bimo
in
rose_lives
Ficathon Story: Brave New Girl
Title: Brave New Girl
Author: Bimo
Characters: Rose, several mentionings of Mickey, OCs
Summary: When betrayals are all about freedom...
Rating: G
Notes: Lots of thanks to livii. Without her I would never have gotten this one beta-read in time ;-)
This story was written for fightinghand, who asked for
(1) swordplay
(2) Paris
(3) ruthless
and did not want any flashbacks.
BRAVE NEW GIRL
by Bimo
Ariane has done this before, and she will do it again. One time, several times if necessary. It's only Torchwood's expert who has changed, not the actual procedure, she tells herself. Pick expert up from Le Chatelier. Drive said expert to secret location. Show and explain the alien item in question. Wait and see if expert makes buying decision.
The Torchwood institute might be government-run, but it has always respected Didier's wish for maximum privacy. Probably because their own structures of power, even in the pre-Tyler days, were so very shady, and they held even larger collections of alien objects, so rare and precious.
Ariane opens her powder compact, looks into the mirror and pulls out a grey hair.
"Don't worry about your appearance, cherie," Didier says. "Any news yet about whom they are sending instead of Smith?"
"Yes," Ariane replies, with a smile.
***
The true influence of the Brits reveals itself in what they manage to keep secret.
When Rose Tyler switched universes not one single paparazzi vid of her ever made it into the web. The new Jackie? Yes. But there would have been little use in hiding her anyway, for she looks and sounds just like the old; the sole difference being that the new, alternate wife appears to be that tiny, oh-so- important bit kinder and more generous. At least on the telly.
That this loud, bubbly, refreshingly talkative woman could ever have raised a true space traveller strikes Ariane as a miracle. But the daughter exists and now walks the shores of this planet. Only a few minutes and Rose Tyler will pass the Le Chatelier security controls, equipped with a false passport and disguised as a tourist.
"Watch out for a mid-twenty-ish blonde with a bright blue Samsonite suitcase," Torchwood has told Ariane. "Don't worry about recognizing her. She will approach you first. We gave her your photo." The condescending tone of Pete Tyler's secretary annoyed Ariane so much that she gave in to her anger and dialled the number of Mickey Smith's private cell phone.
"Ariane, do you have any idea how late it is here in New York?" Mickey's words still ring in her ear.
"Yes. I just wanted to tell you that I now understand your reasons for quitting. How's the state of affairs at the U.N. science department?"
"Fine."
It was the strange kind of phone call which starts out hostile, but ends with laughter and in-jokes and the exchange of old war stories about the first cyber-occupation of Paris.
***
Once they sit safely in Ariane's car, where no bug or surveillance device can pick up their words, Rose Tyler, the girl who has been up in the skies, lets all professional impersonality drop like a veil.
"So you're the French lady who helped Mickey blow up two thousand Cybermen in Montparnasse cemetery."
"Quite so, I'm afraid. The amazing Mr. Smith had the idea, Didier Martin supplied the weapons. Better to destroy the homes of the dead than the homes of the living. And the city has more than enough other tourist attractions."
Rose Tyler smiles, and in a very charming and lively style tells Ariane a short anecdote about how she made her first zeppelin journey to Paris some years ago. "Such a fun way of traveling," she says. "Before dropping anchor at Le Chatelier airport, we hovered right above the Eiffel tower for almost a minute."
"Yes, they like doing that, especially with the large tourist liners," Ariane replies, and suddenly it dawns upon her that all the secretiveness about Rose not only has to do with the girl's special history and her function at Torchwood, but also with granting her the most normal, most private life that anyone in her position could possibly hope for.
Anonymous holiday trips to Paris. Buying fast food from a street vendor and eating it down at the river banks without anyone making cell phone vids of how you accidentally smear grease on your oldest, but favourite jacket.
Not so terribly different from the freedom Didier would like for himself, but cannot have anymore, because of the risks. Damn the DGSE and its new surveillance cameras that can see through even the most sophisticated of masks.
Following a sudden inspiration, Ariane brings the car to a halt. "Would you mind if I removed the Renault's top, Miss Tyler? It's still a one and a half hour drive, and I feel like getting some fresh air."
