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Doctor Who - "Grin And Bear It", starring Billie Piper as Rose (*/f, unfinished)

Ticklurk

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Doctor Who - "Grin And Bear It", starring Billie Piper as Rose (*/f, unfinished)

<BR>
Hello TMFers!

I started writing this story about two years ago. I then had some big changes in my life that drew my attention away for several months; afterward i could never seem to find the impetus to continue the story to a sound conclusion. My intent in writing it was to combine two of my favorite things: tickling, and the girl with one of my favorite smiles: Billie Piper. Okay, three things: Doctor Who, with Billie as Rose Tyler, the companion-turned-lover of the 10th Doctor. I wanted to write the story as if it were a mini-episode of Doctor Who, with an attention-grabbing opening followed by some exposition followed by some action and so on. I hope that those of you familiar with the show -- particularly its 21st-century incarnations -- are able to detect some of this flow in the unceremoniously truncated tale.

I'll warn you properly: it ends with a cliffhanger.

Without further ado...

<hr>
A long, dark hallway, punctuated by circles of colourful light illuminating doors on either side, stretched into the distance. Each door was numbered -- 4601, 4603, 4605 to the left, their even partners to the right, the numbers only further increasing as the hallway reached on.

A young woman, a human, walked purposefully down the hall. She was carrying a large covered tray in one hand with the balanced ease of practise. Her uniform, a throwback to the French maid costumes popular on the Earth of millennia past, contrasted starkly with the state-of-the-art datapad hanging almost weightlessly at her side.

Stopping to reach down and pluck the datapad from its gravity harness, the woman looked at it, glanced at the door to her immediate left, then double-checked the order once more: Room 4653. She placed her hand on the biometric identification device to the right of the doorway, and a chime sounded as the machine identified her as a member of staff. She waited patiently for one of the room's occupants to answer the door.

None came.

Frowning, the woman sounded the chime again. Still no answer.

“Oh, goodness, not another overdose, I hope,” she muttered to herself. “I'm always getting the overdoses.” Checking her datapad once again, she looked for the type of room the guest had requested. It wasn't equipped with any drug paraphernalia, so unless the guest had brought their own...? The room was listed as a blackroom with a single spotlight and a multi-stage restraining table. Sounded like a bondage client, maybe interrogation roleplay? The maid placed her ear closer to the door, straining to hear what may be going on inside in spite of the soundproofing she knew to be in place.

The young woman smiled. She knew it was against the rules, but with the establishment's policy of never recording any of the halls or other guest areas, she knew no one would find out if she peeked at the contents of the delivery. She'd never been able to resist catching glimpses of the guests' guilty pleasures. Setting the datapad back in its grav-harness, she turned slightly from the door and carefully lifted the domed lid covering her delivery tray.

On the mirrored tray lay a single enormous fluffy white feather.

The door to Room 4653 suddenly opened inward and the woman gasped, hurriedly closing the tray and lowering her eyes to the floor. She'd been caught, she'd lose her job now and with the economy of the day she'd never be able to...

The sound pouring out of the room pierced her worried thoughts as she realised that the soundproof barrier had been broken. It was the unmistakable sound of... a woman's frantic laughter?

Without glancing up, the woman offered the covered tray to a figure standing just inside the door. “Your delivery, as requested,” she said, her throat tight with fear and embarrassment. The figure reached out and took the tray from her, then paused, waiting. Finally the maid reluctantly looked up and saw the guest, a tall, dark-skinned woman with long, thick curls of black hair.

Wordlessly stepping to the side, the guest allowed the maid an unobstructed view of the inside of the room. It was a blackroom, indeed, and the spotlight was shining down on --

The maid stared, wide-eyed, as frenzied laughter poured from the woman in the center of the room. Occasional pleas for mercy would escape between uncontrollable fits of giggling and shrieking. The poor girl didn't even seem to notice that the door was open, or that someone else was viewing her predicament. Shivering, the maid lowered her eyes to the floor again.

The guest at the doorway smiled, her eyes fixed on the maid like a raptor on its prey. She inhaled deeply. “Oh, and you, too,” she said huskily. She closed her eyes and leaned toward the maid, breathing in slowly and deeply once more. “Yes, you would like to, wouldn't you,” she smiled, her eyes opening slyly.

