Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-08-14 02:05 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2008-08-14 02:05 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: A Thousand Words, part 2
Title: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: A Thousand Wørds (2/5)
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3 is fair game.
Summary: Adult Stephen attempts to fix up his room, Sarah Jane advocates for proper journalism, and Jack introduces young Stephen to futuristic junk food.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
A Thousand Wørds
Part Two
The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
Sarah Jane awoke to a loud scraping noise outside her room. Pulling open the door, she found Stephen, his navy suit and gold tie somewhat rumpled from the effort of pushing a heavy cabinet down the corridor unaided.
"Would you like some help?"
"No—I got it," grunted Stephen between shoves. "Almost—there."
"All right." Just in case, she joined him, walking as slowly as she could. "Where did you get this, anyway?"
"Found it—in storage."
Had the Doctor said he could do that? Sarah Jane decided not to ask. If this man was going to be a fellow companion, she wanted to get along with him, and she was already getting the idea that he didn't like to be challenged.
"Can I at least get the door for you?" she asked as they neared Stephen's room.
"I told you—I'm fine," insisted Stephen. He stopped pushing, leaned against the cabinet to catch his breath, then scurried around it and opened the door.
Sarah Jane stared. She continued to stare as Stephen heaved the cabinet, foot by foot, into the room.
The cabinet wasn't the first thing he had appropriated. Not by a long shot. The room, which had been nearly bare the day before, now contained a couple of chairs stacked next to the chest of drawers, a handful of end tables pushed haphazardly against the wall, a heap of miscellaneous junk sitting precariously on the bed, and what looked like every suit in the TARDIS' extensive wardrobe piled on the floor.
"I see you've been busy," she managed at last. "What do you need all this for, anyway?"
Stephen looked sharply at her. "Are you saying I don't deserve it?"
"No, I'm just saying—"
"I accept your apology."
Sarah Jane groaned. Getting along with him is going to be harder than I thought.
⇔
Earth: 2026.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness has a hard time arguing that "old" is still fifteen years older than he is.
"Are they still doing Super Bowls in the 51st century?" asked Stephen, stepping out of the TARDIS and nearly slipping on a discarded styrofoam cup that was leaking something brown.
"Sure are," replied Jack. "It's the only reason anyone on Earth still remembers how to use Roman numerals."
Turning the cup with his foot, Stephen squinted at the logo. "Star-bucks. Do they sell futuristic space drinks?"
"Nah, just coffee. Pretty good, though." Jack decided to avoid making an 'out of this world' joke. He'd had enough of those during the marketing campaign for the colonization of planet Starbucks-III. "Come on! We've got to hurry if we're going to get the front of the standing room."
"Why are you so into this anyway, Jack?" asked the Doctor as they pushed through the crowds already milling about. "You know how the game's going to end."
"Are you kidding?" interrupted Stephen. "Who cares how it ends? The fun is in the game itself! Large, burly men in tight pants grunting and shoving each other around! That's what America is all about!"
He stopped talking, and seemed to wilt a little, when the Doctor gave him an exasperated look. Jack surreptitiously elbowed the Time Lord in the ribs, then added, "This is a classic game, anyway. First Super Bowl since the Miami Dolphins were reanimated. It's worth watching."
The kid still looked gloomy, so Jack tried a different tactic. "Hey, Stephen, you hungry?"
"Starving. Is future food safe to eat?"
"There's a reason we went back to 1981 for South Carolina peaches. But, yes, technically it's edible." Jack held out his hand; the Doctor sighed and placed a credit card in his palm, which Jack passed on to Stephen. "Just avoid anything with 'soylent green' in the name."
⇔
The Vortex.
As Stephen surveyed the room, trying to remember precisely how his things had been organized, Sarah Jane broke into his thoughts. "So, Helen Thomas is still around in 2008?"
Stephen's blood ran cold. "Why?" he said quickly. "Is she here? Did you see her?"
"No, no," replied Sarah Jane; "you just mentioned her the other day, so I thought I'd ask about her."
"Why?" demanded Stephen again, doing a rapid scan of all corners of the room just in case. "Do you know her?"
