Give Alice control (Ending)

"If I'm to rewrite you," Alice said. "Then you'd need to complete the transition to becoming a fictional character. I can change fundamentals, then, such as your genre. Before that..."

"What do you need?" Rose said.

She was still blushing. Ok, so she was becoming a fictional character. Might not be the weirdest thing she'd been through with the Doctor, but it was up there.

And at least it meant she'd be able to get dressed again! She squirmed, still straining against the cuffs.

"The easiest way would be for you to write yourself in," Alice said. "Write, say, that your wrists are no longer bound. That would free them, and make you a full subject of the Land."

Ok," Rose said slowly.

She moved awkwardly, cheeks getting all the warmer as she had to near Alice. She didn't quite know how she was meant to type with her hands behind her back, but-

"Wait!" Alice interrupted. "It isn't that simple. Fiction can only exist in the Land."

"Ah, no," the Doctor interjected in turn. "I've seen a few characters try to escape before. it just takes an energy source, something to stabilise them."

"Indeed?" Alice said. She frowned. "That must have been before my time. Curiouser and curiouser. You can supply that?"

"The TARDIS, a bit of regeneration energy," the Doctor said. He waved it off like it was nothing, but there was plain urgency in his eyes. "I'll find a way."

"You're certain?" Alice said.

"I am," the Doctor said, insistent. "I'm not leaving Rose behind."

Rose, meanwhile, was still fidgeting. She hadn't understood most of what had been going on since she'd arrived in this place; this wasn't much different.

Just so long as she could get dressed, and get out of here. If the Doctor thought it was ok...

"I'll guide your hands," Alice said, to Rose now. "Come here."

Bright red, Rose agreed. She turned around, needing to crouch slightly to reach the typewriter from where it lay, far too aware that she was giving Alice a close up view of her ass.

Not that she could see Alice's expression; she might have been professionally indifferent, she might have been appraising, she might have been appreciative... Rose couldn't help but imagine the worst.

A whimper escaped her lips, too, at the full frontal view she was giving to the toy soldiers all around them, and even to the Doctor; he watched, his sympathy endearing at literally any other time. At that moment though, it was just embarrassing.

Alice took Rose's hands, guiding them over the keys; Rose wrote herself into the story.

"Rose found that her cuffs faded to nothing," Alice murmured.

And suddenly Rose felt the bindings on her wrists vanished. She gasped, and hurriedly crossed her arms over her front, awkwardly turning on the spot.

She didn't know where she wanted to face. No angle seemed like it offered her any less exposure.

"Is that it?" Rose squeaked. "Are you..."

Alice eyed Rose for a moment, then turned her attention back to the mushroom and typewriter.

"As if by magic, the clothes Rose had first worn returned to her," Alice said. The typewriter clicked away.

And then Rose was dressed. She breathed one, long sigh of relief, her cheeks still hot from the memory.

Oh god, everyone had seen her, the Doctor had spent way too much time watching her hurry around naked. She whimpered, but bit her lip, trying desperately to forget her humiliation.

"Thank you," the Doctor said; Rose echoed his words, voice high. "I can take it from here. The TARDIS is just through there?"

"Of course," Alice said. She smiled. "Please, do visit again Doctor. Hopefully you'll find your way to a much better genre next time."

He smiled, then turned. He walked through the archway first; Rose followed, Alice already typing away before she reached it.

Under her breath, Alice murmured as she wrote. It was worth testing...

"Rose was suddenly overcome by the urge to flash her ass to the Mistress of the Land of Fiction," Alice said, typing quickly.

Before Rose walked through the archway, she grabbed the back of her skirt, thumbs hooking around the top of it, her stockings and her panties, and pushed them all down.

It lasted maybe a second before Rose yelped, struggling to pull the garment back up.

Alice smiled to herself. She had enjoyed the view she'd gotten while Rose was typing, and if Rose was now fictional she could write whatever she wanted, make Rose act whatever way she felt like.

Something to remember at least, if she ever wanted to focus on a new character.

Idly she wrote a line to ensure Rose wouldn't let slip her brief, new exposure to the Doctor. Then Alice watched as Rose left, and shifted, sitting back on her toadstool.

Oh the stories she could tell...