Navigating shadows had become Annabelle's area of expertise in the past two years.
Christmas was quickly approaching 1892. She supposed it was meant to be cheery and bright, but there she was, hiding in the darkness, tracking down a suspicious old miser. A twist on A Christmas Carol, mostly.
The people flitting around made her weary. They were all, presumably, picking out gifts and trinkets for their loved ones, and that had been enough to send her into hysterics two years ago. It had been the last thing she had ever planned to do with Harley.
He wasn't on her mind then, with his letter - addressed to one BP in shaky writing - collecting dust in its box in her room, under her bed, in the TARDIS. Then, in the present, she was on a mission.
Annabelle nearly missed the place with the short mental distraction. Away from prying eyes, she scaled a drain pipe, and carefully crawled up the slanted side of the roof.
Below her, men milled about, the sight of their threadbare clothes enough to make her shiver. At least they weren't laid up in a sheet of snow, wind blowing more harshly with the height of the building.
Peering over the edge of the roof, right where the two slanted sides met, she could just see her client. Dr. Walter Simeon, 58. Head of the Great Intelligence Institute, commonly known as GI. Pinned down for the disappearances of several sets of men from the poorer parts of town.
"Beg pardon, Doctor Simeon," one of the men called. "It's been a long day. I don't see any food here."
"I do." Simeon's short response sent another wave of cold through Annabelle. Hundreds of thoughts crammed their way into her subconscious all at once - cannibalism? Murder... of course, murder. How else would the men disappear? She shook her head at the innocent thought of Simeon simply inviting them into his house.
Snow started crunching down on the ground before the balcony Simeon stood upon. It wasn't the right sound for snow under boots, but more like the sound of snow being packed together to form something.
Quick successions of shouts and yelps persuaded her into leaning even further over the rooftop. She stopped once she had a view of the courtyard - and when the snow threatened to let her slip down to the ground.
Snowmen were the only things that confused her then.
Snowmen everywhere; littering the courtyard, coincidentally cornering each man. "What is this?" the same worker from before asked, sounding more angry than frightened.
Annabelle inspected the snowmen as best she could from her vantage point, with their razor-sharp teeth and evil grins. She was supposed to be feeling sorry for the workers, but she was getting excited once again. Killer snowmen.
She slid back down the roof gently, wincing at the particular screams of some men. She wondered if Simeon had caught sight of her, and what he would have made of a child snooping around on a roof above him.
But her thoughts turned directly to the snowmen once she was back on the ground. They seemed to be conscious beings, controlled solely by Simeon. Just as she turned a corner, she held back a shriek.
Someone pushed their hand onto her shoulder, keeping her in place. Annabelle struggled, glaring at the group of street-boys before her.
"What's the hurry?" the one holding her in place asked tauntingly.
Annabelle didn't answer, instead lashing out. He chuckled, missing her kicks by mere centimeters. She stopped almost immediately, assessing every inch of space surround them. Save your tricks 'til they're distracted - they won't see it coming.
"No hurry," Annabelle replied, putting on a fake smile. "None at all. Except...I do suddenly have the fleeting urge to run - you haven't seen any mirrors lately, have you?"
A flash of anger spread over the boy's eyes until he started grinning again. "Oh, why should I need to, with such a pretty face in front of me?"
Annabelle pulled a grimace laced with disgust, indiscreetly attempting to back away from him. His friends had started coming closer, all with the identical smirks on their face.
In a couple of the following moments, her mind had woven a complicated pattern around the thoughts that should have been prominent.
Hearing the boy who still had a grip on her mention faces, she couldn't help but think of overheard conversations between Amy and Rory, with their stupid face thing. And, following that, she thought of their deaths, and then how Harley was basically... dead.
And then came those men in Simeon's courtyard. She should've stopped the snowmen. She should've felt something for them. But she had fallen numb to emotions somewhere along the way.
Those snowmen. If Harley had still been around, he surely would have gotten too close to one...if he were still there, she wouldn't be hearing the screaming of the boys.
It hit her that screaming wasn't normal at this point of the encounter.
The tight hand on her shoulder let go; Annabelle slipped away before the boy could regain control. Startled, she looked behind him - one of Simeon's snowmen.
"Haven't you heard, dear? I'm the new Snow Miser! I'm just too much!" Annabelle taunted. The boys had started backing away. She dared to take a step closer to the snowman, cautiously gauging the distance between them.
Snow crunched; she winced, feeling the air hit her back. More snowmen had materialized.
Keeping up with the act, she continued. "Y'know, Mister White Christmas, Mister Snow? Mister Icicle - Mister Ten-Below!" By the time she had laughed, all six of the lot were legging it.
Once they were around the corner, she didn't stop, spinning around to face the Snowmen. "Friends call me Snow Miser; whatever I touch," she sang. "turns to snow in my clutch - I'm too much!"
Annabelle stared the Snowmen down, challenging them. She hummed as she stepped away from them - "He's Mister White Christmas, he's Mister Snow. He's Mister Icicle, he's Mister Ten-Below."
She looked behind herself, making sure she wasn't about to trip over anything. Glancing back up upon hearing snow crunching again, the Snowmen had moved closer.
