After watching the first of the Doctor Who specials on Disney +, last Saturday, I've had Doctor Who on the brain. So I told myself that after I finished my USS Lincoln story, I would try creating my own Time Lord and here is it.
Say hola to the Wanderer.
Doctor Who: The Wanderer’s Journey
Episode One – ‘Bitter Theft’
By Jack Elmlinger
With one hell of a headache, the Wanderer pulled himself up to his feet, using the TARDIS console for leverage. He tried to stand straight up but he lurched forward, pressing a hand up against his head. He groaned, hating the whole regeneration thing.
He brought his hand down and looked at it. It was very similar to his old hand. He felt his head again. Discovering the he had short hair again like he did during his second regeneration, he felt his features while wanting to find a mirror. He turned to walk away to his room when the TARDIS banged loudly and felt like it had thudded against something.
Turning around, the Wanderer opened the doors and strode out of his time machine.
On the opposite side of the door, a hotel lobby awaited him. It was large, spacious and the decorations looked expensive. So did the furniture. At the end of the room, opposite the huge glass doors, there were two flights of stairs that led up to a balcony where there was a set of elevators. In front of the balcony, there was a reception desk where a man and a woman were working.
The Wanderer frowned, turning around and walking back inside the TARDIS to check several monitors on the console. Again, he lurched forward like he was going to be sick. Straightening himself, he went back out into the hotel lobby. After taking a brief moment to examine his surroundings, the Time Lord approached the receptionists.
“Can I help you, sir?,” the woman asked him, politely with an obviously put-on smile. The Wanderer stared at her for a moment.
“Excuse me, sir,” the young man asked him. “Can we help you?”
The Wanderer turned towards him and looked at him for a moment with a frown on his face. He leaned forward and pointed at him. “Do I know you?,” he asked him after taking a second to think about what he wanted to say.
“I don’t think so, sir,” the man said after looking at his colleague.
The Wanderer squinted. “No, no, I think… I think I do.”
“I haven’t seen you in a day of my life, sir.”
“Not yet,” the Wanderer said, smiling. Suddenly he slammed his hand down upon the desktop. “Damn it! Just after regeneration and I’ve still got it!,” he shouted with glee. “I think I’m going to like this new me. Though, I’ll have to admit that the old me was pretty good.”
“Do you have a reservation, sir?,” the woman asked him, despite her confusion.
“I… I… I don’t… I don’t think so.” He took in his surroundings again before snapping his fingers. “Wait!”
“What name is it, sir?,” the woman asked him with a smile.
“What? Oh, I’m the Wanderer… I think. What’s that got to do with anything, anyways?”
“Wanderer who, sir?”
“Just the Wanderer, darling,” snapped the Wanderer. “Look, that’s completely irrelevant.” He looked around conspiratorially and leaner in closer to her as did the other receptionist. “The point is, I can remember… how it happened…”
“How what happened, sir?”
“You see,” continued the Wanderer,” the Heklen War Masters executed me. But me, being me, or rather him. I’m not quite sure which me that it was, but it was still me.” He paused for a moment. “Crap, I’m started to ramble. Look, anyways, I somehow made it back to the TARDIS and regenerated. Hence me… again…”
The woman stared, nodded before she stepped away from the desk. “I’m calling the police,” she said and the Wanderer was taken aback by this statement.
“What? Why? You’re not making any sense!”
“You’ve clearly escaped from a hospital or somewhere.”
“A hospital? How dare you! I’m perfectly sane. Look at me. Two hands, two feet, a head, and a body. I’m me again! No, wait, that’s wrong. I’m completely different.” The Wanderer saw the woman trying to dial 911 and he quickly pulled the phone off of the desk and threw it through the air. He leaned forward, only this time; it was towards the man.
“If you – “
“Blonde?,” the Wanderer interrupted him.
“What?,” the man asked him in confusion.
“It’s quite simple, my good man. Is my hair blond?”
“No.”
The Wanderer slammed his fist on the desk again. “Damn! Six lifetimes and never a blonde! What does a man have to do in this Universe to get blonde hair?”
“You could always color it,” the man said, finding himself saying it involuntarily.
“Color it? No, no… It doesn’t really matter. Strange…” The Wanderer stared at the receptionists again. “The last me wanted to be a blonde too because Marilyn said that he’d look good that way.” He rubbed his chin. “Am I sure that I’ve regenerated?” He mused this question more to himself than anyone else.
“Look, sir, I’m going to have to call the manager.”
“The Manager, of course!,” yelled the Wanderer. “Who’s that, then?”
“I’m the Manager here,” a stern voice said from behind him. The Wanderer turned around and nearly ended up butting heads with a fairly tall but grim-looking woman. Their noses were practically touching. After a minute of exchanging stern glances, the Wanderer smiled.
