20 Wednesday Apr 2016
Tags
Act I: Someone or something new happens.
Someone enthuses about doing the thing
Act II: “NO YOU MAY NOT DO THE THING”
“because TRADITIONS”
***ANGST***
***weak, barely-believable conflict***
Act III: So you know that tradition/belief?
Well… turns out it was wrong
YAY
and we all live happily ever after, cheerfully destroying any continuity between movies and/or Peter Pan.
03 Wednesday Feb 2016
Posted in Story Dynamics, Tales from Selay'uu, Uncategorized
Every once in a while, I set aside time to just go have lunch with my characters. Sometimes it’s originals, like Gervaise, Alex, and Ben. Sometimes, it’s my fanfiction pals–the Doctor, John Watson, Horatio, Will Treaty. Just sitting down with them every once in a while helps me stay sane and keep up.
Today, which will make Rosalie happy, we were rehearsing a scene from “Attack of the Clones”–the AU version–and we were laughing in between takes, trying to figure out a less ridiculous title for it. Unfortunately, in that scene, Obi-Wan gets force-pushed against a wall, and we kept having to do takes, because Dooku was suspiciously absent and Casceny was doubling for him, in between hiding from the Doctor.
Casceny is a time traveler, but not a Time Lord. A brash, loud, boastful little goose with a heart of gold.
And she was hamming it up.
So here Obi-Wan was, still uncomfortable because of the wirework we were having to do (this AU is taking some severe hashing-out to get it to work, I can tell you now), still in harness in between every take. And after that, we go get lunch. I had cheddar grilled cheese, Obi-Wan (who tends to be um… sort of… adventurous I guess? That’s not the right word for it, but whatever) put swiss and asiago on his. Don’t ask me why. Of course he couldn’t do something normal with his grilled cheese.
He flinched as he sat down, and I (naturally) asked him what was wrong.
“The wires aren’t strung correctly,” Obi-Wan said. “I keep getting slammed into the wall. That’s why I’m flopping down after every take. It’s not poor acting. It’s me getting a little stunned after hitting the wall over and over and getting the breath knocked out of me. Kysherin really has taken a dislike to me these past few months.”
“She needs restraining,” I grumbled into my iced tea. “How does kryptonite sound?” Obi-Wan chuckled.
“Better and better all the time.”
“How do you feel about this AU?” I asked bluntly. With Obi-Wan it was no good beating about the bush. He’d take you at your word and answer you in kind. Obi-Wan looked pensive for a long moment.
“It’s frighteningly in character for me,” he said at last. “In that situation, that is exactly who I’d be and what I’d do. I don’t think I would be broken, mentally–I’d still have my wits if not my memory, but even with no voice to act as conscience, I’d still be horrified at what I’d done. Candidly, I’m a little bit frightened that I can be so naive and think better of people than they deserve and be so blind to evil, so inclined to mercy when I should be on my guard instead. On the other hand, if I was given the choice to change that? Never. I never would.”
“You didn’t like the Rako Hardeen fiasco,” I remarked, guessing at what he was getting at. He normally plays along willingly, no matter how dark the AU, remaining a strong refuge for the rest of us who get tired, irritable, frustrated or ready to throw the entire thing in the trash, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy it. Obi-Wan shook his head.
“I don’t like to play parts,” he said. “I start to lose myself in the role. It’s scary, for lack of a better word–yourself and this other character who is not quite you. Or, in the case of Hardeen–entirely not you, but you’re in his skin and you have to act the way he would.”
“There’s a spectrum,” I remark. “Your character is not entirely consistent even through the length of one story. You’re always learning, changing, evolving, and your traits exist on a spectrum. There’s a wide variety of ways I could write your character and it would still read as you. The tricky part is finding the sweet spot for what I’m trying to do.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Obi-Wan replied. “I guess you could say I don’t like my own spectrum.” His eyes twinkled as he glanced down into his water glass.
“It wreaks havoc, though, with the way I’m having to write this AU. You’re changing constantly and it’s hard to keep that in line when I have to write it in blocs according to function.” Obi-Wan laughed.
“I suppose we’re writing all the parts with Dooku this week, then.”
“Are you ready to move forward with the story?” I asked. Obi-Wan gave me a droll look.
“Force no.”
We both laughed.
