Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-10-02 12:08 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-10-02 12:08 am
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: I'm Your Moon, Part 2
Title: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: I'm Your Moon (2/9)
Rating: PG (the wet and soapy kind)
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3/Torchwood S2 is fair game.
Summary: On the unidentified planetoid, Four and Sarah Jane meet their very charming host. On Earth, Jack, Ten, and young Stephen visit a Turkish bath, which, as you might expect, gets pretty gay.
Beta and Brit-picking by the indefatigablestellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
I'm Your Moon
Part Two
????: 2,999,404 AD
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44.
"There you are!"
Sarah Jane and the Doctor, who had been staring in shock and awe at the thirty-foot tapestries printed with heroic images of Stephen, spun around to see their subject in the flesh. His suit was crisp, his tie bright, and not a hair on his head out of place. It was as though the mysterious earthquake right after their landing had passed him right by.
Still, Sarah Jane had to ask. "Stephen! Are you all right?"
"Never better!" exclaimed Stephen, grinning to reveal perfect teeth that all but flashed in the soft light.
"Hold on, Sarah," warned the Doctor, putting a hand on her shoulder before addressing the man before them in a loud voice. "You're not Stephen."
Not-Stephen's grin didn't flicker. "Whoops! You caught me," he said, the picture of a genteel jokester called out on a harmless ruse. "I'm Truthiness. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Of course!" cried the Doctor. "This must be a psi-moon!"
"I don't know what that means," said Truthiness amiably. "But I do know that dinner is almost ready. Would you like to join us?"
⇔
Earth: 1562.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is so old that his dreams are all reruns.
Stephen felt very exposed.
The soft red towel around his midsection hung down below his knees, and there was hardly any more clothing on anyone else in the hot room. This didn't make him feel any better.
For one thing, he was in the company of Jack, whose body could have been designed by a Roman sculptor, and the Doctor, who was skinny as a twig but owned it, which made Stephen look all the more awkward by comparison.
For another, in spite of the dirt that seemed to have made it onto every inch of his skin, he and Jack and the Doctor were by far the whitest people in the room. (People told Stephen he was white, and he believed them, because nobody had ever burned a cross on his lawn. Speaking of crosses, he was also fairly sure he was the only Catholic within a hundred miles. He had the strange sensation that, any moment now, somebody might jump out and demand that he apologize for the Crusades.)
But all of this might have been bearable if the Turkish bathhouse had only provided, well, baths.
There was a huge marble platform in the center of the room, its edges rounded and smooth, on which several men were lying to receive vigorous massages. The walls were inset with fountains like massive, ornately carved stone sinks, and while some of the men by these were washing themselves, most were allowing themselves to be soaped and scrubbed and doused with water by these same masseurs.
Male masseurs. Young male masseurs—none of them could have been much older than Stephen himself. Gorgeous young male masseurs.
It was as if one of his most lavish fantasies had been laid out for everyone to see. He could hardly have felt more naked if he actually had been.
In spite of Stephen's fears, the Doctor didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "Sit back and let the staff lead," he advised. "They're the professionals. But we don't actually have any contemporary coin on hand, so I'm not springing for any perks. That means you, Jack."
"I think I'm offended!" exclaimed Jack. "You think I have to pay?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Just stay out of trouble," he admonished, before turning his attention to one of the attendants. "Now, you'll have to be extra certain to get behind the ears, though I understand they were rather larger the last time around . . . ."
"What does he mean by 'perks'?" asked Stephen in an undertone. "Extra water? Scented soap?"
"Not exactly. See those two over there?" Jack jerked his head towards a burly man with a full beard, being rinsed by a boy who was a shade too fair to be Turkish. Greek, maybe.
Stephen had been trying not to look at this particular couple. Not that they were doing anything inappropriate! Surely it was a cultural norm, all that touching, the boy's soft hands running over the man's slick muscles, the kiss on the cheek—
—and then it was a kiss on the lips, and the pair walked out of the room arm-in-arm.
"That's a perk," said Jack with a grin.
"Why would I pay for that?" squeaked Stephen. "I'm not like that! Where would you even get that idea?"
"Hey, hey, easy!" exclaimed Jack, holding up his hands. "Didn't mean to imply anything."
"Good!"
"You play your cards right, you could probably have them paying you."
By the time Stephen had gotten over his shock enough to reply, Jack too had been led away.