“Hello, Miss Manager. I’m the Wanderer.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Well, I never,” scoffed the Traveler, leaning on the desk. “Never in my seven hundred years have I ever met someone who was so rude. I mean, the Daleks may be an evil menace, hell-bent on destroying all life in the Universe apart from their own but they wouldn’t even say anything like that.”
“You’re disturbing the other guests, sir,” replied the Manager. The Wanderer looked at the people around the lobby and saw that they were definitely staring at him. He looked back at her.
“You use your own words; I couldn’t care less.” A smile appeared after this witty statement.
“I must ask that – “
“Shut up! Don’t you know who I am?!”
The woman sighed, staring at him. The Wanderer remained silent with his question still standing between them. She shook her head and said,” No, I don’t.”
The Wanderer approached her slowly and again, he moved in close to her face. “That makes two of us.”
“You said that you were the Wanderer,” the female receptionist said and he turned towards her.
“I know that. I just don’t know what kind of me that I am.”
“You will leave now,” the Manager said,” or I will have you physically removed.”
The Wanderer looked at her, straight in the eye with his unflinchingly resolve. “I have defeated the Daleks, outdone the Cybermen, thwarted hapless Slitheen, and outsmarted the Nemesis on countless occasions,” he said through gritted teeth. “So, don’t think for a moment that you could force me to do anything. I’m the Wanderer and there is no one above me! Everything stops with me! Now… shut up!”
He sighed, staring at the Manager for a moment before shaking his head. “Now, what was I saying?”
“Mister, if you don’t leave this instant…”
“It’s okay,” a masculine voice said with a British accent from the direction of the elevators. Everyone turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in black trousers and a dark-green shirt standing in the open doorway to one of the elevators. “He’s with me,” he added, heading towards the Wanderer.
“Is he?,” the Manager asked, disbelievingly.
“Am I?,” the Wanderer asked, shaking his head again. “I mean, yes, I am. I’m with Greg.”
The Manager shot him a look before she turned towards the other man. “Mister Edmonds, get this man back up to your room immediately before I kick both of you out of here.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Edmonds replied. “Come on, Wanderer.”
The Wanderer turned towards him before following him up the stairs. Before he got into the elevator, the Wanderer ran to the railing and leaned over the edge of the landing. “Alice Thorne!,” he shouted happily.
The Manager looked up at him, perplexity spreading across her face. “How did you…”
“I’m the Wanderer,” he said, smiling. “I know lots of things. Make sure that nobody touches my box.” He winked at Alice and followed Edmonds into the elevator.
“How did you know that my name’s Greg, Wanderer?,” Edmonds asked him.
“I didn’t. You just look like a Greg. How do you know who I am?”
The elevator doors slid open and Greg led the way down the corridor to Room 110. The Wanderer followed him inside and began to inspect the room while Greg went into the bathroom.
“I used to work for UNIT,” he said, standing in the bathroom’s doorway.
“You did?,” the Wanderer asked him, looking at what was littering the top of the dresser, only half-listening to him.
“Yes. So, naturally, I know all about you.”
The Wanderer looked in the mirror and took in his new face. “Dark brown,” he mumbled. “Can I ever get blonde?”
Greg shook his head.
The Wanderer suddenly fell against the dresser with a hand pressed against his head. Greg moved to help him but the Wanderer waved his hand dismissively at him. “It’s all right,” he said. “This regeneration business can be a tricky thing. I guess I’m still cooking.”
“I bet it can.”
“So where was I?,” the Wanderer asked him, straightening up. “Oh, right. You were telling me where your clothes were.”
“I was?”
“Well, no, but that’s me politely telling you that I have no intention of continuing to look like a college student. So, I’m going to have some of your clothes. Where are they?”
Greg pointed towards the closet and the Wanderer smiled before he began to rummage through it. Jackets, shirts, socks, and other apparel flew through the air as Greg want back into the bathroom. “You know, Wanderer, I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. At UNIT, we’ve heard all about your adventures with Major Holden and all of the stories about the Doctor. The Sontarans, the Silurians, the Nemesis… Of course, those adventures must seem like a lifetime ago.”
“Why aren’t you with UNIT anymore?,” the Wanderer asked him from the main room.
Greg turned off the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. “I, uh, I…”
“What was that?” Greg was about to answer him when the Wanderer interrupted him. “It really doesn’t matter,” he said, leaving. “I’m going back down to the lobby.” The door closed shut behind him as Greg walked towards the doorway.
The Wanderer had left his old clothes on the bed. His plan was going easier than he had originally thought. He wasted no time and started rummaging through the pockets of the Time Lord’s old jacket. He found many unusual things in it. A package of Root Beer Barrels, a yoyo, an old pocket watch with Gallifreyan writing on it, a locket with a picture of Marilyn Monroe inside and… the TARDIS key.