31 Thursday Dec 2015
Tags
completed stories, cuteness, doctor who, eight is adorable and no one can deny it, fanfiction, humor, original stories, short stories
Now Turns the Rolling of the Years
New Year’s Day, the year of Our Lord 2000, San Francisco. Just after midnight.
As Chang Lee ran off, the Doctor gave Grace a slightly shy smile. “It’s a bit cold for California, isn’t it?” he asked apologetically. Grace couldn’t help laughing.
“It’s just after midnight, and it’s winter time,” she pointed out. The Doctor slid out of the borrowed frock coat and draped it over her shoulders. It fit her just about as well as it did him.
“Maybe… before I go… would you like to get some hot chocolate?” he asked, hopefully, absently tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind one ear. Grace couldn’t find the heart to deny that wide-eyed, innocent look.
“Where are we going to find hot chocolate in the small hours of the morning on New Year’s Day?” she replied, not wanting to dash his hopes. The Doctor shrugged. The cool air didn’t seem to bother him at all, in shirtsleeves and vest as he was.
“I don’t know yet,” he said with a laugh, and offered her his arm.
Small groups of people made their way through the streets, cheering and blowing on party horns. At one street corner, Grace awkwardly accepted a pointed party hat that proudly read “2000” from an older man who seemed to be determined to make sure that everyone was enjoying themselves. The Doctor looked in dismay at his own small plastic top hat. “I need bobby pins,” he announced to the whole street. Grace winced, but fortunately no one took any notice. She took the hat from him.
“Here, let me show you how it’s done…” She snapped the elastic under his chin, tipping the hat at a jaunty angle. Tugging on the elastic to keep it from biting into his skin, the Doctor gave her a look of pure horror.
“You can not be serious,” he pronounced solemnly. Grace had to swallow down a laugh. The Doctor took the hat off and handed it to a young woman who happened to be passing by. “Humans are so strange,” he said. This time, Grace couldn’t help but laugh.
The next street over, they met with a group of drunks who, while harmless enough, tried to take them along with them. They ran through the snowless streets, the Doctor laughing merrily and Grace struggling to keep up. It was too easy to evade their pursuers.
Around the next corner was a small shop, still open, though there was no one inside. They stepped inside to catch their breath, and the girl at the counter, who had been dozing, started awake to the jingle of the bell. “Are you alone sleeping in this city of wakeful revelers?” the Doctor asked her, in fine dramatic style. The girl blinked at him, as if she thought she was dreaming still.
“What can I get for you tonight?” she asked, yawning. “We’re all out of most things, but we might be able to rustle something up.”
“Do you have hot chocolate?” the Doctor asked. Grace blinked at him. She’d forgotten the reason for their expedition. The girl nodded.
“It’ll be a moment. I have to heat up the milk.”
“May we come into the kitchen?” the Doctor asked mildly. Grace poked him.
“That’s rude,” she said firmly. The Doctor gave her a startled look. The girl raised her hand placatingly, yawning.
“It’s too late—or too early—for manners,” she said. “It’s warmer back there anyway. Come on.”
The kitchen was clean, neat, and utterly unremarkable, but cosy—a home kitchen made over for commercial purposes. An old-fashioned cross-stitch circle hung on one wall, proclaiming “Remember to Smile!” in bright colors. The girl yawned again as she stepped into the industrial refrigerator, emerging with a gallon of reduced-fat milk. She produced dark chocolate powder and crushed peppermints from a pantry.
“Not much business for a late night,” the Doctor observed. The girl yawned, once more.
“There never is,” she said. “But tonight they’re all at the bars. Which is nice, but I’d still rather go home. I was planning to sleep rather than wait for the ball to drop—until I got called in to work, of course.” Grace mouthed ‘I told you so’ at the Doctor. He gave her a wide-eyed look that clearly said ‘I found us somewhere with hot chocolate, didn’t I?’
“What’s your name?” the Doctor asked. The girl blinked at him, her hand frozen with the measuring spoons halfway out of the chocolate box. She smiled.
“Kaitlyn. Though, you could have looked at the name tag,” she said.
