She goes by many names. The adventurer, the genius; A liar, a truth seeker. But in the end, all of that won't matter any more.
Why?
The universe is dying, be careful what you say. The Doctor can't save all of you.
Doctor Who Fanfiction. Skips aroun...
The cafe that she almost walked past a few days ago smelled like baking bread, that was the main reason why she walked in. It was just a smell, but it was a scent that she that she couldn't resist. Her link to the past.
That was why she sat there now, a vast array of papers spread in front of her. She was researching, it was basically her job in a sense, and she was very good at her job.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Here's your coffee, miss," she heard an English accent say to her.
She went to look up at the waitress, smiling her thanks, but she was already gone.
Teanna just shook her head with a sigh and got back to work.
To her right she heard someone walk out of the kitchens, not thinking much of the fact because she didn't care much at all.
If she looked, however she would have seen the small frame of the waitress being towered over by figure cloaked in black. If she was looking she would have seen the tears cascading down the girl's face, if she had been paying attention she would have heard the sound of a laser penetrating flesh, or maybe even the girl's attempt to warn her. But, it seemed, that she was not.
Teanna gave up on her research, head hitting the back of booth with a half bored groan. Carefully she gathered her belonging when a figure walked in. They wore a black leather jacket and walked with an air of confidence surrounding them. Teanna didn't seem to notice this either.
She reached across the table for a paper that strayed from the group and snatched it towards her, knocking over her journal in the process.
Teanna quietly swore, reaching down for the notebook, but a calloused hand beat her to it.
"Here you go," a man's Northern accent said with a jovial edge.
"Thanks," she answered, taking the notebook from here hand.
The man took a paper off the table, a drawing of one of her designs.
"These are fantastic," he said, his lonely blue eyes meeting her wild calculating blue orbs.
"Mmhm," she hummed, gently snatching the paper from his hand and adding it to the rest.
"No, they absolutely are," he pushed, as if the only thing that mattered that she believed him.
Her eyes darted toward the exit, feeling the need to leave now that she had cleaned up.
"Thank you, that's very kind," she said with a small smile, her head tilted down in apppreciation. The coffee cup caught her gaze, her eyebrows furrowed when she remembered she had brought another cup.
"What's it of?" she heard the man ask, he bounced a few times on the balls of his feet.
"Hmm," she absent-minded picked up the cup and took a sip.
"Oh. What's it of?" She repeated the question.
"An old friend of mine," she answered vaguely, looking past the man.