“I, uh... I'll just...” the maid stammered, glancing up to find the guest's gaze fixed on her.

“Run along now, little one,” the guest commanded quietly, her words nearly drowned out by the screams of mirth coming from behind her. “I'll make time for you... later.”

The door closed, and the hall was silent.

<HR><BR><h1 align=center>DOCTOR WHO</h1><p align=center><a href="http://youtu.be/nF5QGl6JoKg">Intro Theme</A></P><h3 align="center">"GRIN AND BEAR IT"</h3><p align=center>starring <B>Billie Piper</B> as Rose Tyler
with <B>David Tennant</B> as The Doctor
<font size=1>written by Ticklurk</font>

ftoldie500.jpg
k486jn.jpg
</p>

<h2 align=center><B>ONE HOUR EARLIER...</B></h2>

“Somebody STOP THAT GRASKE!”

The crowd standing in the moonlight rain didn't even acknowledge the Doctor's command, much less obey it. The Graske in question plowed straight through the bystanders, knocking a few of them to the ground with uncanny strength and provoking a few cries of protest. Without looking back, the short creature bolted toward the flashing neon signs on the street ahead. In the dark of night, the Graske's black clothing nearly blended in completely with the slick city streets.

“Out of the way!” the Doctor shouted, vaulting over a few members of the crowd who were by now getting rather agitated by all the physical and verbal abuse.

“Sorry, sorry, 'scuse me, sorry,” said Rose as she tried to weave her way through the mass of angry and by-now-bedraggled people. Junior school gymnastics team or not, she wouldn't have felt comfortable using other people as springboards. “Doctor! Can you see him?”

“It's just ahead! We've got to stop it, it's almost--”

The Graske disappeared through another small crowd into a brilliantly lit establishment at the end of the street.

“No no no no no <I>NO</I>!” The Doctor slid to a stop, tossing his hands in the air in frustration and nearly throwing a blinking and beeping instrument along with them. “Just <I>had</I> to go in there, didn't you, you sneaky little...”

“What is it?” Rose couldn't tell what the complex's bright lights were trying to convey. “Doctor, what is that place?”

“A bar,” the Doctor said, frowning. “A vice bar. It's where the people here on Tormegan go when they want to get their fix of things that are illegal elsewhere, and--”

“Wait, you mean this is like some sort of... drug lounge or something?”

“Oh, drugs aren't even the half of it.” The Doctor inhaled sharply, looking around at nothing in particular as he spoke. “All sorts of vices in a vice bar – gambling, gorging, even cosplay, if you can believe it. And a vice bar is the worst possible place our friend could've taken refuge in. Wretched hive of scum and villainy doesn't even begin to describe it.”

Finding the Doctor's wandering gaze finally meeting her own, Rose mirrored his thoughtful-looking frown. “Well, can't we just notify the police or something? I mean you said it was a criminal, yeah?”

The Doctor nodded, grimacing. “Yes it is, but I can almost guarantee that it has a contract permitting it to be here, and on Tormegan contracts are things that even police won't touch. This planet honours contracts over everything else -- even basic intergalactic rights. Awful place, really. I try to avoid it.”

“Still,” Rose said, “can't we just go in there and look for it? Can't be too many Graske around here.”

The Doctor shook his head. “No, that's the thing, it's not a Graske.”

“What? But you said --“

“Well, all right, I said, 'Somebody stop that Graske!' but what I really meant was, 'Somebody stop that Larameni Plex that looks like a Graske!' Doesn't quite have the same punch to it, though, and harder to shout while chasing a little person through the streets of Tormegan at night.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Larameni...?”

“Plex, right,” the Doctor finished for her. “They're... chameleons, shapechangers, can look like anyone or anything they like. That one looks like a Graske, or at least it did -- probably something else completely now.

“Thing is, though, they can change their size and shape but not their actual mass, WELL, not without a great big lightshow, WELL, and an explosion. So this one might disguise itself as a... as a Sycorax, or a Menoptra or, I don't know, it might disguise itself as a Raxacoricofallapatorian. But even if it disguised itself as a single feather or a piece of paper, it would still retain its mass – but then again people tend to notice when they find a ten-stone piece of a paper, so the Plex is likely to still be passing itself off as a person.”