“I had to wear one of those for half a day once, years ago, back home,” the Doctor said conversationally. “There’s nothing quite as hearts-stopping as being addressed by your own name by people you don’t know at all. In the end I switched it for one with a name I’d made up. It was less terrifying that way.” Grace blinked. Here she’d been pumping the Doctor for any meaningful scrap of information about himself ever since she’d started talking to him, and now he gave the cashier at a little shop more than he’d given her the entire time. Kaitlyn smiled. “I’m the Doctor, by the way,” the Doctor said gently. Not to be outdone, Grace smiled her brightest.
“And I’m Grace.”
“You’ve got good taste,” Kaitlyn said, smiling at both of them. “Best hot chocolate in San Francisco—though I might be biased.” The Doctor laughed.
“Make that three cups, please,” he said. “My treat.”
On New Year’s Eve, Grace had met the most remarkable man she would ever know and had a bewildering adventure that no one would ever believe. On New Year’s Day, she sat in the back room of a small café, drinking hot chocolate with two people who might have been total strangers before, but whom she now felt as if she’d known all her life.
It was the little things in life, Grace realized, that she’d been missing all along; her love of opera, discovered anew (Kaitlyn was partial to Wagner), new friends, a cup of the best hot chocolate in San Francisco. They laughed together, sharing small stories and big dreams well past three o’clock.
On the last day of 1999, Grace Holloway had the biggest adventure of her life. On the first day of 2000, she had the second biggest.
She would never forget either one.
Hopefully you enjoyed my little New Years’ special!
It was inspired by the fact that the 1996 movie takes place around 1999/NewYear’s 2000, and is slightly AU to the end of the film. Not all adventures are scary!
Thanks for reading, thanks for sticking with me throughout 2015, and may God bless you in 2016!
See you all in the new year! 😀
05 Saturday Dec 2015
Also known as “that one story where Horatio is the sarcastic freshman, William Bush is just trying to finish his gen-ed requirements before the end of 2016, and Archie is the popular sophomore who arranges campus events.” The trademarkedly unlikely trio gear up to defeat their deadliest enemy yet: Introductory Chemistry.
(Some notes before we begin: Horatio is majoring in mathematics [of course!], Archie’s major is structural engineering [because why not?] and William’s is history [don’t laugh.])
No Worries (Or Not): Chapter One
“Right. Favorite book.” Archie looked down the list, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
“A Tale of Two Cities,” Horatio said, without looking up from the chemistry textbook.
“I’m not sure. It’s probably Northanger Abbey. Because of the satiric element,” William explained.
“I like Out of the Silent Planet. Favorite movie?”
“Pass,” Horatio said, scribbling angrily in the margins of the textbook. There was no anger in his voice, either at them or at the book.
“Star Wars.” William glared at Archie as the latter snorted. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing! I liked How to Train Your Dragon. How many siblings?”
“Four. And before you ask, all sisters. I’m right smack dab in the middle. And no, I do not like being called ‘Billy.’” William glared at the other two.
“Ha! I have six. Oldest.”
“I’m an only child,” Horatio muttered.
“That’s sad,” Archie remarked.
“Why?” Horatio looked up at him. “It’s not as if I’m at college to run away from anything. I’m here because there’s nothing else to do.”
“I don’t think that’s relevant,” William said, trying to keep the peace.
“Which question?” Horatio asked. William ran a hand over his face.
“You should do forensics.”
“Oh no,” Horatio said, swallowing visibly. “I don’t even test well. What makes you think I could speak in public?”
“Greek,” Archie said succinctly.
“Just because I tried to read Aristotle in the original language does not mean that I’d be good at public speaking or debate,” Horatio protested.
“Moving on… this is the topic that will never be raised again unless we wish it. Religion. I’m actually Catholic.”
“Ordinary, run-of-the-mill Anglican.”
“Um… my mother was Jewish… and we spend a lot of time with her family, Father and I. So we’re sort of Jewish Christian,” Horatio said.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of it,” Archie said. Horatio smiled, a shy smile, William thought.
“You should hear the debates over the Torah,” he said. “It’s actually pretty fun. Especially Cousin Jack. Everyone loves to rile him up.”
“Favorite color. Blue.”
“Blue.”
“Blue.” The other two looked at Horatio, wondering if the freshman had just been unintentionally echoing them. He looked up at them with a raised eyebrow.
“Okay. That concludes that. Now, this is Rule One. As far as this study group is concerned, your sexual orientation is ‘None Of Your Business.’”