***
Despite all the sun and the breeze their conversation gets more and more serious the closer they get to the chateau. Probably not even the most casual observer would mistake Rose Tyler for a sightseer now. Her expression, her whole way of moving is just too tense and determined.
As they walk down the gravel path to the chateau's servant entrance, Ariane thanks God that the whole grounds are private. The girl seems quite capable but she still has to learn that transactions always run smoothest when both parts are actually enjoying their role. In this kind of situation, Mickey Smith always used to quote from James Bond films.
"Looking forward to finally holding the sword in your own hands?" Ariane asks, while pressing her thumb against the door mechanism's contact plate.
"If this thing really is what you believe it to be, this will get interesting."
"We'll see."
***
Hiding large heavy objects in the most ironic ways is Ariane's favourite sport, and also the one odd talent that she really takes pride in.
"This is a joke, right?" Rose asks as she stretches her neck and looks down the never-ending row of medieval armours. Each metal body appears quite individual and ancient, just like the swords held by the armours' metal gloves.
"Oh no. Not at all. Would you like me to fetch the real one for you, or do you want to find it all on your own?"
"If it's real, I'll find it."
Rose walks down the corridor, humming and whistling. "Segurian objects have a specific wake up call," she explains. "The Doctor and I once tried out about three hundred melodies, 'til we had figured out the right sequence of tones."
"Which of your Doctors was it? Your first or your second?"
"Doesn't really matter. They're all the same person."
A few metres down the corridor, a sword starts glowing and Rose hastens towards it. "Hello," she says, as if she were greeting a sentient being and not a millennia old ceremonial object.
Ariane stands perfectly still as she watches the sword disintegrate right under the touch of Rose's fingers.
"Stop it! What on earth are you doing?"
"The only thing that is proper and decent. I'm sending it home."
"And Torchwood?" Ariane asks, not sure if she is understanding correctly what she has witnessed.
"Will be highly annoyed to learn that I accidentally bought them an overprized decoy," Rose says, and the sound of her laughter strikes Ariane as the most liberating, most infectious thing she has heard in years.
Author: Bimo
Characters: Rose, several mentionings of Mickey, OCs
Summary: When betrayals are all about freedom...
Rating: G
Notes: Lots of thanks to livii. Without her I would never have gotten this one beta-read in time ;-)
This story was written for fightinghand, who asked for
(1) swordplay
(2) Paris
(3) ruthless
and did not want any flashbacks.
BRAVE NEW GIRL
by Bimo
Ariane has done this before, and she will do it again. One time, several times if necessary. It's only Torchwood's expert who has changed, not the actual procedure, she tells herself. Pick expert up from Le Chatelier. Drive said expert to secret location. Show and explain the alien item in question. Wait and see if expert makes buying decision.
The Torchwood institute might be government-run, but it has always respected Didier's wish for maximum privacy. Probably because their own structures of power, even in the pre-Tyler days, were so very shady, and they held even larger collections of alien objects, so rare and precious.
Ariane opens her powder compact, looks into the mirror and pulls out a grey hair.
"Don't worry about your appearance, cherie," Didier says. "Any news yet about whom they are sending instead of Smith?"
"Yes," Ariane replies, with a smile.
***
The true influence of the Brits reveals itself in what they manage to keep secret.
When Rose Tyler switched universes not one single paparazzi vid of her ever made it into the web. The new Jackie? Yes. But there would have been little use in hiding her anyway, for she looks and sounds just like the old; the sole difference being that the new, alternate wife appears to be that tiny, oh-so- important bit kinder and more generous. At least on the telly.
That this loud, bubbly, refreshingly talkative woman could ever have raised a true space traveller strikes Ariane as a miracle. But the daughter exists and now walks the shores of this planet. Only a few minutes and Rose Tyler will pass the Le Chatelier security controls, equipped with a false passport and disguised as a tourist.
"Watch out for a mid-twenty-ish blonde with a bright blue Samsonite suitcase," Torchwood has told Ariane. "Don't worry about recognizing her. She will approach you first. We gave her your photo." The condescending tone of Pete Tyler's secretary annoyed Ariane so much that she gave in to her anger and dialled the number of Mickey Smith's private cell phone.