⇔
The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD
"What is a psi-moon, exactly?" asked Sarah Jane as Truthiness led them down the corridors. The architecture had shifted from a classical hodgepodge to something very modern and businesslike, not to mention on a reasonable scale; but the normal-sized portraits on the walls were still Stephen all the way.
"It's a kind of artificial planetoid," replied the Doctor. "Invented by a particularly lunatic group of humans. Brilliant, but lunatic. Psi-moons are self-terraforming in response to psychic energy."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning that they change their surfaces based on a person's mind. This one was flat and boring when we landed because there were no minds around for it to reflect."
"And then Stephen stepped out onto it! So it changed to reflect his psyche?"
"That's right. The earthquake must have been from the chaos of the whole moon remolding itself."
"Does this mean that we're basically walking around inside Stephen's head?"
"Exactly! Truthiness here represents some part of his personality. I'm sure we'll meet others."
"Of course you will!" said Truthiness brightly. "I'll introduce you to everyone here. They're a great bunch." And with that, he pushed open a set of wide double doors.
In keeping with the haphazard construction scheme, the next room was a reasonable facsimile of a nineteenth-century Victorian dining hall. Elaborate candelabras hung from the high arched ceiling; the walls were wood paneling hung with austere portraits in gold frames, interspersed with tall stained-glass windows. The windows and the portraits depicted the same subject as every other image in the building, but if by some chance you forgot what he looked like, fifty copies of his figure sat at the long tables.
"I hope you'll forgive us for beginning early," said Truthiness as he led them to a pair of empty seats. "We simply couldn't wait. I'll make full introductions later. You're sitting with Confidence . . ."
The Stephen-clone on the Doctor's side offered a hand to shake. His grip was firm and, well, confident. "This is going to be a great night."
". . . and Heterosexuality."
His twin on Sarah Jane's side leered. "Hel-lo."
"Where's the real Stephen?" asked the Doctor, a little curtly.
"He couldn't be with us, I'm afraid," replied Truthiness. "But he's just fine. Well, must dash for the moment. Enjoy your meal!"
He strode away, leaving Sarah Jane to shrink away from Heterosexuality, who was making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was staring at her breasts. "Doctor, can we switch sides?"
Rating: PG (the wet and soapy kind)
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3/Torchwood S2 is fair game.
Summary: On the unidentified planetoid, Four and Sarah Jane meet their very charming host. On Earth, Jack, Ten, and young Stephen visit a Turkish bath, which, as you might expect, gets pretty gay.
Beta and Brit-picking by the indefatigable
stellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.I'm Your Moon
Part Two
????: 2,999,404 AD
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Sarah Jane Smith is 29. Stephen Colbert is 44.
"There you are!"
Sarah Jane and the Doctor, who had been staring in shock and awe at the thirty-foot tapestries printed with heroic images of Stephen, spun around to see their subject in the flesh. His suit was crisp, his tie bright, and not a hair on his head out of place. It was as though the mysterious earthquake right after their landing had passed him right by.
Still, Sarah Jane had to ask. "Stephen! Are you all right?"
"Never better!" exclaimed Stephen, grinning to reveal perfect teeth that all but flashed in the soft light.
"Hold on, Sarah," warned the Doctor, putting a hand on her shoulder before addressing the man before them in a loud voice. "You're not Stephen."
Not-Stephen's grin didn't flicker. "Whoops! You caught me," he said, the picture of a genteel jokester called out on a harmless ruse. "I'm Truthiness. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Of course!" cried the Doctor. "This must be a psi-moon!"
"I don't know what that means," said Truthiness amiably. "But I do know that dinner is almost ready. Would you like to join us?"
Earth: 1562.
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is so old that his dreams are all reruns.
Stephen felt very exposed.
The soft red towel around his midsection hung down below his knees, and there was hardly any more clothing on anyone else in the hot room. This didn't make him feel any better.
For one thing, he was in the company of Jack, whose body could have been designed by a Roman sculptor, and the Doctor, who was skinny as a twig but owned it, which made Stephen look all the more awkward by comparison.
For another, in spite of the dirt that seemed to have made it onto every inch of his skin, he and Jack and the Doctor were by far the whitest people in the room. (People told Stephen he was white, and he believed them, because nobody had ever burned a cross on his lawn. Speaking of crosses, he was also fairly sure he was the only Catholic within a hundred miles. He had the strange sensation that, any moment now, somebody might jump out and demand that he apologize for the Crusades.)
