Chapter Text
Six weeks.
Six bloody weeks on that dragon to reach Indiana and the Doctor was craving something to do. Not even an encounter with Potina, the Roman goddess of childhood drinks, who pursued them in the form of a giant red pitched emblazoned with a smiley face had been enough to curb his craving for adventure.
“We could have taken the TARDIS,” he’d complained, though he knew it was fruitless. As the others so kindly reminded him, the prophecy had said that they must ride upon the bronze fire-eater, so only Leo’s bronze dragon, Festus, would do.
The Doctor was no amateur at large dragon-riding, and had thorough experience with Festus, but never had he seen the creature show such hostility towards a place. They’d glazed over oceans, through states and countries, not even in New Jersey did he bat an eye, and he even tolerated Ohio, but it seemed Indiana was the last straw.
Festus landed on the cupola of the Indiana Statehouse, flapping his metallic wings and blowing a cone of fire that incinerated the state flag right off the flagpole. The Doctor could feel Apollo’s grip tighten around his waist.
“Woah, buddy!” Leo pulled at the dragon’s reins. “We’ve talked about this. No blowtorching public monuments!”
Behind him, on the dragon’s spine, Calypso gripped Festus’s scales for balance, cold wind whipping through her hair, “Could we please get to the ground? Gently this time?”
“Ah, come on, the rocky landing’s part of the fun,” The Doctor dismounted, perhaps with more force than was necessary, balancing on one of the flat rings of the dome, itching to be able to stretch his legs, even for just a moment. For weeks she’d been complaining about the poor conditions of their travel – mind you, Apollo did much the same, but hers was with so much more intention. Like the fact that the Doctor was thriving in the conditions infuriated her more than anything, and she took every opportunity she could to remind them that Leo was her boyfriend and would prioritize her.
The Doctor helped Apollo down, balancing beside him, which for whatever inconceivable reason seemed to infuriate her even further.
“Apollo, can you sense anything?” Leo asked, still aboard the dragon and oblivious to it all.
“Why is it my job to sense things? Just because I used to be a god of prophecy –”
“You’re the one’ who’s been having visions,” Calypso reminded him. “You said your friend Meg would be here.”
Apollo flinched at the sound of her name.
“That doesn’t mean I can pinpoint her location with my mind!” He snapped, “Zeus has revoked my access to GPS!”
“GPS?”
Apollo rolled his eyes, “It’s the Godly Positioning Systems.”
“That’s not a real thing!”
“Oh, what would you know?”
The Doctor and Leo made exasperated eye contact.
“Right, all right, Apollo, just give it a go,” the Doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead. “And before you ask, I’m not checking your head for it. Just try.”
Reluctantly, and with some grumbling, Apollo stepped back, turning his gaze to the horizon. Highways criss-crossed scrubby brown plains and shadows of winter clouds floated above a sprawl of urban construction. Around them rose a meager cluster of downtown high-rises – stacks of stone and glass, layered wedges of black and white.
“This is the spot,” Apollo determined after a long moment. “Before this dome collapses under us, I suggest we get to the ground.”
Calypso grumbled irritably in ancient Minoan, “I already said that.”
“Well, excuse me, sorceress!” He snipped back in the same language, “Perhaps if you had helpful visions, I’d listen to you more often!”
“As helpful as that would be, I think one person having prophetic dreams is enough for now. ” The Doctor said, gesturing to Apollo to join him back on their draconic steed.
Calypso let out a cry of frustration and could only glare as they re-mounted.
“I thought we agreed, no ancient dialects,” Leo complained, “It’s no fun to be the only one left out. English or Spanish, please.”
Festus’s ruby eyes glowed as he took off, flapping his wings and leaping from the dome so that they hurled dowarwands and landed just in front of the statehouse with enough force to crack the sidewalk. The dragon whipped his head from side to side, steam curling from his nostrils.
The Doctor saw no immediate threats. Cars drove leisurely down the street. Pedestrians strolled by comfortably. A man in a blue seersucker suit waved politely as he passed. “Morning.”
“‘Ello,” the Doctor waved back pleasantly.
“‘Sup, dude,” Leo called down.
Calypso tilted her head. “Why was he so friendly? Does he not see that we’re sitting atop a fifty-ton metal dragon?”
The Doctor shrugged. “They’re only human, aren’t they? They don’t see anything – not if they don’t want to.”