“Good, because I wasn’t planning on telling you mine, either,” Horatio said. William sighed.
30 Monday Nov 2015
It was too early for this.
I took off my glasses and set them on my desk, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The chair in which I should have been sitting, working on my latest novel, lay demolished in a pile of splinters on the floor, and the culprit stood beside me, looking sheepish.
“Eight,” I groaned, “is such destruction even possible?” The Doctor (one of a few incarnations who’d invited themselves in and occasionally popped in, necessitating that we number them and breaking the first law of time–fortunately with impunity, unless the effects on me prove detrimental to the universe at large,) scuffed his shoes along the floor, looking like a guilty child.
“Theoretically…” he began. I held up a hand.
“Don’t say it.” I sighed. It has only been two weeks, and already this incarnation of the Doctor had managed to break a picture frame, the ugly vase which no one knew where it came from and which was rumored to be cursed (curses are no match for a ditzy Time Lord), a watering can, the horrific statue that has been traumatizing the children ever since Bruck Chun painted that terrible clown face on it, and the fireplace that had once belonged to Madame du Pompadour, which should not have been in my mind palace but for some reason it was, and the resident Time Lords had not had a chance to explain why before one of them broke it.
To be fair about that last one, he had actually fallen into the fireplace, and there was a fire lit. I nearly had a heart attack.
And to be fair to him, I think he’s not really neglectful or careless, more he simply forgets that human things are not made to the standard the ones he tried to smash as a child were.
Just then, Bruck Chun came rushing in in a fury. “All right, own up. Who did it? Who broke my statue?” he demanded angrily, giving us both the Sith eyes. I would kick him out of the mind palace, except I can’t. He’s a recurring villain for one of my latest Star Wars stories.
Slowly, the Doctor raised his hand. “That would be me.” Bruck eyed him coldly.
“And who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m the Doctor.” Bruck shook his head.
“Can’t be. That’s the spiky-haired skinny guy.” I facepalmed. The Doctor grinned widely.
“That’s me in my personal future,” he explained cheerfully. Bruck just looked annoyed.
“Well, you broke the statue,” he growled and swung at the Doctor. It has been a long time since I’d seen someone so humiliated in under thirty seconds, and it ended with the Doctor, using that literally inhuman strength deliberately for once, hurling Bruck bodily out the door.
As we headed outside to play in the newly-fallen snow, he leaned over conspiratorially, “Do you think it’ll stick?” I shook my head.
“He’s an idiot.” The Doctor grinned mischievously.
“Might have to up my game. Next time he’ll expect the Force-opaque effect.” We shared a private giggle and spent the next hour throwing snowballs at each other and sledding down the hill on the backs of our coats.
03 Tuesday Nov 2015
Tags
bbc sherlock, brian jacques, c.s. forester, cressida cowell, doctor who, horatio hornblower, how to train your dragon, humor, marvel, redwall, sir arthur conan doyle, star wars
Last night some people from the Intergalactic Press came over and we were having dinner at the time.
The Doctor was eating in a hurry, focused entirely on getting back to the lab (from whence he’d been dragged by Pepper Potts, who had pulled Tony out at the same time). And Obi-Wan’s manners are impeccable, but he sometimes reads at the table.
Mistress El’ye went out to stall the journalists, but it wasn’t enough. She tried to text Darcy, but Darcy’s phone had been summarily destroyed when it fell in the tub (which is part of what the Doctor had been doing in the lab.) We didn’t learn this, however, until later, when the whole fiasco was over.
Mistress El’ye lead the press in… into a scene of chaos.
Dibbuns were having a food fight in the corner, Arden was just trying to get a cup of coffee before heading out but had already spilled it twice onto the Doctor’s coat, because Camicazi was having a sword fight with Archie Kennedy and kept jostling Arden. Cerasi had apparently gotten fed up with Merida trying to play the guitar (Merida is horrible, but keeps on battering away at it with that same Scottish stubbornness that keeps the Doctor in the lab day after day, trying to figure out a substitute for gluten) and was launching peas at her with a slingshot. Rassilon had made an appearance, but had been repelled with celery, pancakes, and bouillon-filled water pistols, and Moriarty got the same treatment. We let the Master sit with us for once, but he was building an intricate diagram out of squished white bread (which I kept demolishing on the sly by tossing bread rolls at it.) Sherlock was using John’s arm as a place to set his tea cup.