Sarah Jane seemed exasperated. (Women, thought Stephen irritably.) "Only by reputation. I'm a journalist myself, and she's a bit of a hero of mine. What's wrong? She hasn't murdered someone between my time and yours, has she?"
"I wouldn't put it past her," groused Stephen. "That woman is vicious. She's like a rabid dog. Sinks her teeth into a question and won't let go."
"Well, exactly! That's why I admire her so much! She's a dedicated reporter, to say nothing of all the strides she's made for women in the press."
"Oh, no. You're one of those journalists, aren't you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The kind who . . . ." Stephen swallowed past the bad taste in his throat. "The kind who ask questions. The kind who challenge assumptions, and stand up to authority, and go after facts."
"Of course I am!" exclaimed Sarah Jane. "What other kind would I be?"
"Well, you could be like me! Report from your gut, go with what feels good, and always support your leaders. I suppose you can be forgiven, though. You're British. It's mostly the American press that get it right. And only recently, too. When are you from, again?"
"Nineteen eighty."
"That explains it! Gosh, 1980. Bill O'Reilly is still just a local anchor as far as you know." Stephen sighed in sympathy. "Really puts things in perspective."
"Oh, good!" interrupted the Doctor's voice, and they both turned to see him standing in the door. "You're awake. Come on up to the console room, Stephen. You too, Sarah Jane. But I think you'd better get dressed first."
⇔
Earth: 2026.
Stephen was taking mental notes.
He didn't expect to be allowed to tell people about this when he got home. It wasn't like they would believe him anyway. But as he watched the Miami Dolphins score touchdown after touchdown against the Sector B5 Meta-Creatures, he kept one eye out for futuristic weirdness to file away.
You see, one day, Stephen was going to write a novel.
It was going to be science fiction, and it was going to be epic. The hero would start out as a young, awkward kid with glasses and acne, and would somehow end up working for the biggest group of heroes in the galaxy. Then he would go on all kinds of cool adventures, kill lots of evil aliens, and have hundreds of girlfriends. Possibly all at once. Stephen hadn't worked that out yet.
Truth be told, he hadn't worked out much else, either. Whenever he tried to organize the plot, he ended up skipping ahead to the part where a million copies had been sold and he had a mob of fans clamoring for his autograph.
"Hey!" exclaimed Captain Jack, waving to a uniformed girl selling drinks. "Bring us some bug juice over here!"
Stephen smirked. Bug juice? Haven't heard that since the Cub Scouts . . . .
Finally the girl noticed them and came over—and all at once Stephen realized that, instead of a tray hung around her neck, there was some kind of enormous grub. He watched in horror as the girl held a cup underneath the bug's abdomen, squeezed, and then passed the resulting bubbly green stuff to Jack. "Any more, sir?"
"How about it, Doctor, Stephen? Want some?"
The Doctor waved a hand. "None for me, thanks."
"Stephen?"
Snapping out of his reverie, Stephen made a face. "I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole."
But, he added to himself, it is totally going in my book.
⇔
The Vortex.
As Sarah Jane, now fully dressed, approached the console room, she could hear the Doctor addressing Stephen. ". . . getting everything set up the way you want it?"
"I've been trying to," corrected Stephen petulantly. "There are so many things I can't find! Have you seen a full-length mirror anywhere around? Oval, dark wood frame, little curlicues on top? It's supposed to go right across from the door."
"That sounds just like the mirror in my room," said Sarah Jane as she entered.
"Oh, good!" exclaimed Stephen. "We can put it back right after breakfast!"
"What do you mean, 'back'?" protested Sarah Jane, somewhat affronted. "I had it first! And that's first in TARDIS time. Your personal timeline hardly counts."
Stephen folded his arms. "It's going to end up in my room in the future anyway. Why not move it now and save yourself the trouble?"
"It'll end up there in the future, but right now it's the present, and I'm keeping that mirror. Tell him, Doctor."
The Doctor, who was bending over a display screen, didn't even look up. "Oh, Sarah, don't be silly. It's only a mirror."
Sarah Jane's jaw dropped. Stephen's face had broken into the most infuriatingly smug grin.