Rose was trying to figure out how the Doctor was able to breathe throughout the whole of his explanation, but nodded. The two of them had approached the entrance of the vice bar while they'd been talking; all sorts of scents and sounds came drifting through the club's doors, things that seemed at once familiar and yet still exotic, still alien. Rose peered inside and tried to imagine what could possibly be behind all the closed doors lining the hallways within. She shivered.

“So that's why it wants to hide here then? Because it can look like anybody?”

“That's part of it, sure,” the Doctor agreed. “But there's something else. Something worse.” He furrowed his brow. “The Plex don't feed on biological matter the way you and I do; they consume emotions. Sort of. They don't actually take anything away when they do it; they just feed off the emotional energy and usually they don't harm anybody in doing so.”

“Usually?”

The Doctor sighed. “Sometimes a Plex will get attached to a certain emotion rather than be content with any emotion. They acquire a taste and they refine it, and refine it and refine it until eventually they feel compelled to seek out only one very particular feeling. Could be the pain of losing a loved one, or shame suffered in public. Those Plex can start ruining people's lives -- even killing -- to get their fix.

“Lucky for us, though, the Plex we're chasing feeds off something completely different.” He paused and leaned forward, lowering his voice for effect: “Pleasure.”

Rose looked at the Doctor in confusion. “Pleasure? But,” she considered this for a moment, “what's so bad about that? I mean, what's wrong with people being happy?”

“Oh, nothing!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Except, of course... well, you know what they say. 'Too much of a good thing' ...” He shook his head. “This Plex, name's Calligo, is in hiding because it gave the Silver Empress of Nanawa a fatal overdose of recreational narcotics. No doubt the Empress felt wonderful at the time.” His eyes hardened. “Then she died.”

“Right,” Rose murmured. “And now this 'Calligo' is in a bar --”

“-- where everyone goes to partake in their forbidden pleasures. That's right.”

“Alright, so we'll track it, yeah?” She pointed at the device in the Doctor's hands. “That thing showed you right where the Plex was in the city, so can't we just keep following it?”

“Well, I don't even really need the detector now that we're on the trail,” he replied. “Should be pretty straightforward for me to look for Calligo now – or, well, smell for it, actually. Kind of an olfactory thing. Anyway, yes, right, you should take the detector with you,” he said as he offered it to his companion.

Rose took the device and held it, looking rather anxious. “And... how does this thing work, exactly?”

“It's pretty simple, really,” the Doctor said, instantly launching into a detailed explanation. “Larameni Plex, like all native inhabitants of the Plexian Plennemeties, have very specific and difficult-to-conceal pheromones called plenexomenes. All plenexomenes, upon coming into contact with a trilidium crystal, instantly emit a … sort of …” He trailed off as he noticed Rose staring at him blankly. Realisation flooded his face a moment later. “Ahh, you meant... how to --”

“-- <i>use</I> the device, right,” they both said simultaneously. The Doctor pointed at various blinking lights on the machine. “This green one's the battery, should be fine as long as it's blinking. This red one lights up when the Plex is nearby, and this one,” he jabbed at a round, blue button, “switches on the surround sound system in the TARDIS. No, wait, I got rid of that one -- this one sends a signal to my sonic screwdriver.” He held the screwdriver aloft and waggled it between two fingers. “Very useful when it gets lost in the cushions.”

“So... what am I supposed to do with it?” Rose couldn't keep an incredulous look off her face.

“Oh, simple!” the Doctor smiled. “Just hold onto the detector, and when the red light lights up, push the blue button. I'll come right back to you!”

“Hold on, where are <I>you</I> going?”

“That way,” replied the Doctor, pointing past a large crowd inside and down a long hallway lined with doors. “I'll follow my nose, and I need you to make sure Calligo doesn't get back out this entrance.” His expression turned serious once again. “But Rose, listen to me carefully. This Plex is very, very clever, and very, very desperate. Don't chase it, don't touch it, don't even look around for it.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Just press the blue button and wait for me. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Rose breathed. “Blue button. Right.”

The Doctor grinned. “Right then. Allons-y!” And so saying, he turned and ran down the hall, out of sight.

Rose sighed and stared at the green light on the device. It was blinking rhythmically, indicating what she hoped was a stable power supply.