All in all, a typical Selay’uu dinnertime.
Into this mess marched a group of journalists, researching rumors for the penny dreadfuls. And stopped, aghast.
Almost instantly, a plucky and present-minded young photographer had his camera up and snapped a photo.
Obi-Wan and the Doctor both froze, an identical horrified look on both their faces. Obi-Wan had just bitten into a cookie, and the Doctor sat with his spoon halfway into his mouth. It was practically comical, except the circumstances weren’t.
I had to agree to an interview. That part wasn’t so awesome, except fortunately I was wearing black, so the spilled coffee (Arden takes it black, with no sugar or cream) wouldn’t show.
But I bribed the photographer for a copy of the picture. It now hangs, framed in glory, on my wall.
He said he couldn’t have published it, anyways, because it looked like Anakin was making a very rude gesture in the background.
(I know for sure he wasn’t, because he was next to Obi-Wan, he was just making the Whole World Right Here gesture, it just looks like he was being obscene, he really wasn’t. But Obi-Wan gave him a mild scolding anyway.)
Another uneventful (relatively) day in Selay’uu.
13 Tuesday Oct 2015
Tags
completed stories, doctor who, fun stuff, humor, marvel, parody, short stories, the avengers, thor
Because no Internet life is complete without a parody of Mary Sue or badfic!
Enjoy! ;-D
Silence Will Fall
Xoehemina Wraithlight Spickl the Third rolled over and grinned at her true love. “Wakey wakey, Lokes!” she said in a sing-song nasal voice pitched at exactly the same key as nails on a chalk board. It was like birdsong and music all rolled into one—that is, if said bird was a crow with a five-year cold and a pack-a-day smoker and the music was played by a beginner violinist with a squint from London to New York.
Loki sat up gracefully on his elbow and smirked at his bride. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “Don’t bother to rise just yet… here, let me go and bring you breakfast in bed…”
Suddenly, an odd, wheezing hydraulic sound could be heard outside the window. Xoehemina perked up at the sound. She was a beautiful vision in off-white as she ran out onto the veranda like a flat-footed ostrich or an elephant with eczema.
“My soulmate cometh!” she proclaimed, waving her arms in a dramatic gesture like a chicken with hiccups and fell flat on her cute little backside. Loki helped her to her feet.
“You can’t mean this,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. Xoehemina turned.
“Lol, wut?”
“You can’t seriously be breaking up with me!” Loki’s voice rose to a crescendo and tears rolled down over his nose. Xoehemina turned around to pat his cheek as the TARDIS materialized before them.
“Oh, pish tush. It’s a time machine. I could be back yesterday!” she said cheerfully, snapping her fingers. The TARDIS made an angry, protesting sound as its doors flew open with a violent crash, but the sentient ship was unable to voice her annoyance to the fans and as such was frequently abused, like so. Xoehemina ignored the TARDIS’ protests as she waltzed gaily inside. She popped open her old pocket watch. “I left my hearts in Gallifrey.”
The doors flew shut behind her, the TARDIS making another angry sound. Xoehemina turned around and almost bumped into a tall, thin man who was looking at her, one eyebrow raised in a potentially frightening manner. Xoehemina fell flat on her backside again, spreading her arms wide. “Theta sugar! It’s me, your childhood crush Ashkanakxygr!”
The Doctor frowned at her. “Get off my TARDIS.”
“But, baby…” Ashkanakxygr pleaded, opening her violet eyes wide like muddy lagoons of stagnant seaweed. The Doctor pursed his lips.
“I have never met you in my life before. Leave my poor TARDIS alone and get out.”
“You have to remember me!” Ashkanakxygr shrieked. The Doctor flinched at the piercing sound. Ashkanakxygr was beyond paying attention. “We went to school together. We kissed for the first time when the moons were shining over the red mountains. My heart was broken forever when you ran away. Don’t you remember that?”
“None of it,” the Doctor said with finality. “You’re not a Time Lord. I would know you. I do not. For the last time, get off my TARDIS.”
“Pyrdon baby bear…” Ashkanakxygr began. She didn’t finish. The Doctor had pushed her out onto the surface of a barren planet, there to wail her heart out for all eternity. (Did I mention she was immortal?)