Greg smiled when he pulled this out. He quickly shoved it into his pocket and left the room, locking the key inside before he sped down to the Boiler Room.
Say hola to the Wanderer.
Doctor Who: The Wanderer’s Journey
Episode One – ‘Bitter Theft’
By Jack Elmlinger
With one hell of a headache, the Wanderer pulled himself up to his feet, using the TARDIS console for leverage. He tried to stand straight up but he lurched forward, pressing a hand up against his head. He groaned, hating the whole regeneration thing.
He brought his hand down and looked at it. It was very similar to his old hand. He felt his head again. Discovering the he had short hair again like he did during his second regeneration, he felt his features while wanting to find a mirror. He turned to walk away to his room when the TARDIS banged loudly and felt like it had thudded against something.
Turning around, the Wanderer opened the doors and strode out of his time machine.
On the opposite side of the door, a hotel lobby awaited him. It was large, spacious and the decorations looked expensive. So did the furniture. At the end of the room, opposite the huge glass doors, there were two flights of stairs that led up to a balcony where there was a set of elevators. In front of the balcony, there was a reception desk where a man and a woman were working.
The Wanderer frowned, turning around and walking back inside the TARDIS to check several monitors on the console. Again, he lurched forward like he was going to be sick. Straightening himself, he went back out into the hotel lobby. After taking a brief moment to examine his surroundings, the Time Lord approached the receptionists.
“Can I help you, sir?,” the woman asked him, politely with an obviously put-on smile. The Wanderer stared at her for a moment.
“Excuse me, sir,” the young man asked him. “Can we help you?”
The Wanderer turned towards him and looked at him for a moment with a frown on his face. He leaned forward and pointed at him. “Do I know you?,” he asked him after taking a second to think about what he wanted to say.
“I don’t think so, sir,” the man said after looking at his colleague.
The Wanderer squinted. “No, no, I think… I think I do.”
“I haven’t seen you in a day of my life, sir.”
“Not yet,” the Wanderer said, smiling. Suddenly he slammed his hand down upon the desktop. “Damn it! Just after regeneration and I’ve still got it!,” he shouted with glee. “I think I’m going to like this new me. Though, I’ll have to admit that the old me was pretty good.”
“Do you have a reservation, sir?,” the woman asked him, despite her confusion.
“I… I… I don’t… I don’t think so.” He took in his surroundings again before snapping his fingers. “Wait!”
“What name is it, sir?,” the woman asked him with a smile.
“What? Oh, I’m the Wanderer… I think. What’s that got to do with anything, anyways?”
“Wanderer who, sir?”
“Just the Wanderer, darling,” snapped the Wanderer. “Look, that’s completely irrelevant.” He looked around conspiratorially and leaner in closer to her as did the other receptionist. “The point is, I can remember… how it happened…”
“How what happened, sir?”
“You see,” continued the Wanderer,” the Heklen War Masters executed me. But me, being me, or rather him. I’m not quite sure which me that it was, but it was still me.” He paused for a moment. “Crap, I’m started to ramble. Look, anyways, I somehow made it back to the TARDIS and regenerated. Hence me… again…”
The woman stared, nodded before she stepped away from the desk. “I’m calling the police,” she said and the Wanderer was taken aback by this statement.
“What? Why? You’re not making any sense!”
“You’ve clearly escaped from a hospital or somewhere.”
“A hospital? How dare you! I’m perfectly sane. Look at me. Two hands, two feet, a head, and a body. I’m me again! No, wait, that’s wrong. I’m completely different.” The Wanderer saw the woman trying to dial 911 and he quickly pulled the phone off of the desk and threw it through the air. He leaned forward, only this time; it was towards the man.
“If you – “
“Blonde?,” the Wanderer interrupted him.
“What?,” the man asked him in confusion.
“It’s quite simple, my good man. Is my hair blond?”
“No.”
The Wanderer slammed his fist on the desk again. “Damn! Six lifetimes and never a blonde! What does a man have to do in this Universe to get blonde hair?”
“You could always color it,” the man said, finding himself saying it involuntarily.
“Color it? No, no… It doesn’t really matter. Strange…” The Wanderer stared at the receptionists again. “The last me wanted to be a blonde too because Marilyn said that he’d look good that way.” He rubbed his chin. “Am I sure that I’ve regenerated?” He mused this question more to himself than anyone else.
“Look, sir, I’m going to have to call the manager.”
“The Manager, of course!,” yelled the Wanderer. “Who’s that, then?”
“I’m the Manager here,” a stern voice said from behind him. The Wanderer turned around and nearly ended up butting heads with a fairly tall but grim-looking woman. Their noses were practically touching. After a minute of exchanging stern glances, the Wanderer smiled.