A quick movement to Rose's side startled her and she jumped, squeaking in surprise. It was the Doctor again.

“And remember,” he warned, “this is Tormegan, world of contracts and endless bureaucracy -- so whatever you do, don't <i>sign</I> anything!”

Then he was gone, running down the hall of doors.

<HR>
Rose looked around, trying to take in the sights and sounds of this alien future world. She was standing in what appeared to be the lobby of the vice bar; at the wall opposite the main entrance was a wet bar surrounded by the club's patrons. Some of them looked human, but most of them were strange, strange creatures. None of them were even vaguely familiar to her; one was bright green with spikes on her face, another looked like a talking rhinoceros, and yet another was absolutely beyond all description. Rose wasn't too bothered, though; she'd started getting used to the unusual.

She wondered if the vice bar was always this crowded. Bright lights were flashing, chaotic music was playing, people were laughing and shouting and shoving each other around. It almost felt like being at a concert, or a dance club – people everywhere, a teeming mass of strangers all pressing in together like one giant organism. It was weird, yet familiar at the same time. Rose had been noticing a lot of those “almost home” moments recently. She smiled to herself as she thought the life that lay before her: traveling, traversing the whole of space and time with the Doctor. She wouldn't be stuck waking up early, taking the bus, working the shops. Every day was an adventure, every moment something new and exciting.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Rose was startled from her reverie by the friendly voice of a man standing just in front of her. She glanced at the detector in her hands: no red light.

Holding in a sigh of relief, Rose looked up at the man who had addressed her. He was thin, an older gentleman of medium height dressed like a butler. He was holding a tray with several brightly-coloured drinks. Rose couldn't help but marvel at how ridiculously out of place he seemed wearing a tuxedo amidst a mob of revelers.

“No, thanks, I'm just, er, taking it all in,” Rose told him. “We don't have places like this where I'm from. Not really, anyway.” For some reason, she thought of Mickey, down at the pub with his mates whenever there was a match on.

“The people of Tormegan are open to any and all pleasurable experiences,” the butler replied, “even those which may be frowned upon in more … rigid … societies.” The corners of his mouth raised in a nearly imperceptible smile and he raised his tray, offering a drink to Rose. “Oscalian wine, Miss...?”

“Er, Tyler. Rose Tyler,” she replied, once again feeling that awkward sense of having been caught daydreaming. “And no, er --” She looked at the man questioningly.

“Renoit.”

“-- Renoit, thank you, but no, actually, I've got a, er, very sensitive stomach.”

The butler nodded and retracted the tray. “Very well, Miss Tyler. Enjoy your time here, and please do no hesitate to let us know if we can arrange a room for you.” He turned to leave.

“Those rooms,” Rose said hastily. The man turned back to her, as formal and polite as ever. Rose motioned with her eyes at the doors in the long hallway the Doctor had run down. “What're they for?”

Renoit followed her gaze. “Those are the guest rooms, Miss Tyler. More specifically, they are guest rooms 1 to 99. This is the ground floor of the establishment, you see; the lift is over there, by the bar.”

Rose's brow furrowed. “But when I was outside, I only saw one floor to the building.” The butler waited patiently; Rose nodded in understanding. “Which means the other floors are all underground?”

“That is correct, Miss Tyler. We have thirty subterranean levels, each with between twenty and one hundred guest rooms and suites.”

“Sounds like a hotel,” Rose said, “but I thought this was some kind of bar?”

Nodding, Renoit continued his explanation. “Some of our guests come here for simple pleasures in which anyone can participate. The bar at the far side of the room, for example, is open to everyone and anyone who visits our establishment. This is the main lobby, where guests can mingle and perhaps meet likeminded persons who share their particular interests.” Gesturing once more to the long hallway, the butler said, “The rooms and suites, on the other hand, are for more private interests. Guests who do not wish to interact with the public at large may reserve a room specifically prepared for their own enjoyment. They may specify what activities they would like to pursue, what equipment they may need, and how long they intend to stay.”

“Wait a minute,” Rose interrupted, “is this like some sort of gentlemen's club, then?”

Renoit didn't miss a beat. “Our establishment does not provide persons or animals of any kind to our guests, no matter the circumstances. Only those persons invited by a guest or bound to a guest by contract are permitted to enter that guest's reserved room.”

