#(he still thinks his future and the doctor's future are one and the same. arghghghghgh.)

[corallapis]

One of the other men laughed gently to himself. His dark hair was swept back, and he had a greying, well-manicured beard. The old man glared in his direction. Greybeard raised an eyebrow in response, still smirking, then winked at Nyssa, who couldn't help but smile back. The old man glared at her as well. The figure closest to the edge of the platform murmured an incantation and raised his arms, the others mirroring the movement. Nyssa followed suit, and for the first time realised that she, too, was wearing a robe. With a growing sense of unease, she also saw that her hands were smaller. Her nails less manicured. Her arms... shorter. “How interesting all this is.” Greybeard's voice sounded vaguely familiar, though Nyssa couldn't quite place it. The old man turned to admonish them once more as Greybeard spoke again. “Now, I wonder if — ah.” The old man froze, as did the other figures, and even the snowflakes — hanging in the air as if they'd been captured in a painting. Only Nyssa and Greybeard remained unfrozen. “It's quite simple once you understand the basic principles, isn't it?” “I'm not sure,” she replied. “Who are these people? And where are we?” “Well, from the look of it, I'd say we're on an observation deck at the edge of Arcadia, and these are some of the more, shall we say... free-thinking members of the Prydonian chapter. I always knew your grandfather was a bit of a rebel, but as for hanging around with this lot of hippies, I must say he's ever so slightly gone up in my estimation. Now then, if I can just get the hang of this time-shift —” Greybeard frowned in concentration. “I still don't understand what's going on here,” Nyssa said haughtily. “Who are you?” Greybeard looked directly into her eyes. “I am a friend of your grandfather,” he purred. His eyes were mesmerising. “And I'm sorry to say that he's gone missing. I'm rather keen to find out exactly where he's run off to.” “Why?” “Because we have... unfinished business.” Nyssa wasn't sure she trusted this man. “What sort of unfinished business?” Then, pointing to the old man frozen like the snow in front of them, she said, “And isn't that my grandfather?” “It was,” Greybeard nodded. “But all this was some time ago. Really, Susan, I expected more of you.” “My name's not Susan!” Nyssa said. “And I'm not even sure that's my grandfather.” “Then who are you?” Greybeard asked, apparently bemused. “And why are you — ? Oh. Oh, I see. Temporal balance cones interfering with the personality interfaces, are they? Fascinating. I wonder who you're seeing. No, you're definitely not Susan, are you? You're another player, aren't you? Yes, from later on in his time stream. Much later on, given the time it took for the interface to stabilise. Who are you, by the way? Another Prydonian? No, you don't look the type at all. I wonder if this delightful little device will give me a little insight into his future — or mine, even.”

— The Toy