The Doctor is in London.

Again.

He didn't mean to come here, to apparently Saturday, October 7, 2024, at exactly 2:38 P.M, but the TARDIS brought him here, whether on purpose or some other means, he has yet to figure out.

He feels like the memories he has of the past while, and his own memories in general, are fuzzy and blurry, like watercolour paints.

He can't remember why, but he feels like he just did something very important–something that saved lives...something that brings hope. With that in mind, he steps out of his TARDIS, and into the alley he has appeared in. As he does, he sees someone–a girl, assuming by the height(at a glance, he estimates 5'5", maybe 5'4"?) and overall appearance–running further down. Two Cybermen chase after her. "You always know right where I'm needed." The Doctor says, lightly patting the TARDIS' door before charging off after them. She doesn't seem to have gotten far, he reaches the group in a matter of seconds, however he stops, taking in the scene before him: the two Cybermen, on the ground, the girl crouched over one with her back to The Doctor, fully focused on wrenching off one of the Cybermen's arm. But she's just a girl–shorter than he is, although he's usually been pretty tall. He frowns, his excitement at a new adventure deflating, before he starts to get questions. How did the Cybermen die? Why is she so calm? Who is she? And why is she here?  "You can stop standing there like a deer in the headlights and come talk to me, you know." She says, snapping him out of his thoughts. She hasn't looked at him once, and he wasn't THAT loud, was he? "Or, better yet, you can just leave and forget about me." The Doctor makes an amused sound, his interest now piqued again. "And why would I forget about you?" She shrugs, setting down the arm and moving on to dismantling the chest. "I'm not worth your time." He cocks his head slightly, finally walking over and crouching beside her. She somehow managed to open the Cyberman with no tools, and is now messing around with the the parts and wires...among the other things within a Cyberman. She never looks up at him, her cold gaze trained on the Cyberman, and she only moves her long, straight brown hair to keep it out of her eyes while she works. "And why not? A girl who doesn't fear Cybermen, who tears them apart, and seems too young to be so calm about this? Sounds like plenty good enough a reason for me." He points out lightly. She stops, finally looking up at him. While her skin tone is a sort of mid-tone pale, her eyes are a sunken, icy blue, dark pools of darkness and anger frozen over by resignation and years of coming to terms. "Then you're more of an idiot than I expected from the 'Last of the Time Lords'." There was a clear note of disdain in her reply, but The Doctor is more interested in how she knows that he's a Time Lord. "What told you I'm a Time Lord?" He asks, earning an eye roll. "For one, you're far too chipper and calm about two CYBERMEN than a human would be, so you're one to talk about reactions to Cybermen. You're a bit...odd, people don't act like you do, and for another thing, I can not only sense and hear your two hearts beating, but I can just TELL." 