Rose still wasn't convinced. “So how do you know what goes on behind those doors? Do you have security cameras, or...?”

“The establishment considers guest privacy to be of utmost importance, Miss Tyler, and so recording devices are limited to the main lobby in which we currently stand.” The butler nodded toward an orb floating a few meters overhead. “Some of our staff also serve to discourage guests from unsanctioned behaviour in the public area.” He motioned discreetly to a several very strong-looking creatures standing in pairs around the large, crowded room. They almost looked like gorillas: big, blue, bipedal, tuxedo-wearing gorillas.

“Monkey suits,” Rose murmured.

“Pardon?” Renoit asked politely. Rose shook her head.

“Nothing. Er, how does the security camera stay up like that?” Rose indicated the floating orb above the room.

“Each camera is fitted with an anti-gravity harness,” Renoit replied, “which we have chosen on the basis of utility and aesthetic appeal. The lift operates on a similar principal, as do some of the more exotic facilities available in the guest rooms.”

“Gravity stuff,” Rose nodded.

He sniffed. “Yes, Miss Tyler. 'Gravity stuff'.”

She nodded and looked down the hallway once more. “I think I'm getting the gist of the place, Renoit. Thanks for your help.”

The butler bowed his head and excused himself, immediately vanishing into the crowd.

With a start, Rose reminded herself that she was meant to be on her guard. She inspected the detector.

“Oh, my god.” Her stomach sank. The green light had gone out completely.

<HR>
Rose desperately pressed the blue button over and over again. Raising the device closer to her face, she said loudly, “Doctor, can you hear me? Doctor! The green light, the battery, it's... it's gone out! Doctor!” Part of her felt silly – there didn't seem to be a microphone of any sort, and anyway the Doctor hadn't mentioned one – but she was starting to feel uneasy. How was she meant to find this Plex, this 'Calligo', now?

A woman's voice cut through the noise of the crowd. “Rose! Rose Tyler!” Rose spun round and saw a very tall woman running in her direction. Unsure of what to do, Rose raised the device in her hands, holding it like a barrier between herself and the dark-skinned woman shouting her name.

“Rose Tyler,” the woman panted, out of breath. “It's your friend! He said something's gone wrong.”

“What?” Rose said sharply, her heartbeat quickening. “What do you mean? What's gone wrong? Who are you?”

“I don't know anything about it,” she replied. “He told me to give this to you. Said you would know what to do.” Reaching out, the woman showed Rose what looked like a clipboard, or rather what a clipboard might look like if it had a screen on it instead of paper.

“What is that, why didn't he come to me himself?” Rose demanded, her heart leaping into her throat.

“Please,” the woman pleaded. “He's been hurt, he gave me this and told me to run here as quickly as I could. He told me what you looked like. Please, please take it! I promised him...” The clipboard trembled in her hand.

Rose reached out to take the tablet. As her hand drew near it, the other woman slipped, falling to the floor, and Rose just barely took hold of the clipboard's lower right corner. “Are you all right?” she asked, reaching to steady the messenger. The other woman didn't respond.

“What's happened? Have you hurt yourself?” Rose said, concern mixing with a growing sense of foreboding. The messenger was leaning up on one arm, shaking as though... as though...

As though she were laughing.

“What is this, what's going on!” Rose said, her voice rising. She looked at the tablet and began to read the message.

“I, the undersigned, do hereby enter into this … written contract... with...” Her voice trailed off. Eyes wide, she threw the tablet to the ground. “Why did you give me that?” she demanded angrily. “I'm not signing anything!”

A deep laugh emerged from the messenger's throat. “Oh, Rose Tyler...” She picked the tablet up off the ground and, standing, showed it to Rose. “You already have.” In the lower right corner where Rose had held the tablet was a thumbprint – her thumbprint – glowing white on a blue display. The woman smiled wolfishly. “Biometric signature – legalised last year.” As she spoke, a pair of the vice bar's gorilla “bouncers” appeared, flanking Rose and taking hold of her arms. The plenexomene detector clattered to the floor.

“Wh... what the hell is this?” Rose sputtered. She struggled to pull away from the bouncers, but they were unbelievably strong.