Back in his cell on Asgard, Loki snickered. Thor shuddered as he walked past his brother’s cell.
“Seriously, brother. Get a life.”
“But manipulating these half-witted mortals is so amusing,” Loki drawled. Suddenly, he reached down to his belt pouch. “Sorry, message waiting on my magic tablet.”
On the blank surface appeared a short message.
Loki. If you send another of your crowd after me ever again, I am letting Ace loose on you.
Loki cackled and turned back to his mischief. Thor went upstairs, wrote a quick note of apology, and gave it to Huginn to deliver. The raven would see that it reached the Doctor’s hand—eventually.
“What was that thing?” Donna asked distastefully as the Doctor washed and sanitized his hands for the fourth time.
“Maria Susare, commonly known as a Mary Sue, for some reason. They’re ancient creatures, pre-dating Time itself. They normally inhabit the Void and unknown parts of deep, empty space, where they prey on the unwary, but once in a while one will get lost and become every hero’s worst nightmare.” The Doctor shuddered violently, but caught himself. “They sometimes cause innocent, everyday people like us to behave contrary to our nature, and they often butt in where they’re not wanted. They’re parasites, and in their true form they are monstrous creatures with horns and teeth the length of my finger, claws and hideous bat wings which they use to disguise their horrible pink-and-black mottled skin. They’re horrible creatures that are only half-intelligent, fixated on certain ideas and unable to form new ones. They can not be reasoned with. A few brave hunters sometimes seek them out to slay them, but they must have found new sources of food, or they would have vanished from the face of the universe by now…” The Doctor grimaced in distaste. “This one was… rather… amorous.” Donna almost laughed at the Doctor’s discomfort, but quickly returned to seriousness.
“Well, what should we do about it, space boy?”
“We find their latest food source…” the Doctor’s voice deepened to an ominous drawl.
“And hope they aren’t already addicted.”
10 Saturday Oct 2015
Tags
bbc merlin, doctor who, fun stuff, humor, selay'uu, star wars
Jack Harkness was laughing uproariously as Madame Jocasta peremptorily ejected us from the Archives. Gwaine could barely stand upright, and Gawain stared at the character with whom he only shared a name in horrified disgust. Obi-Wan was trying to shush us all, with limited success, and Siri was determined to make things even more insane. The Doctor went and sulked in a shadowy corner.
“That was one awesome party!” Jack declared. “We should have brought drinks with us, though.” I stared at him, shuddering with horror. Perish the thought.
“Jack, please,” Obi-Wan snapped in frustration. “There are minors present.”
“Well, since we forgot all the majors,” Jack said and collapsed with laughter over his own joke. I slapped him across the back of the head with a convenient book. He overbalanced and fell flat on his nose. I waved the book at him half-heartedly.
“Ha ha!”
“It serves you right for wrecking her office,” Obi-Wan observed, picking up Gervaise, who had somehow gone all loopy on thin air and was talking to people who no one else could see.
“But peppers are good, Natasha,” Gervaise said to no one. Obi-Wan hoisted him up.
“I’m taking him to the infirmary. The rest of you–” he gave us a warning look. “Behave.”
“I hate you all,” the Doctor muttered, looking as if he was about to cry. I ran across and hugged him.
“Don’t give me the puppy eyes, please! You know it leaves me a total wreck,” I whispered. He sighed, making a Herculean effort to regain his self-control.
“Fine.”
“Let’s prank Jack until he’s cross-eyed,” I suggested softly. Merlin winked at me. I could feel the Doctor smiling into my hair.
“Deal.”
The Great Prank War–the Prank War to end all Prank Wars–was on.
19 Saturday Sep 2015
Posted in Tales from Selay'uu, Tales of a Wandering Bard
I was nearly yawning with boredom. Paperwork and school. Drudgery was more like it. I didn’t even have the heart to go out and work on fun things, like the audio drama I had started with a few friends…
“Erin!” the Doctor’s voice cut into my real-life-induced haze. “Erin, Erin, Erin!” He rushed into the study, cravat askew and his next-incarnation-but-two’s glasses perched precariously on his nose. I blinked at him twice, then took off my glasses, wiped them, and blinked at him again.