“Hey!” Leo called, sounding insulted.
“What?” Calypso said, just as Apollo asked, “Really?” They both looked terrified, deer in headlights.
“No, not really,” Leo assured them, shooting the Doctor a look, “At least, not like that. They’re mortals – they can’t see through the Mist.” He smiled at Calypso, “The Mist messes with mortal eyes. Makes monsters look like stray dogs. Makes swords look like umbrellas. Makes me look even more handsome than usual.”
She rolled her eyes, jabbing her thumbs into her boyfriend’s kidneys.
“Ow!” He complained.
“I know what the Mist is, Leonidas –”
“Hey, I told you never to call me that.”
“– but the Mist must be very strong here if you can hide a monster of Festus’s size at such close range. Don’t you find that a little odd?”
“Good point,” the Doctor praised, and he could see the way Calypso shot a look at Apollo when he did. “We should probably find somewhere to lay low –”
Festus stumbled, shaking like a wet dog. From inside his chest came a noise like a loose bicycle chain.
“Aw, not again,” Leo said, “Everybody off!”
The crew all dismounted, the Doctor taking a step back to study the passing pedestrians.
It was true, the Mist was stronger in some places than it was in others, but as he watched the people peruse by, he couldn’t help but feel disconcerted. If there was any word to describe the human race, it would be tumultuous. Their undying hope, their emotionally conflicted nature, their fixations on the tiniest aspects of life eternally charmed him. Yet these humans, they walked around with placid faces and dazed smiles. They all walked pleasantly about their day. No one in a rush to work, no one having had a long day at the office or a bad breakup.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Leo run in front of Festus, holding his arms out reassuringly. “Hey, buddy, it’s fine! I’m just going to switch you off for a while, okay? A little downtime to –”
Festus projectile-vomited a column of flames that engulfed Leo. Fortunately, this particular demigod was fireproof, but less fortunately, his clothes were not. He could usually prevent his outfits from burning by simply concentrating, though at times like these when he was caught by surprise…well, it didn’t always work.
When the flames dissipated, Leo stood before them in nothing but his asbestos boxers, his magical tool belt, and a pair of smoking, partially-melted trainers.
“Dang it!” he complained. “Festus, it’s cold out here!”
The dragon stumbled. Leo lunged and flipped the lever behind the dragon’s left foreleg. Festus began to collapse. His wings, limbs, neck, and tail contracted into his body, his bronze plates overlapping and folding inward. In a matter of seconds, the large scaled beast had been reduced to a large bronze suitcase.
Leo scowled at his new piece of luggage. “Man…I thought I fixed his gyrocapacitor. Think there’s a machine shop around here?”
Calypso grimaced. Her pink ski jacket glistened with condensation from the flight through the clouds. “And if we find such a shop, how long will it take to repair Festus?”
Leo shrugged. “On my own? Maybe thirty hours? With the Doctor, probably closer to twelve.”
The Doctor scoffed, “Won’t take me more then eight.”
He’d taken off his long trenchcoat, wrapping it around Leo and buttoning it to help defend from the cold.
Leo rubbed his arms, “Geez, you’re lucky you don’t get cold, Doctor.”
He shook his head, “I do, just not as easily as you humans.”
Calypso opened her mouth as if to say something, when she was suddenly cut off by a woman in a very floral dress, whom the Doctor was half-sure had passed by them before, not having even spared them a cursory glance.
“Beautiful morning!” Her smile was vacant, looking obscenely pleasant in her purple-and-yellow honeysuckle-patterned dress and 1950s bouffant hairstyle.
The Doctor glanced upward. It was a rather dreary morning, actually, cold with a cloudy sky and the smell of impending snow.
He could see Apollo flash her a smile, acknowledging, but dismissive. I see you, it said, now off you go. But this woman did not seem to take the hint. In fact, she strolled forward and planted herself directly in front of the little crew.
Now, the Doctor wasn’t exactly one to judge, but there was something just a touch off about her. She wasn’t particularly large, but her proportions seemed just a touch off for an average human. Her chest and stomach protruded lumpily, like a child stuffing their shirt with pillows, and her arms and legs were spindly and almost coleopteran.
“Oh, my!” She gripped her purse with both hands, getting all the more close so they could see her violently purple lipstick and eye shadow, “Aren’t you children cute !”
That was…odd. Sure, the Doctor still wasn’t quite looking back to his normal self, but even Apollo who was the youngest-looking of them all couldn’t have passed for under fifteen.
