count yourselves lucky to have her consider your offer of the presidency, but to have her accept? You should be honored, Lord Whateveryournameis, honored. Also, I shall kick you if you insult her again."

Lord Whateverhisnameis opens his mouth, sees the look on Antonin's face, sees the look on Romana's face, reconsiders the safety of his shins, and closes his mouth again.

"But we've already got a president," says someone in the back.

"You do, do you?" asks Romana. "Who's that?"

"The Lady Darkel," says the same helpful person in the back. "She's awfully clever."

There's another pause, and then a laugh echoes through the citadel. It's the most evil laugh that Antonin has ever heard. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and the assembled members of the High Council shift uneasily in their chairs.

"That's the Lady Darkel now!" chirps the person in the back. "She always seems to know when we're talking about her."

"Are you sure that's the sound of a good president?" asks Antonin. "Really sure?"

The assembled Councilors consider this.

"No, not really," admits Lord Whateverhisnameis.

"Right." Romana nods at Antonin. "Come on, dear, we've got a planet to save."

"Not just any planet," says Antonin. "Our planet."

"Home," says Romana. Her eyes are sparkling, her grin is wide, and Antonin feels very proud to be her son.

"I don't want to interrupt your moment," says Lord Whatever, "but the Council has been talking and we might possibly want you to be President after all. If you'll get rid of Darkel for us."

Another evil laugh, right on cue.

"We'll need access to the Matrix, a team of guards, and a glass of Heartshaven wine," decides Romana.

"Make that two glasses," says Antonin, and smiles back at his mother.

"I think you'd better have sherry," says Romana.

Date: 2013-02-25 10:06 pm (UTC)
aralias: (romana II)
From: [personal profile] aralias
well done for writing such a nice and feelings-inducing fic about a character i barely remembered who was a git in canon and an AU!version of a character who hates feelings particularly when she has them.

it's really good! and i really like that benton and yates are there for no real reason and help save the day. and also that romana uses her powers of wine-ownership to help save the universe. now all she needs to do is go and save brax from the bennyverse himself and her work will be... well, 50% done :D

v good.

Date: 2013-02-25 10:06 pm (UTC)
aralias: (narvin is not president)
From: [personal profile] aralias
also, i feel a bit embarrassed about my credit as beta there as i hardly did anything...

Date: 2013-02-25 11:26 pm (UTC)
phantomlistener: (romana hat)
From: [personal profile] phantomlistener
UGH this is perfection :D I love the idea of Romana hiding her wine stash from Antonin, who is so much the bratty little idiot that I wanted to punch him (until he regenerated and both of them admitted to ~feelings).

And then there's the parking brake, and the kind-of-but-not-quite resemblance of her adventures to the canon!Doctor's, and OH the fact that she ends up home again and President. Because she *would*.

Basically...this is everything I ever wanted from that prompt. Thank you SO MUCH.

commenting from my DW because I can, confusion abounds
Edited Date: 2013-02-25 11:28 pm (UTC)

Date: 2013-02-26 03:12 pm (UTC)
janeturenne: (Imperiatrix)
From: [personal profile] janeturenne
...I cannot get over how good this fic is enough to make words.
You made me love Antonin. Surely that must take magic, at the very least. Some kind of ancient occult hocus-pocus. And god, as ever, I am so in awe of/delighted by/jealous of your comedic timing. And your basically everything.

Date: 2013-02-28 02:23 pm (UTC)
liberal_gallifreyan: Romana in Chronotos' room with a cup of tea (quite pleasant actually)
From: [personal profile] liberal_gallifreyan
Brilliant! Especially about the wine.

Date: 2013-03-03 02:22 am (UTC)
hobbit_feets: (dw || and you will obey me)
From: [personal profile] hobbit_feets
This is so much fun! It manages to be both larky and full-of-feels, and the combination works smashingly. I love how we get to see flashes of the Romana we know and love in her alt!verse self; reminding Antonin that she is actually quite smart and capable, you know, but also very definitely her own person. Her careless madcappery reminded me a bit of Four, actually. I also thought Antonin worked wonderfully as the sort of sarky, Turlough-style companion to her adventures.

Also, having read the comments, do people hate C'rizz? Why the C'rizz hate? I love C'rizz, and... pretty sure most of my Whovian friends do too. Possibly I have been living in a bubble.

Date: 2013-03-04 04:47 am (UTC)
hobbit_feets: (lom || take a look at the lawman)
From: [personal profile] hobbit_feets
I can see that, yeah; his character development and arc were a little inconsistent, and I can definitely see why, as a writer, one might be glad to depart from it into surer waters. Though I feel like that applies to the Divergent Universe arc generally. But I dunno; the first time I listened to the Divergent Universe arc, I was pretty unmoved by him, but the second time, I went, AHHH C'RIZZ, ILU. It might just be that I'm generally charmed by Conrad Westmaas's delivery, or possibly C'rizz is one of those characters whose potential I like more than the actual execution. I am not sure.

Speaking of C'rizz and fandom, have you ever read this fic? I highly recommend it.


neveralarch: (Default)

October 2017

12345 67

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated 23/10/17 04:57 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios