Doctor Who Academy Era Oneshots

In The End, The Rainbow Robes Didn't Belong To Rassilon

*Credit for this goes to my best friend Thirteenth_Sin!*

*Kind of a part 2 to my earlier chapter "Nobody Likes Braxatiel"*

His whole world was spinning. From Braxiatel's  unsteady field of vision and the bucking the ground beneath his feet, all the way to the constant pull that whispered around the edges of his mind, further disorientating him, like the tides of the vast, crystal ocean that swept across Gallifrey, the reflecting light of the dual Suns seeming to light the water ablaze, beckoning to him with silvery tones of all that was, all that is, and all that could be. The slack in his telepathic shields caused him to lose himself to that mesmerizing song.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

With an abrupt shake of his head he forced the golden strands tugging at him firmly behind the solid stone doors in his mind.

 

Where was he again? His thoughts were still rather blurry.

Ah! That was it!

He was cataloging the latest editions to his collection, he must have triggered one of the items, whatever it was must have been some kind of mental disrupter, which would explain why not only had his mental walls been shaken so badly, but also why he couldn't see too well at this particular point in time. He would heal from it, but depending on how strong it was would determine how long it would take to heal.

 

Glancing at the stone doors he had so firmly closed; he saw on the ever shifting temporal display engraved on them, that it had been exactly six minutes, forty-two seconds and fifty-six milliseconds. That is, if one were to go by the time keeping standards of Sol 3 prior to the 51st century and the creation of their version of time travel. Furthermore, he also had the rather unpleasant discovery that it was nearly time for him to give a presentation at Prydon Academy on the theorized mechanics of how The Rassilon (cough* the Other and Omega) had stabilized the Eye of Harmony.

 

He quickly plucked himself up of the floor (how undignified) and straightened himself up best he could with his vision out of sorts, and rushed out of his collection, pausing only to secure the door behind him, wouldn't do for his foolish younger brother... And said brother's... Consorts... To get in and make a mess of his prized collection! Not at all!

He moving as quickly as a dignified Time Lord-to-be such as himself could he entered his rooms with a flourish of his robes. Not bothering to glance in the wall display to inspect his appearance, an action he would dearly regret later, he swiped the cube that contained all the research he would need from the niche in the wall, and exited his living quarters. Had it not been for the chaos that had swept through his mind, Braxiatel would have normally allowed his time sense free to resonate across his mind as it pleased, but he couldn't risk it at the moment, especially with such an important deadline, for if he succeeded, his time at the Academy would be cut short and he would be not only granted his regeneration cycle early, but also would have earned a very important reputation that would be vital in his... Future plans for Gallifrey. All the same, he felt the doors in the back of his mind shift and grown as a timeline was fixed into place. Forcing back his desire to stop and analyze it, the student took off to the Academy.

 

Not even his dimmed sense of sight would stop him now.

 

As he walked very very quickly through the streets with his distinguished and pompous bearing that he had practically strolled out of the looms with, Irving Braxiatel began categorizing his knowledge and organizing the presentation in his head. He left only subconscious control of where he was going, shuttering off most of his senses, including the faulty eyesight--- he must do something about that later. It was becoming quite the bother. Now, had this poor, ignorant Academy student been paying attention to his surroundings, or even the telepathic bond that all his people shared, he would have been made aware of the disapproving murmurs of those he swept by, and perhaps would not have landed himself neatly into his the pranksters: Theta Sigma & Co's trap.

Braxiatel frowned, the timeline seemed to become more and more set as he came closer to the looming gates that signified he had arrived at the Academy.

 

Sweeping through the halls as his shoes clicked sharply against the glassy tile, he vaguely registered the familiar tones of his younger brother trying to stifle a laugh. Drawing his stern facial expression tighter, Braxiatel mentally reminded himself to have a word with Theta; it was bad enough he was failing his classes, it wouldn't do to have the House of Lungbarrow's reputation smeared by the boy's antics, not at all. He would have to see about acquiring a new tutor for young initiate. The slow, dull, thick-witted Borusa simply wouldn't do. That tutor had always seemed to a encourage the foolhardy antics and was most probably the root of why the only worthy thing that Theta had accomplished yet was valuable bonds with two students of high promise, though Braxiatel thought a little of them as their tutor and had made no secret of it.

 

Upon making it into the auditorium, the young Gallifreyan moved to the front and began to go through the required ceremonial opening that he had been taught for important councils such as these. All the important Time Lords were gathered here to witness and it was vital he make a lasting impression.

The musical notes of High Gallifreyan, peeled off his lips like a soothing balm. His vision, which had been impairing him for so long, began to clear as he stated his intentions. The once blurry shapes came into focus, stern faces glaring down at him with anger and disapproval.

 

It was only when he bowed as custom called for, that to his horror, he saw in the seamless, polished floor his reflection staring back at him in bright vibrant clashing colors, a chaotic myriad of velvet purples to electric blues, forest greens to neon themes staining his entire person.

Many centuries later, when Theta, now known as a renegade called the Doctor, would wonder why his brother disliked his sixth body so much, it must be his snarky personality...