“Madam,” Apollo spoke first, his tone clipped, as if this bothered him personally, “we are not children.”
He went to walk past her, but she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. The Doctor immediately stepped forward beside him – he could feel a confrontation building,
“You can’t go yet, dear!” The woman insisted, “We haven’t welcomed you to Indiana!”
“And how do you know we’re not…” the Doctor’s voice trailed off as the woman drew her smartphone. The screen was glowing, as if a call was already in progress.
“It’s him, all right,” she said into the phone with glee. “Everybody, come on over. Apollo is here!”
Said ex-god glanced at the Doctor who frowned. While he was rather popular, the looming feeling that surrounded this place gave him the clear view that she was perhaps less of a fan than she was leading them on to believe.
But the look in Apollo’s eyes was panicked. Not quite knowing per se, but it was distinctly fearful.
“Uh…Madam,” His voice quivered slightly as he addressed the woman, “I’m afraid you have mistaken me –”
“Don’t be modest!” The woman tossed her phone and purse aside. She grabbed Apollo’s wrist. The Doctor could see the muscles in his wrist tense, but she lifted it like it was nothing. “Our master will be delighted to have you in custody. And please, call me Nanette.”
“Nanette –” The Doctor tried to address, but as he did so, Calypso charged, forcing him to duck out of the way so as not to get blown over in the process.
The ex-goddess punched Nanette in the face.
It was an interesting choice to be sure. For most, in the face of sudden mortality and the loss of godly powers, they proceeded with excess caution, and these past six weeks had done nothing but confirm that, Not only that, but the skills she’d tried to master so far she’d gotten too frustrated with and given up as the feelings of inadequacy only grew, despite the Doctor’s attempts to teach her.
Swords and polearms had gotten them nowhere. Shurikens proved too easy to lose. Whips left her with welts on her own ankles. Even her attempts at improvisational comedy had been a bust.
“It’s an art-form, just like anything else,” the Doctor had tried to remind her, “It requires patience and measure.”
He’d nearly taken a shuriken to the eye for that one, but thankfully she missed and it got lost somewhere up in the rafters of the small barn house they’d taken over for the night.
The punching was new, though the Doctor supposed it was only natural, seeing the frustration and anger that all seemed to be bubbling over. It appeared that she needed another lecture on talking first and fighting after.
What was most surprising, however, was the loud CRACK that sounded as Calypso’s fist made contact against Nanette’s face, like finger bones breaking.
“Ow!” Calypso stumbled away, clutching her hand.
Nanette’s head slid backward. She released Apollo to grab her own face. The Doctor quickly pulled him back by their shoulders, watching as her hands just missed her head as it toppled backwards off the base of her neck. It clanged against the pavement like a metal bowling ball and rolled sideways, the eyes still blinking, the purple lips still twitching. The small stub of neck still attached was smooth and looked like steel. Attached to it were ragged strips of duct tape stuck with hair and bobby pins.
“Holy Hephaestus!” Leo ran to Calypso’s side to examine her hand.
The Doctor took the time to really take stock of the woman.
“You’re not human, then,” he noted calmly.
“Certainly not,” the woman’s muffled voice did not come from her decapitated head on the sidewalk, but instead emanated from somewhere inside her dress. Just above her collar, where her neck used to be, an outcropping of fine blond hair was tangled with bobby pins, “And I must say, hitting me wasn’t very polite.”
“Well, I do apologize –”
“You’re a blemmyae,” Apollo breathed, clutching the Doctor’s elbow tightly. The Time Lord felt a flame of anger alight in his chest as he saw the dark bruise that was beginning to form on Apollo’s forearm.
Nanette chuckled. Her midsection writhed beneath her honeysuckle cloth. The cloth of her blouse split through the middle – where a human’s pecs would have been held two massive bulging eyes, blinking as the sun peeked through the clouds for a sliver before disappearing again. From the woman’s sternum protruded a large shiny nose. Across her abdomen curled glistening orange lips and teeth that were a perfectly pearly white, looking all too pleased about the situation.
“Yes, dear,” the face said, pink tongue slipping out to lip some of the saliva off her lips, “And I am arresting you in the name of the Triumvirate!”
Up and down the streets of Indiana, pleasant-looking pedestrians turned and began walking in their direction.
Well…the Doctor had wanted some excitement.