"Ariane, do you have any idea how late it is here in New York?" Mickey's words still ring in her ear.
"Yes. I just wanted to tell you that I now understand your reasons for quitting. How's the state of affairs at the U.N. science department?"
"Fine."
It was the strange kind of phone call which starts out hostile, but ends with laughter and in-jokes and the exchange of old war stories about the first cyber-occupation of Paris.
***
Once they sit safely in Ariane's car, where no bug or surveillance device can pick up their words, Rose Tyler, the girl who has been up in the skies, lets all professional impersonality drop like a veil.
"So you're the French lady who helped Mickey blow up two thousand Cybermen in Montparnasse cemetery."
"Quite so, I'm afraid. The amazing Mr. Smith had the idea, Didier Martin supplied the weapons. Better to destroy the homes of the dead than the homes of the living. And the city has more than enough other tourist attractions."
Rose Tyler smiles, and in a very charming and lively style tells Ariane a short anecdote about how she made her first zeppelin journey to Paris some years ago. "Such a fun way of traveling," she says. "Before dropping anchor at Le Chatelier airport, we hovered right above the Eiffel tower for almost a minute."
"Yes, they like doing that, especially with the large tourist liners," Ariane replies, and suddenly it dawns upon her that all the secretiveness about Rose not only has to do with the girl's special history and her function at Torchwood, but also with granting her the most normal, most private life that anyone in her position could possibly hope for.
Anonymous holiday trips to Paris. Buying fast food from a street vendor and eating it down at the river banks without anyone making cell phone vids of how you accidentally smear grease on your oldest, but favourite jacket.
Not so terribly different from the freedom Didier would like for himself, but cannot have anymore, because of the risks. Damn the DGSE and its new surveillance cameras that can see through even the most sophisticated of masks.
Following a sudden inspiration, Ariane brings the car to a halt. "Would you mind if I removed the Renault's top, Miss Tyler? It's still a one and a half hour drive, and I feel like getting some fresh air."
***
Despite all the sun and the breeze their conversation gets more and more serious the closer they get to the chateau. Probably not even the most casual observer would mistake Rose Tyler for a sightseer now. Her expression, her whole way of moving is just too tense and determined.
As they walk down the gravel path to the chateau's servant entrance, Ariane thanks God that the whole grounds are private. The girl seems quite capable but she still has to learn that transactions always run smoothest when both parts are actually enjoying their role. In this kind of situation, Mickey Smith always used to quote from James Bond films.
"Looking forward to finally holding the sword in your own hands?" Ariane asks, while pressing her thumb against the door mechanism's contact plate.
"If this thing really is what you believe it to be, this will get interesting."
"We'll see."
***
Hiding large heavy objects in the most ironic ways is Ariane's favourite sport, and also the one odd talent that she really takes pride in.
"This is a joke, right?" Rose asks as she stretches her neck and looks down the never-ending row of medieval armours. Each metal body appears quite individual and ancient, just like the swords held by the armours' metal gloves.
"Oh no. Not at all. Would you like me to fetch the real one for you, or do you want to find it all on your own?"
"If it's real, I'll find it."
Rose walks down the corridor, humming and whistling. "Segurian objects have a specific wake up call," she explains. "The Doctor and I once tried out about three hundred melodies, 'til we had figured out the right sequence of tones."
"Which of your Doctors was it? Your first or your second?"
"Doesn't really matter. They're all the same person."
A few metres down the corridor, a sword starts glowing and Rose hastens towards it. "Hello," she says, as if she were greeting a sentient being and not a millennia old ceremonial object.
Ariane stands perfectly still as she watches the sword disintegrate right under the touch of Rose's fingers.
"Stop it! What on earth are you doing?"
"The only thing that is proper and decent. I'm sending it home."
"And Torchwood?" Ariane asks, not sure if she is understanding correctly what she has witnessed.
"Will be highly annoyed to learn that I accidentally bought them an overprized decoy," Rose says, and the sound of her laughter strikes Ariane as the most liberating, most infectious thing she has heard in years.