“They're called Torg,” the woman replied with a smirk. “They're very powerful, you know, and unfalteringly loyal to their masters. And, since I'm a guest here, that means they're loyal to <i>me</I>.”

Rose started shouting. “I didn't agree to anything, you tricked me into...” She turned her head toward the center of the lobby. “Help! Somebody help me! This lot are kidnappers, help me!” To her dismay, most of the crowd ignored her completely. The few patrons who did glance over took one look at the two Torg, then turned back to their drinks and conversations. The bouncers and the woman began walking toward the lift, the gorillas wading through the crowd as though it were a shallow pool.

Sensing that no one was going to interrupt her abduction, Rose glared at the “messenger” and lowered her voice threateningly. “Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't care about your stupid contract. But I'm traveling with a very, very powerful man, and when he doesn't hear from me--”

“Nothing will happen,” the woman interrupted, stepping into the lift with the Torg and their unwilling companion. “And do you know why? Because that man believes he is so close, his target just barely beyond his reach; and if he thinks his quarry is over there, he won't find it at all unusual when you don't report encountering that very same target over here.”

Rose's lips tightened into a severe frown. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled down at Rose, a glint of hunger in her eyes. “My dear child...” The elevator doors closed. “I am Calligo.”

<HR>
<P align=center>
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The Doctor tilted his head back, raising his nose into the air, and inhaled slowly. There it was – plenexomenes. Pretty strong, too, which meant the Plex had been nearby very recently. The Doctor was closing in.

He noticed something and sniffed sharply. “Wait a minute,” he muttered, closing his eyes and breathing in slowly once more. “Something else, there's something else with the plenexomenes, but what is it? (sniff) It's something really (sniff) familiar. Hmm.” Leaning against the wall, he scratched his head with his free hand, twirling his sonic screwdriver in the other. “Cinnamon? No. Could be, er... could be cardamom. (sniff) Cardamom, yes, YES, CARDAMOM! No, not cardamom. (sniff) Definitely not cardamom.” He frowned, deep in thought.

He'd followed the trail to Basement 29, a floor with thirty mid-sized guest suites. A few false trails had tried to lead him astray at the stairwells, including one that led to the Doctor spending ten minutes investigating a broom closet. Nonetheless, his nose had led him back to the true path, down and down and down til at last he'd reached Basement 29, Room 2917. He stared at the door, still bothered by that something-else in the air.

The Doctor looked at the small panel affixed to one side of the door. “Biometric identification,” he murmured. “Still, when you can change into anyone or anything, I imagine it's not too hard to fool one of these. Could be hostages. Have to be careful.” Squatting down, he pointed the sonic screwdriver at the identification device and attempted to disable the door security.

“Deadlock sealed!” he cursed under his breath. “Why do vice bars have to be so... state-of-the-art?” He shook his head. “Too much money. Far too much money. Ah well.” He stood up and pressed his back against the wall, one hand holding the sonic and the other hovering over the room's door chime. “So much for the element of surprise,” he said, activating the chime.

Within ten seconds the door opened a crack--

--and the Doctor burst in, holding out his sonic screwdriver like a weapon. “Back, back! Get back, into the room!” he ordered. A scared-looking young man tripped, falling on his backside as he tried to retreat from the Doctor's forced entry. Looking up, the Doctor's brow wrinkled in confusion as he saw on a gigantic screen what must have been the man's own personal vice:
<p align=center>
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“Oh. Sitcoms,” the Doctor said quietly. He looked at the bewildered young man, who was now cowering behind a somewhat ragged sofa. “Err, routine room inspection,” he continued in a much more confident-sounding voice. He smiled and quickly flashed his psychic paper to the youth, then put it back in his overcoat. “This one looks, well, fine, really, just fine. Good room. Very nice. Thank you for your time. And, er,” he gestured to the screen, “try not to overdo it with that stuff, yeah?”

The Doctor backed out and closed the door carefully behind him, then leaned his back against it and stared vacantly. “That something else,” he said softly. His eyes flicked toward the ceiling as he pondered. Then they grew wide and his mouth opened slowly. “Ohh, that something else.” His jaw set; his eyes narrowed; frustration made its way into his words. “That isn't cardamom. It's an oil used in the artificial pheromone manufacturing process, seeps through the machinery and into the products.” He clenched his teeth in anger. “Calligo isn't in this room, or even on this floor. It's a trick.”