“Hello, Miss Manager. I’m the Wanderer.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Well, I never,” scoffed the Traveler, leaning on the desk. “Never in my seven hundred years have I ever met someone who was so rude. I mean, the Daleks may be an evil menace, hell-bent on destroying all life in the Universe apart from their own but they wouldn’t even say anything like that.”
“You’re disturbing the other guests, sir,” replied the Manager. The Wanderer looked at the people around the lobby and saw that they were definitely staring at him. He looked back at her.
“You use your own words; I couldn’t care less.” A smile appeared after this witty statement.
“I must ask that – “
“Shut up! Don’t you know who I am?!”
The woman sighed, staring at him. The Wanderer remained silent with his question still standing between them. She shook her head and said,” No, I don’t.”
The Wanderer approached her slowly and again, he moved in close to her face. “That makes two of us.”
“You said that you were the Wanderer,” the female receptionist said and he turned towards her.
“I know that. I just don’t know what kind of me that I am.”
“You will leave now,” the Manager said,” or I will have you physically removed.”
The Wanderer looked at her, straight in the eye with his unflinchingly resolve. “I have defeated the Daleks, outdone the Cybermen, thwarted hapless Slitheen, and outsmarted the Nemesis on countless occasions,” he said through gritted teeth. “So, don’t think for a moment that you could force me to do anything. I’m the Wanderer and there is no one above me! Everything stops with me! Now… shut up!”
He sighed, staring at the Manager for a moment before shaking his head. “Now, what was I saying?”
“Mister, if you don’t leave this instant…”
“It’s okay,” a masculine voice said with a British accent from the direction of the elevators. Everyone turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in black trousers and a dark-green shirt standing in the open doorway to one of the elevators. “He’s with me,” he added, heading towards the Wanderer.
“Is he?,” the Manager asked, disbelievingly.
“Am I?,” the Wanderer asked, shaking his head again. “I mean, yes, I am. I’m with Greg.”
The Manager shot him a look before she turned towards the other man. “Mister Edmonds, get this man back up to your room immediately before I kick both of you out of here.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Edmonds replied. “Come on, Wanderer.”
The Wanderer turned towards him before following him up the stairs. Before he got into the elevator, the Wanderer ran to the railing and leaned over the edge of the landing. “Alice Thorne!,” he shouted happily.
The Manager looked up at him, perplexity spreading across her face. “How did you…”
“I’m the Wanderer,” he said, smiling. “I know lots of things. Make sure that nobody touches my box.” He winked at Alice and followed Edmonds into the elevator.
“How did you know that my name’s Greg, Wanderer?,” Edmonds asked him.
“I didn’t. You just look like a Greg. How do you know who I am?”
The elevator doors slid open and Greg led the way down the corridor to Room 110. The Wanderer followed him inside and began to inspect the room while Greg went into the bathroom.
“I used to work for UNIT,” he said, standing in the bathroom’s doorway.
“You did?,” the Wanderer asked him, looking at what was littering the top of the dresser, only half-listening to him.
“Yes. So, naturally, I know all about you.”
The Wanderer looked in the mirror and took in his new face. “Dark brown,” he mumbled. “Can I ever get blonde?”
Greg shook his head.
The Wanderer suddenly fell against the dresser with a hand pressed against his head. Greg moved to help him but the Wanderer waved his hand dismissively at him. “It’s all right,” he said. “This regeneration business can be a tricky thing. I guess I’m still cooking.”
“I bet it can.”
“So where was I?,” the Wanderer asked him, straightening up. “Oh, right. You were telling me where your clothes were.”
“I was?”
“Well, no, but that’s me politely telling you that I have no intention of continuing to look like a college student. So, I’m going to have some of your clothes. Where are they?”
Greg pointed towards the closet and the Wanderer smiled before he began to rummage through it. Jackets, shirts, socks, and other apparel flew through the air as Greg want back into the bathroom. “You know, Wanderer, I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. At UNIT, we’ve heard all about your adventures with Major Holden and all of the stories about the Doctor. The Sontarans, the Silurians, the Nemesis… Of course, those adventures must seem like a lifetime ago.”
“Why aren’t you with UNIT anymore?,” the Wanderer asked him from the main room.
Greg turned off the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. “I, uh, I…”
“What was that?” Greg was about to answer him when the Wanderer interrupted him. “It really doesn’t matter,” he said, leaving. “I’m going back down to the lobby.” The door closed shut behind him as Greg walked towards the doorway.
The Wanderer had left his old clothes on the bed. His plan was going easier than he had originally thought. He wasted no time and started rummaging through the pockets of the Time Lord’s old jacket. He found many unusual things in it. A package of Root Beer Barrels, a yoyo, an old pocket watch with Gallifreyan writing on it, a locket with a picture of Marilyn Monroe inside and… the TARDIS key.
Greg smiled when he pulled this out. He quickly shoved it into his pocket and left the room, locking the key inside before he sped down to the Boiler Room.
