rating: 13+, guns, daleks Set before The Evil of the Daleks, and after Warriors' Gate.
Character: Victoria Waterfield Summary: It's just one more thing she has to learn.
There is no Doctor in this. Or men. And now that 80 percent of the fandom has wandered off...
The Lady-Like Arts
by ALC Punk!
It was meant to be a lovely sunny day, but Victoria Waterfield wasn't exactly enjoying it. A friend of her father's had arrived unexpectedly to instruct her in what she claimed was one of the more esoteric, yet lady-like and essential, arts. Victoria wasn't so certain of that, but she wasn't going to object to spending the afternoon in the company of a poised, obviously popular at court, Countess.
"Yes, hold it like that." chastised her instructor.
Victoria didn't grumble; it wasn't lady-like to grumble at one's guest, especially when she was an aristocratic woman with great poise and steel in her spine. So instead, she did as she was told. She aimed carefully down the barrel of the gun. Then she paused. "And now I squeeze the trigger?"
"Gently." Lady Anna Trelundar told her, smiling serenely. "It's going to make a loud bang, but you shouldn't jump."
The bang was very loud, and Victoria almost dropped the pistol as it recoiled in her hand. Her ears rang, and she almost let out a little scream. Almost. But screaming wasn't particularly lady-like, either.
"Very good. Now again, until you hit the target."
Victoria aimed again, slightly rattled by the noise and the kick. This time she missed, but she didn't flinch.
For the next half hour, Victoria shot again and again, and learned to load her pistol and then several other types until Lady Anna was satisfied.
"Very good." The blonde looked over the four guns, "You've done well."
A brief smile crossed the aristocrat's lips, and then she carefully began packing the pistols up. "You're very welcome, my dear."
"Why did my father want you to teach me to shoot?"
"He didn't say, child."
Victoria made a face, then remembered ladies weren't supposed to make faces. If it wasn't just like her father. He always had reasons for doing things, and he never explained. She sighed, and mustered up a smile. "Will you stay to tea, Lady Anna?"
"No, I'm afraid I must push off, Victoria." The carefully-plucked brows arched, "There's simply not enough time for tea."
Disconcerted for reasons she didn't understand, Victoria nodded. "Well, thank you." She moved to the door into the house, "If you'll just come this way?"
"That's all right, child, I think I'll walk around." The smile was genuine this time. "It's a lovely day, you know."
"Yes. Goodbye, and safe journey." Victoria said.
Lady Anna waved, then turned and walked around the side of the building. Victoria sighed, and headed into the house. After tea, she really would track down her father and demand an explanation of him. There was entirely too much going on that he wasn't telling her about, and she was determined, this time. He would answer.
Sadly, Victoria's questions would have to wait. The Daleks kidnapped her after tea in an effort to use her as leverage against her father.
Around the side of the house, there was a small pillar. Lady Anna Trelundar stepped up to it and reached out to touch the side, sliding a slim key into a small hole. The key turned and the pillar opened enough for her to walk inside. Once inside, she sighed.
Smiling, Romana looked at the robot dog with affection. "What is it, K-9?"
"How did it go, mistress?"
"I believe it went rather well, actually." She stretched, then winced as her corset poked her. "And I'm going to go remove this ridiculous contraption. Have you worked out the coordinates for the next one?"
"Good." Unlacing her dress, Romana headed for the wardrobe, and something less constricting.
The genesis for this story came from watching Tomb of the Cybermen, when Victoria picks up a pistol and blows a cybermat away without flinching. Where did she learn how to shoot? Somehow, I can't imagine it being something good little girls were taught where she was raised... It was only a slightly further step to imagine Romana deciding to ensure the Doctor's companions survived.