“Wazzup?” I groaned, closing my eyes against the incipient headache. The Doctor went off into a long, complicated rant that to me sounded like babbling. I just plonked my head right back down on my desk, wondering vaguely if I’d ever get back to my dreams of exciting plot which seemingly featured a new protagonist covertly bringing down a slaving ring and a film noir detective developing a bizarre crush on him, and another incoherent plot which seemed still more fascinating–at least while I was asleep. Ventress and high adventure? Or was it steampunk? I couldn’t remember. It was frustrating, like the time I dreamed the perfect poem only for it to collapse when I woke up and tried to write it down.
Suddenly, the Doctor stopped mid-rant, mid-sentence, mid-word… even mid-syllable. He eyed me with suspicion and mild irritation. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Sure I am,” I yawned.
“No, you aren’t,” he said firmly, then brightened up. “You need a holiday.”
Much as I would love for him to whisk me off in the TARDIS right then and there, I couldn’t. I said as much.
“It’s a time machine, Erin,” he pointed out.
“Summer,” I grumbled. “Just let me get through finals week first.”
“Oh, all right.” He gave me a mischievous grin. “Pinky promise?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Do Time Lords even refer to that finger as a ‘pinky’?” I groused. The Doctor cocked his head to one side.
“Of course they don’t!” he exclaimed.
“Summer,” I promised. “Until then… I just want to sleep and not bother with any more of this nonsense.”
Sorry, again, about the lack of coherent updates. I know it has been a while. I promise I will have PLENTY of material for the blog when I’m done with the semester. Not just short stories, but some comparisons and reviews for other classes as well.
Until then, stay alive, survive the finals, thanks for reading and God Bless!
10 Thursday Sep 2015
Tags
Citizens of Earth, rejoice! My sister the comic genius and I have come together to write you a parody of seasons one through four of the Doctor Who revival series.
Enjoy! ;-D
Oh, I almost forgot: I need to post the disclaimer!
Donna’s hair is red,
The TARDIS is blue,
Rose Tyler is sweet,
I don’t own Doctor Who!
A Guide To Being A Companion
A capital ship for a time-travel trip
Was the TARDIS of retro yore
No alien living could set the crew spinning
No Dalek could breach the door
Only the best, at the Doctor’s behest,
Could travel to future or past;
Companions all, with courage and gall,
Would weather the Time Vortex blast.
Rose’s boredom set on long before dawn
When the Doctor blew up her job
On her first day, in the usual way,
They proceeded to blow up the blob.
Rose’s boyfriend Mickey (though often called Rickey)
Would constantly get in the way
Twice only ballast, to Cardiff and Belfast
(Although he would soon save the day.)
And the intern we had was apparently mad
For on his only trip
He fired salutes with the Ninth Doctor’s boots
And nearly ruined all with his slip.
We all took turns cooking, with nobody looking,
Jack made muffins with sugar (and glue),
Adam made toffee and burned-on the coffee,
And Rose neatly mangled the stew.
Captain Jack sat on Rassilon’s hat
And ruled the innuendo squad
With TARDIS-blue socks, he flirted with rocks
As he blurted out things rather odd.
When the Doctor does swing, it’s just the thing
For a boring, rainy day
(Though goodness knows, we have few of those!)
We once even put on a play.
She’s nowhere near plain, our dear Sarah Jane,
She’s clever and makes her own way.
She and Rose hit it off, with barely a cough,
And they laughed at the Doctor’s dismay.
We landed on the Moon with barely a swoon,
And Martha came to the Doctor’s aid.
The Master went berserk and was really a jerk,
But brave Martha was still unswayed.
Aboard came Donna, with plenty of drama,
Like a normal Christmas Day.
The marriage was off because of Lance’s scoff
And Donna ran away!
Give the Daleks a smack—hooray! Rose is back!
Three Doctors?! What’s going on?!
A Dalek’s a thief, no pretense of grief—
Get out, Davros, you’re gone.
Everyone else went back home, left the Doctor alone—
Four knocks, you had better beware.
When the Time Lords came back, the Master gave them a smack
But this wasn’t just a mere scare.
It is nature to change, though some deem it strange,
And time turns without relent.
Ten gave his life in the midst of the strife,
For the last of his time had been spent.
But though this song is gone the story goes on!
The new Doctor found someone to care,
For a second redhead who woke up in bed
Would find the Doctor there.
Finis
The Upstairs Archives 