He rubbed his temples with one hand. “Wait, wait, wait... so the Plex used artificial plenexomene to lead me on a wild goose chase through the vice bar. But why would it use artificial plenexomene? What's the point? It should have easily been able to use its own pheromones to lay down that trail.” He paused. “Ooh, unless...” His eyes raised, staring through the ceiling as he worked it out. “Unless it didn't have any choice in the matter – which would mean it isn't producing its own plenexomene.” Longer pause. “<I>That</I> would mean it's had a pheromone inhibitor grafted into its body. And <I>that</i> would mean that the plenexomene detector...”

Sentence unfinished, he jerked forward as though stung by a wasp, his eyes wider than ever.

“Rose.”

He took off running for the lift.

<HR>
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Rose was more than a little worried by this point.

Calligo and the Torg had taken her down to level 46; when the lift had opened, a long, dimly lit corridor had stretched out ahead. <i>Guest suites</I>, Rose had realized as she'd looked at the doors lining the hall – but no other guests in sight.

The four of them had moved swiftly past door after door, too fast for Rose to catch any details about her surroundings. Then there had been a pause; Calligo was pressing her hand on something next to one of the doors. Rose had looked all round herself, hoping to see something, anything, that could have helped her. Nothing. The doors opened...

… and now, not five minutes later, here she was: bound to some sort of inclined padded table by the Torg, who had then left. It reminded her very much of the time she and Mickey and the Doctor had been on that derelict ship, the one that had integrated its crew into the machinery and had instructed its clockwork servants to steal the brain of Madame de Pompadour in 18th-century France. This restraining table felt quite similar, actually, only it was less utilitarian and far more... posh? Sleek, elegant, even sort of comfortable... but still, ultimately, bondage.

Rose tested her bonds for the <I>n</I>th time. Her upper arms and wrists were securely held in place at slight angles away from her body; her ankles, likewise, were immobilised such that her feet were about shoulder-distance apart. She could lift her hips off the table, but only just, and only for a short while. She wiggled her feet; there didn't seem to be anything under her sneakers keeping her from sliding off the table, but she was very securely held in place. A plausible but unbidden explanation popped into her mind: <I>More gravity stuff</I>. Letting out a frustrated growl, she craned her neck to look at her captor. Instead, she was surprised to see only a circle of light around herself and the table, and as for everything else – darkness. For several very long moments, the sound of her own elevated heartbeat was all that registered in the now-silent room.

“It's called a blackroom.” Calligo's husky voice shattered the silence, there was no visible sign of the Plex. “It dampens the light everywhere in the room but where the spotlight shines. Blackrooms are often used for interrogations, torture chambers...” Rose imagined the woman wearing an evil smile.

“Look,” Rose interrupted, “I don't know what you want with me. If this is an interrogation, then believe me, there's nothing I can say that you'd be interested in. Literally, nothing.” Her eyes darted to and fro, trying in vain to find Calligo in the darkness.

“You were chasing me,” came the voice from the darkness, “and your friend still is. Why?”

Rose paused for a moment. “Wh... I don't know, I just sort of... follow the Doctor.” No reply. “That's my friend, the Doctor. He's... he said something about a, a Silver Princess, or...?”

“Empress,” Calligo corrected. “The Silver Empress of Nanawa. Oh, what times we had,” she sighed wistfully. “She was so happy, and I was so happy for her. For both of us.”

“The Doctor said you'd killed her,” Rose said. “Said you'd given her too many drugs.”

“Too many? No, no,” the shadows chuckled, “I gave her exactly what she wanted. And she gave me exactly what I needed.” The Plex inhaled loudly, as though taking in a scent. “As will you, Rose Tyler. Very soon now.” Calligo suddenly appeared in the circle of light, holding a small spherical object in one hand. She raised the sphere between herself and Rose.

“What is that?” Rose asked, wide-eyed, as a blue light emanated from the sphere and cast itself on her face.

Calligo smiled. “It's a brain scanner.”