"No," continued the Doctor, "the important thing, the really important thing here, is the lumpy purple thing with the blinky lights."
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3 is fair game.
Summary: Adult Stephen attempts to fix up his room, Sarah Jane advocates for proper journalism, and Jack introduces young Stephen to futuristic junk food.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
A Thousand Wørds
Part Two
The Vortex.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
Sarah Jane awoke to a loud scraping noise outside her room. Pulling open the door, she found Stephen, his navy suit and gold tie somewhat rumpled from the effort of pushing a heavy cabinet down the corridor unaided.
"Would you like some help?"
"No—I got it," grunted Stephen between shoves. "Almost—there."
"All right." Just in case, she joined him, walking as slowly as she could. "Where did you get this, anyway?"
"Found it—in storage."
Had the Doctor said he could do that? Sarah Jane decided not to ask. If this man was going to be a fellow companion, she wanted to get along with him, and she was already getting the idea that he didn't like to be challenged.
"Can I at least get the door for you?" she asked as they neared Stephen's room.
"I told you—I'm fine," insisted Stephen. He stopped pushing, leaned against the cabinet to catch his breath, then scurried around it and opened the door.
Sarah Jane stared. She continued to stare as Stephen heaved the cabinet, foot by foot, into the room.
The cabinet wasn't the first thing he had appropriated. Not by a long shot. The room, which had been nearly bare the day before, now contained a couple of chairs stacked next to the chest of drawers, a handful of end tables pushed haphazardly against the wall, a heap of miscellaneous junk sitting precariously on the bed, and what looked like every suit in the TARDIS' extensive wardrobe piled on the floor.
"I see you've been busy," she managed at last. "What do you need all this for, anyway?"
Stephen looked sharply at her. "Are you saying I don't deserve it?"
"No, I'm just saying—"
"I accept your apology."
Sarah Jane groaned. Getting along with him is going to be harder than I thought.
Earth: 2026.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness has a hard time arguing that "old" is still fifteen years older than he is.
"Are they still doing Super Bowls in the 51st century?" asked Stephen, stepping out of the TARDIS and nearly slipping on a discarded styrofoam cup that was leaking something brown.
"Sure are," replied Jack. "It's the only reason anyone on Earth still remembers how to use Roman numerals."
Turning the cup with his foot, Stephen squinted at the logo. "Star-bucks. Do they sell futuristic space drinks?"
"Nah, just coffee. Pretty good, though." Jack decided to avoid making an 'out of this world' joke. He'd had enough of those during the marketing campaign for the colonization of planet Starbucks-III. "Come on! We've got to hurry if we're going to get the front of the standing room."
"Why are you so into this anyway, Jack?" asked the Doctor as they pushed through the crowds already milling about. "You know how the game's going to end."
"Are you kidding?" interrupted Stephen. "Who cares how it ends? The fun is in the game itself! Large, burly men in tight pants grunting and shoving each other around! That's what America is all about!"
He stopped talking, and seemed to wilt a little, when the Doctor gave him an exasperated look. Jack surreptitiously elbowed the Time Lord in the ribs, then added, "This is a classic game, anyway. First Super Bowl since the Miami Dolphins were reanimated. It's worth watching."
The kid still looked gloomy, so Jack tried a different tactic. "Hey, Stephen, you hungry?"
"Starving. Is future food safe to eat?"
"There's a reason we went back to 1981 for South Carolina peaches. But, yes, technically it's edible." Jack held out his hand; the Doctor sighed and placed a credit card in his palm, which Jack passed on to Stephen. "Just avoid anything with 'soylent green' in the name."
The Vortex.
As Stephen surveyed the room, trying to remember precisely how his things had been organized, Sarah Jane broke into his thoughts. "So, Helen Thomas is still around in 2008?"
Stephen's blood ran cold. "Why?" he said quickly. "Is she here? Did you see her?"
"No, no," replied Sarah Jane; "you just mentioned her the other day, so I thought I'd ask about her."
"Why?" demanded Stephen again, doing a rapid scan of all corners of the room just in case. "Do you know her?"