But all of this might have been bearable if the Turkish bathhouse had only provided, well, baths.
There was a huge marble platform in the center of the room, its edges rounded and smooth, on which several men were lying to receive vigorous massages. The walls were inset with fountains like massive, ornately carved stone sinks, and while some of the men by these were washing themselves, most were allowing themselves to be soaped and scrubbed and doused with water by these same masseurs.
Male masseurs. Young male masseurs—none of them could have been much older than Stephen himself. Gorgeous young male masseurs.
It was as if one of his most lavish fantasies had been laid out for everyone to see. He could hardly have felt more naked if he actually had been.
In spite of Stephen's fears, the Doctor didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "Sit back and let the staff lead," he advised. "They're the professionals. But we don't actually have any contemporary coin on hand, so I'm not springing for any perks. That means you, Jack."
"I think I'm offended!" exclaimed Jack. "You think I have to pay?"
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Just stay out of trouble," he admonished, before turning his attention to one of the attendants. "Now, you'll have to be extra certain to get behind the ears, though I understand they were rather larger the last time around . . . ."
"What does he mean by 'perks'?" asked Stephen in an undertone. "Extra water? Scented soap?"
"Not exactly. See those two over there?" Jack jerked his head towards a burly man with a full beard, being rinsed by a boy who was a shade too fair to be Turkish. Greek, maybe.
Stephen had been trying not to look at this particular couple. Not that they were doing anything inappropriate! Surely it was a cultural norm, all that touching, the boy's soft hands running over the man's slick muscles, the kiss on the cheek—
—and then it was a kiss on the lips, and the pair walked out of the room arm-in-arm.
"That's a perk," said Jack with a grin.
"Why would I pay for that?" squeaked Stephen. "I'm not like that! Where would you even get that idea?"
"Hey, hey, easy!" exclaimed Jack, holding up his hands. "Didn't mean to imply anything."
"Good!"
"You play your cards right, you could probably have them paying you."
By the time Stephen had gotten over his shock enough to reply, Jack too had been led away.
The psi-moon: 2,999,404 AD
"What is a psi-moon, exactly?" asked Sarah Jane as Truthiness led them down the corridors. The architecture had shifted from a classical hodgepodge to something very modern and businesslike, not to mention on a reasonable scale; but the normal-sized portraits on the walls were still Stephen all the way.
"It's a kind of artificial planetoid," replied the Doctor. "Invented by a particularly lunatic group of humans. Brilliant, but lunatic. Psi-moons are self-terraforming in response to psychic energy."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning that they change their surfaces based on a person's mind. This one was flat and boring when we landed because there were no minds around for it to reflect."
"And then Stephen stepped out onto it! So it changed to reflect his psyche?"
"That's right. The earthquake must have been from the chaos of the whole moon remolding itself."
"Does this mean that we're basically walking around inside Stephen's head?"
"Exactly! Truthiness here represents some part of his personality. I'm sure we'll meet others."
"Of course you will!" said Truthiness brightly. "I'll introduce you to everyone here. They're a great bunch." And with that, he pushed open a set of wide double doors.
In keeping with the haphazard construction scheme, the next room was a reasonable facsimile of a nineteenth-century Victorian dining hall. Elaborate candelabras hung from the high arched ceiling; the walls were wood paneling hung with austere portraits in gold frames, interspersed with tall stained-glass windows. The windows and the portraits depicted the same subject as every other image in the building, but if by some chance you forgot what he looked like, fifty copies of his figure sat at the long tables.
"I hope you'll forgive us for beginning early," said Truthiness as he led them to a pair of empty seats. "We simply couldn't wait. I'll make full introductions later. You're sitting with Confidence . . ."
The Stephen-clone on the Doctor's side offered a hand to shake. His grip was firm and, well, confident. "This is going to be a great night."
". . . and Heterosexuality."
His twin on Sarah Jane's side leered. "Hel-lo."
"Where's the real Stephen?" asked the Doctor, a little curtly.
"He couldn't be with us, I'm afraid," replied Truthiness. "But he's just fine. Well, must dash for the moment. Enjoy your meal!"
He strode away, leaving Sarah Jane to shrink away from Heterosexuality, who was making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was staring at her breasts. "Doctor, can we switch sides?"
no subject
I know I'll be disappointed if Torchwood can't think of a reason for the characters to get naked except for towels at some point in its run.