May. 20th, 2008

first_timelord: (not warm enough)
He'd promised Jon's head would be kept safe and out of sight.

So it was that Rassilon took it to a room in his laboratory, dimly lit save for the glow of various machines. Green light. It lent everything a murky emerald monochromaticism that somehow fit the still, sombre mood.

He carefully set the head in its gravity bubble in a stasis generator. Silently, he passed the fingers of one hand through a hardlight command sequencer--a specific pattern, like plucking the strings of a harp, half physical coded input, half telepathic. Gallifreyan technology always had been half art or half music or some unearthly combination thereof.

A ring of green energy spun around the head, replacing the gravity bubble, joined by another, then another, multiplying and spinning in countless directions until they formed a sphere. Reality seemed to blink in that instant, then continue.

The ice hadn't even started to melt.

Jonathan's head hung now in temporal stasis, caught in a nanosecond, preventing neural decay, awaiting the collection of the rest of his body. Still dead, but possessed of a glimmer of hope at life in the future.

Rassilon lightly touched another control and the green bubble, head and all, sank slowly into an opaque, protected sphere. There it would wait, shielded from everything.

Only then did he allow himself to weep. For Some, devastated at the loss of a love so powerful that his mind, for once, had resonated something readable. For Jeff, overwhelmed and stricken. And most of all, for Jonathan, deprived of the chance to win the struggle he'd been finally coming somewhere near to winning.

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Rassilon

September 2012

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