Sarah Jane seemed exasperated. (Women, thought Stephen irritably.) "Only by reputation. I'm a journalist myself, and she's a bit of a hero of mine. What's wrong? She hasn't murdered someone between my time and yours, has she?"
"I wouldn't put it past her," groused Stephen. "That woman is vicious. She's like a rabid dog. Sinks her teeth into a question and won't let go."
"Well, exactly! That's why I admire her so much! She's a dedicated reporter, to say nothing of all the strides she's made for women in the press."
"Oh, no. You're one of those journalists, aren't you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The kind who . . . ." Stephen swallowed past the bad taste in his throat. "The kind who ask questions. The kind who challenge assumptions, and stand up to authority, and go after facts."
"Of course I am!" exclaimed Sarah Jane. "What other kind would I be?"
"Well, you could be like me! Report from your gut, go with what feels good, and always support your leaders. I suppose you can be forgiven, though. You're British. It's mostly the American press that get it right. And only recently, too. When are you from, again?"
"Nineteen eighty."
"That explains it! Gosh, 1980. Bill O'Reilly is still just a local anchor as far as you know." Stephen sighed in sympathy. "Really puts things in perspective."
"Oh, good!" interrupted the Doctor's voice, and they both turned to see him standing in the door. "You're awake. Come on up to the console room, Stephen. You too, Sarah Jane. But I think you'd better get dressed first."
Earth: 2026.
Stephen was taking mental notes.
He didn't expect to be allowed to tell people about this when he got home. It wasn't like they would believe him anyway. But as he watched the Miami Dolphins score touchdown after touchdown against the Sector B5 Meta-Creatures, he kept one eye out for futuristic weirdness to file away.
You see, one day, Stephen was going to write a novel.
It was going to be science fiction, and it was going to be epic. The hero would start out as a young, awkward kid with glasses and acne, and would somehow end up working for the biggest group of heroes in the galaxy. Then he would go on all kinds of cool adventures, kill lots of evil aliens, and have hundreds of girlfriends. Possibly all at once. Stephen hadn't worked that out yet.
Truth be told, he hadn't worked out much else, either. Whenever he tried to organize the plot, he ended up skipping ahead to the part where a million copies had been sold and he had a mob of fans clamoring for his autograph.
"Hey!" exclaimed Captain Jack, waving to a uniformed girl selling drinks. "Bring us some bug juice over here!"
Stephen smirked. Bug juice? Haven't heard that since the Cub Scouts . . . .
Finally the girl noticed them and came over—and all at once Stephen realized that, instead of a tray hung around her neck, there was some kind of enormous grub. He watched in horror as the girl held a cup underneath the bug's abdomen, squeezed, and then passed the resulting bubbly green stuff to Jack. "Any more, sir?"
"How about it, Doctor, Stephen? Want some?"
The Doctor waved a hand. "None for me, thanks."
"Stephen?"
Snapping out of his reverie, Stephen made a face. "I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole."
But, he added to himself, it is totally going in my book.
The Vortex.
As Sarah Jane, now fully dressed, approached the console room, she could hear the Doctor addressing Stephen. ". . . getting everything set up the way you want it?"
"I've been trying to," corrected Stephen petulantly. "There are so many things I can't find! Have you seen a full-length mirror anywhere around? Oval, dark wood frame, little curlicues on top? It's supposed to go right across from the door."
"That sounds just like the mirror in my room," said Sarah Jane as she entered.
"Oh, good!" exclaimed Stephen. "We can put it back right after breakfast!"
"What do you mean, 'back'?" protested Sarah Jane, somewhat affronted. "I had it first! And that's first in TARDIS time. Your personal timeline hardly counts."
Stephen folded his arms. "It's going to end up in my room in the future anyway. Why not move it now and save yourself the trouble?"
"It'll end up there in the future, but right now it's the present, and I'm keeping that mirror. Tell him, Doctor."
The Doctor, who was bending over a display screen, didn't even look up. "Oh, Sarah, don't be silly. It's only a mirror."
Sarah Jane's jaw dropped. Stephen's face had broken into the most infuriatingly smug grin.
"No," continued the Doctor, "the important thing, the really important thing here, is the lumpy purple thing with the blinky lights."