...That last comment was unsettling. What does she MEAN, she can hear his hearts?? "So I'm assuming you're not human yourself." He ventures. She shakes her head. "Evidently not." She replies. "Which now begs the question...what are you? And why are you on Earth, scavenging Cybermen?" As he asks these questions, many different ideas come to the Doctor's mind, his brain ticking through and discarding almost all of them as quick as they come. "Oh, come on, Doctor, I know I probably don't look it, but can you really not tell when you're face to face with a fellow Time Lord? Someone from Gallifrey?" He stops, mind blank as he tries to process this. "But Gallifrey is gone...only I got out." He tells her slowly, confused and hesitant. She points at him with some wires. "Liar. The Master also lived, so there are now three Gallifreyans–well, no, you've killed him good and proper now, so it's actually just the two of us." She points out matter-of-factly. She's smart and knows more than he'd like, which is intriguing, however he remains hesitant. He always hoped that Gallifrey survived, or even at least another Time Lord, but what if she's lying? Apparently she senses or sees the puzzlement on his face, because she scoffs. "What, do I need to give you my life's story? Here: when Gallifrey disappeared, I escaped, and stayed here. Over time, I heard whispers across the universe of the great 'Doctor', saviour of planets and worlds and defender of Earth. I remained hidden. I didn't want to meet you. But though you don't know me, I AM as I say I am." She explains. The Doctor nods, now adding that to what little he knows of her, though the confusion he has only grows the more he thinks about it all. "Why didn't you want me to find you?" He asks. She glowers at him, whatever cocky attitude she had replaced with anger. Deep, undying, fiery anger and hatred. "Because I hate Time Lords." She says simply. His brow furrows quizzically. "But aren't...YOU...a Time Lord, as you said?" He points out. "First of all, yes, I am, but second, you don't even know WHY." She hunches her shoulders and looks away, refusing to meet his gaze. "Well then, why don't you tell me why?" Her once–fidgeting hands still, she sets down the piece of metal she'd been caressing in a manner that was anything but loving, and her face stiffens into yet another scowl. "Because I won't. I can't." She shakes her head, mood swiftly shifting, now she seems almost triumphant, and a little crazed. "I locked those memories away. Nobody can get to them, and I can't call them into my thoughts. I can't tell you what I don't remember!" This declaration concerns him. Why, and HOW, would she lock her memories? He voices this. "You gotta be really smart about it. If you do it wrong, like I did, it's like there's holes in your memories. And as for why, well...I don't even know, but I CAN say that the Time Lords were not as good as you thought." She answers. She's very cryptic, he sighs internally. But this is a step. The Time Lords clearly did something to her. Something horrible, and personal, if he's understood correctly. But if she has a story and secrets, ones that clearly hurt her, he can't just drop it, either. "But you can't simply ERASE memories. You said you locked them away. I'm betting they're still there?" He tries. She nods, eyeing him warily. "No, I can't...or I won't. I haven't decided yet. But I am the only one with the key to access them. And I keep that key away from others with a death grip." The Doctor takes this in, thinking. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. No. I already–NO." The sharp tone of her word cuts him off from his thoughts, and she's stood. He stands too, leading to the realization that she's no longer noticeably smaller. No, compared to her original size and height, she's bigger. Taller. If she was about 5'4" originally, she's actually closer to 5'9" now. "I WON'T do it. Don't make me remember." She growls, a dangerous, threatening edge to her voice, but the Doctor wonders if he heard a little hint of fear as well. He raises his hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to. I'm trying to understand, but I'm at a loss for how, if you can't...or won't...recall what happened." He implores. She steps closer, she shadows at the edges of the Doctor's peripheral curling and twisting in odd ways. He refuses to take his eyes off her, though, she's still grown a bit now, but there's also what appear to be quills, maybe even spines growing along her arms and neck, undoubtedly down her back as well. "You haven't the slightest idea, how it feels. To KNOW something happened. To KNOW you can't know. The fact that these little mind-stories HURT you so much you had to lock them away, before they escaped your head and KILLED you. The one place you forbid yourself to walk: your own MIND. It tears you apart. Makes you insane. You're no longer just ONE person, you're LESS than one." She hisses, now looking over him. The shadows cast by her size mean he's completely engulfed by them, and for a split second, he feels uneasy. Her expression suddenly softens, and she sits down. It doesn't do much to make her seem any less threatening, each spine he can see looks big enough to impale him like a spear. But she's stopped growing, now. That's good, at least. "I won't go through those memories, but I can still show you." She admits, her hands twisting and fidgeting. There's a number of pops and cracks whenever she applies pressure or moves them a certain way. She also doesn't make direct eye contact, instead her gaze goes from him to the walls around him, even to the forgotten Cybermen and the rest of the alley. "All I have to do is put you IN those memories. You would be able to observe them, and I would be left out of it." The Doctor listens in rapt interest. "Then how would you know to get me out again?" He points out, after thinking on it a few moments. "I will have a guide that'll say. That guide will take you out." She replies. This raises even more questions, but the Doctor stays silent, setting them aside for later. He wants to clarify and understand what she's saying before anything else. "So you send me in, I find this guide, and when I've finished, it'll bring me back out?" She nods. "The problem with NOT directly being able to lose memories is that a part of you, your consciousness, remains inside them. That will be your guide." She pauses, watching him before speaking once more. "These memories hurt me. Haunted and terrorized me. I remember the fear and pain I got from them. I kept that as a reminder of WHY I kept them locked off. I don't know what it's like in there. You're risking your life for answers." She warns. The Doctor nods, taking a deep breath before smiling assuringly. "All the best answers are the hardest ones to get." She snorts, a glimmer of amusement shines in her eyes before her gaze hardens into seriousness again. "It's your life you're risking after all, not mine." She mutters, mostly to herself. She exhales slowly, returning back to the little girl he'd met, and stands in front of him. "Give me your hands." She orders. When he does, she takes each one, putting his middle and index fingers to her temples, then reaches up to do the same to him, which he accommodates for by crouching a bit. "Close your eyes and don't think." Obediently, he closes his eyes, letting his mind empty of the millions of thoughts, imagining it as a white sheet of paper, untouched and waiting to be written upon. 

Darkness envelops the paper, like ink stains spreading across the page, and he's falling into it.