“I already told you, I don't know anything you'd be interested in.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” Calligo replied, still smiling. The blue light went out, and the woman looked down at the scanner intently as though reading something on it. After a few moments, she shifted her gaze to Rose, one eyebrow raised, a bemused smile on her lips. “Really, now?”

Rose frowned, anxious. “What is it? What does it say?”

“It's a custom program of mine, “Calligo answered, holding up the scanner. “It tells me what your greatest pleasures are.”

“What,” Rose chuckled nervously, “like eating chips? Or... no, I bet it says 'traveling with the Doctor', doesn't it?”

“Well done,” the Plex answered, eyebrow raised. “Those are ninth and first, respectively.” Tucking the scanner into a small pouch at her side, Calligo approached her prisoner, standing to one side. She leaned over, her gaze never leaving Rose's own, so that their eyes were level. “Of course, I can't simply follow you and this 'Doctor' around, can I? Especially not since the two of you are, in fact, following <I>me</I>. So I'm afraid we'll have to settle for your second choice – which will be far more simple, and infinitely more fun for me.”

Rose kept her eyes locked defiantly on those of her captor despite her growing unease. “Calligo,” she said, “if you'll just listen to me, I promise that when the Doctor gets heEAH!” She stopped mid-sentence as a surprised yelp forced its way out of her throat. Something had squeezed her left hip, just at the waist of her jeans. Glancing down, she saw Calligo's hand hovering just over that spot. Shocked and angry, Rose shouted, “What are you doing? Don't you touch me!”

Calligo breathed in deeply, eyes closed, as though she were reading something in the air. The bemusement on her face morphed into joy. “So the scanner <I>was</I> right,” she laughed. Opening her eyes, she stared with hunger at the furiously blushing Rose. “Oh, you and I are going to have such a good time.”

<HR>
“Look, I have no idea what you're on about,” Rose said through clenched teeth. She closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself. “So what if eating chips is – I mean really, it's number nine? – but so what if it is? Why don't we just go down to the bar and order some chips, yeah? You'd like that, because I'd like that, isn't that right?”

“Not as much as I'm going to like this,” Calligo smiled.

“And what is 'this', anyway?” said Rose quickly, obviously stalling. “'Cause if I'm getting tied down to a table to let someone feed off my own pleasure, I think I've got the right to know what's going to happen.”

The Plex didn't seem to mind the interruption. “Well, why not?” She raised a hand in front of her face, examining her sparkling nail polish. One by one she closed her fingers, then looked again at Rose. “Your greatest pleasure – or, well, your greatest easily exploitable pleasure – is one of my personal favorites. It can take so many forms, from the most playful touch to the most torturous attack. Together, I think, we'll find something of a happy medium. Table at eighty degree incline.” This last appeared to be a voice command to Rose's restraints, as the table obediently and silently raised its prisoner to a nearly upright position. Calligo, standing directly in front of Rose, placed a hand on each of the young woman's shoulders.

“Rose,” the shapeshifter sighed, “actions speak so much louder than words.” She pressed down ever so lightly on the black leather of Rose's jacket. “So tell me...” – both hands drifted slowly down, snaking inside the jacket – “...what does <i>this</I> say to you?” And, with that, her fingernails drummed lightly under Rose's arms.

“PfFHAH!” Rose sputtered, her voice leaping in pitch. Her arms immediately tried to clamp down on the invading fingers, but the upper arm restraints were too secure to allow it. Even her shirt – a sleeveless white cotton top – offered no protection. “What – HAha – what are... STOP IT!” Her expression alternated between ticklish grin and angry scowl as she tried to shift her torso to trap at least one of Calligo's hands. The manoeuvre, however, left her opposite underarm even more open to the Plex's dancing touch, and Rose found herself rocking back and forth, giggling madly and ultimately having no effect on her captor's opening attack.

Calligo half purred, half growled. "Now we're talking."

<P align=center>
cliffhanger199303g.jpg
</p>
 
As the tenth would say... Molto Bene'!!!! Please continue!!!
 
Thank you! I will see if i can convince the Muses to help me continue :)
 
Would it help if I tied them down and tickled them until they agreed to start whispering in your ear again?
 
been a while since i read a doctor who story..mega fan of the show! ^^ so yeah looking forward to this one bub!...thou right now i have the urge to watch doctor who even if it is nearly 1am here lol
 
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