"So you're gonna work that way, huh? Play the quantum-locked game - sort of, at least?" The Snowman leading the the two behind it snarled. "Well, uh, I'm just gonna go and gather the Heat Miser - I don't have to go through with the whole he's Mister Hundred-and-One thing, do I? - and get back to you."
On cue, the Snowmen reacted as the line rang through her mind. Friends call me Heat Miser - the Snowmen stopped grinning, instead positioning their mouths into angry frowns - whatever I touch, starts to melt in my clutch.
In a small-scale explosion of water, or, the remains of the things, the Snowmen dissipated. Some of it - them - splashed onto her, making the cold that much more unbearable.
I'm too much!
+++++
"Did you get them?"
Annabelle grimaced, her plans to get back into the TARDIS unnoticed foiled by the Doctor. "Get what?" she asked, shivering slightly. Little patches of ice had formed on her jacket, where the Snowmen had melted onto it.
"The candy canes," he replied, his head popping out from under the TARDIS's console. It had been modified, both by the Doctor and the TARDIS herself. The main console room was less homey now, but the rest of the inner workings remained cozy.
"They were out," she said quickly.
"This close to Christmas, they're out of candy canes? Aren't they producing them in vast quantities, to completely defy the laws of supply-and-demand?"
"Sure, maybe. You don't know anything about - well, this sounds silly now that I'm saying it out loud, but - physic snowmen?" Annabelle changed the subject, sinking down to the floor. Idly, she pushed tools out of her way, clearing away a section to sit with her legs crossed in.
The Doctor sighed quietly. "Is this another trick of Vastra's? To get me involved again?"
Annabelle sat up straighter. "No, it would be nice if you did, though. I mean, like, killer snowmen. Super-sharp teeth, popping up if you imagine them, melting down if you think hard enough." She rested her elbows on her knees, and put her chin in her hands, propping her head up. "Snow that can think. You haven't investigated anything at all since November."
"And that's enough investigating to last me for the rest of the year," the Doctor insisted, sliding out from his place and sitting up.
She frowned, then thought quickly, and aimed her reply where she knew it would strike a chord. "They tried to attack me before they melted."
He stiffened, a sudden anger clouding his eyes. "Did they?" he questioned, standing slowly. Annabelle nodded, watching him circle the console once before silently going up the stairs.
She followed in suit, but took a detour. She stepped into the TARDIS's little cinema room, occupying herself by sifting through the stack of DVDs. After about ten minutes in, the Doctor appeared at the doorway, holding an old top hat by its brim.
"I'm going to go pick up some candy canes," he said, wringing the hat between his fingers. "And, Vastra's called, and wants to meet again. I'll investi - er, maybe, snoop around a bit for those snowmen, yeah?"
She smiled happily at him. "I'm impressed. That's not much provoking," she replied, then muttering a gotcha! when she saw the film she was looking for: The Year Without a Santa Claus. She held it up and waved it around gently. "I'll be fine. Have fun!"
+++++
By the time the movie was over, Annabelle had moved into the console room, with the door open a crack. Upon hearing a few gears shifts and footsteps coming up metal stairs, she sped just outside the TARDIS.
"Anything?" she questioned, leaning against the doorframe.
"Not much," the Doctor shrugged. "Met a girl."
"Ooh, scandalous. Tell me more," she muttered, following him back inside. When he gave her a look, she defended herself quickly. "Sorry. The last drama I heard was Strax's theory on Moonites. But, did you see any of them? The Snowmen, I mean."
"Yes, a few, actually," the Doctor said, taking off his battered top hat and dropping it onto the console. "Low telepathic field snow, like you implied. Too bad I couldn't reason with them at all before they melt - "
They both turned sharply towards the door, three sharp knocks interrupting him.
The Doctor and Annabelle stared at each other. As she began to tell him that she wouldn't be the one to answer the door, the Doctor flew out of them. They snapped shut behind him.
Immediately, Annabelle rushed to them. She pulled hard, but the doors were getting more and more likely to get stuck with disuse. By the time she had them cracked open, the Doctor was on his hands and knees near the stairs. He sniffed loudly at a piece of red, flimsy fabric; she scrunched up her nose.
"Not the sniffing," she muttered, joining his side. "Do you have any idea how creepy that is?" Faint footsteps pounded downwards. Realizing the Doctor wasn't paying attention, she added, "Why don't you just follow them - no, why don't I?"
In an instant the Doctor stood. He blocked the exit successfully, to Annabelle's dismay. "No. Not our problem."
The footsteps faded into silence. "Yes it is!" Annabelle insisted. She attempted to move around the Doctor, who followed her movements easily. She pointed back at the TARDIS. "Someone knows about this, which means they probably know about you, Mister 'The Humans Are Just There For Show'!"
He shook his head, somewhere near sadly. "Annabelle, it is not to do with us."
When he raised a hand to lead her back inside, she moved just out of reach. "Are you serious, Dad?" He didn't answer quickly enough, so she powered on. "It's got everything to do with us, and everything to do with you. As long as you keep us here, as long as we're stuck here, every problem that could put the people down there in jeopardy is yours."
All he could do was frown; Annabelle shook her head. "You chose to dock us here. You. It's time you start earning your keep." With a final glare, she shoved her way back into the TARDIS.
The Doctor sighed after her. To an empty console room, he announced, "I still got the candy canes!"