Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-11-10 12:18 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-11-10 12:18 am
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: I Want My MTV, part 4
Title: I Want My MTV (4/6)
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3/Torchwood S2 is fair game.
Summary: Jack and young Stephen go hunting for Ten; young(-ish) Jon is stalked by a loudmouthed coffee thief, a babe, and a guy with a completely unreasonable scarf.
Beta by the overwhelmingstellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
I Want My MTV
Part Four
Another Damn Planet: 7032
The cave entrance was easy enough to find: a long, narrow cleft in the rock, more than high enough to walk comfortably as far as could be seen, though the interior shaded off rapidly into darkness.
"I've got a light in here somewhere," said Jack, rummaging in his pockets. A moment later he pulled out a something like a miniature flashlight and aimed its dim yellow beam at the cave floor. "There we go. Watch your step."
"Will do," said Stephen, trying not to think about orcs.
The mouth of the cave was still large and bright behind them when he heard the noise. "Jack! I think someone's in here!"
Jack took a step closer, and Stephen leaned cautiously against his side. "Yeah, I hear something. But I don't think it's a person."
He swung the flashlight across the dark spaces in front of them, until it met something that glittered and flashed in response. "Aha! A stream!"
"Is that good?" asked Stephen, who was now not-thinking about Gollum.
"You bet it's good. If we follow the water down into the cave, we'll know exactly how to get back. And if the Doctor did the same thing, which he probably did, we'll find him along the way."
⇔
Earth: 1994.
"This is where they are?" demanded Stephen.
The Doctor fiddled with his scanner, twisting a dial that Sarah Jane could've sworn hadn't been there before. It hummed cheerily at him. "Picking up signs of technology of the same sort that was in that spaceship. They're in here, all right."
"Impossible," protested Stephen. "This place never would've let them in."
After climbing down from the studio roof, they had spent a while walking the streets of New York City. Sarah Jane was a little afraid they would be mugged, but the Doctor's aura of confidence, not to mention just-this-side-of-sanity, put off any would-be attackers. They had finally come to a stop before a restaurant, set in the first story of a skyscraper whose sleek architecture simply oozed class.
"Their friend said they're using personal chameleon units," the Doctor pointed out. "All they would have to do is look up the appearances of contemporary celebrities."
"Those sound useful," said Sarah Jane. "Do we have anything like that?"
"Oh, not at all."
"Well, maybe it's for the best. I don't think they'd be inclined to serve a couple of talking phone booths."
"Better talking phone booths than you two," pointed out Stephen. "At least I'm wearing a suit! The staff is going to take one look at that scarf and laugh you back out on the street."
"Not if they think we're important enough," countered the Doctor.
"And how are we going to convince them of that? If we'd landed ten years later, I could get you in, but right now these poor fools haven't even heard of me yet."
Waving his companions closer, the Doctor dug through his pockets. "It's going to take some concentration on your part, Stephen," he whispered, pulling out the leather bus pass holder and flipping it open. "This thing's still responding to the papilløn, which in turn responds to what you're thinking. You see?"
Sarah Jane leaned in. Sure enough, the slightly psychic paper read I Can't Believe We're Chasing Alien Stoners.
"I can use it to bluff my way into that restaurant, but only if it isn't contaminated by outside forces. Which means you must keep your mind completely blank."
That Won't Be Hard, snarked the Wørd.
"You too," said the Doctor sternly. "As blank as you can, given that you're a wholly mental being in the first place."
Yes, Mother.
"Good! Let's give it a test run." He closed the bus pass holder and straightened up. "Ready?"
Mouth pressed into a firm line, Stephen looked straight ahead into the distance. His entire body stiffened; the only motion he allowed himself was a short, curt nod.
"Right." The Doctor aimed the paper just at Sarah Jane, flipped it open again. "Nice to meet you. I'm Detective Sherlock Holmes."
And I'm The Queen Of Egypt, said the paper.
Sarah Jane shook her head at the other two. "No good."
"You distracted me," sulked Stephen. "I was caught off guard. Say something realistic next time."
⇔
A waiter accosted them within thirty seconds after they walked in the door.
"Excuse me, sir? May I help you with something?"
They had practiced with the psychic paper for a quarter of an hour, after agreeing that it should appear to be a wildly extravagant credit card.
"Yes indeed!" exclaimed the Doctor. "A table for three, my good man."
Credit cards were easy for Stephen to picture. He had quite a few, and he spent a lot of time lovingly studying them.
"I'm afraid sir must be lost. This establishment does not serve—"
Stephen let his vision drift out of focus. Credit card. Think credit card.
"Oh, no, this is definitely the place. Isn't our money good here?"
Seal in the corner. Little swirls around the edges. Shimmer. Lots of shimmer. Rainbow reflections when the light hits it just right.
"I do apologize," said the waiter, his dignity not wavering. "Table for three, did you—"
Shiny stamped numerals . . . printed block letters . . . Jon?
"—dear me, what's that?"
Quick as blinking, the Doctor flipped the case shut. "Latest in hologram technology," he said. "Security purposes. I'm sure you understand. Three, please."
⇔
If this wasn't the best day of Jon's life, it had to at least be in the top ten.
He had been excited enough just to have Tarantino on the show. (The Tarantino. Quentin Reservoir-freakin'-Dogs Tarantino.) And now they were having dinner together. Technically it was for work—he was supposed to be writing an article about this—but a meal was a meal, and the man was single. (Hey, a guy can dream, right?)
The food was probably excellent, but Jon hardly noticed. Even the miniature pink umbrellas in the drinks barely registered. As for the random break-in from after the show, that had been completely forgotten.
And then they walked in the door.
Jon sank down a little in his seat; Tarantino noticed. "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Saw someone I recognized, that's all. Keep talking!"
He tried to pay attention, but his eyes kept flicking to the new arrivals. It was them, all right. The coffee thief, the babe, and the guy with the unmistakable crazy scarf.
Flick. Now the waiter was leading them in this direction. Coffee Thief was definitely trying not to look in Jon's direction.
Flick. They had stopped moving, were having a whispered conversation.
Flick. The Babe had broken from the group and was heading towards his table.
And then she was next to them. "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt . . . ."
Tarantino broke off mid-sentence, smiled appreciatively at her. "Well, hello."
She returned him a charming, if somewhat toothy, smile before turning to Jon. "I just want to apologize for the way my cousin's been acting. He's a little . . ." She touched her head meaningfully, then went on in her charming British lilt. "You understand. Completely harmless, though, I promise. We'll try to keep him out of your way from now on."
"Thanks," said Jon warily.
Crazy Scarf was a few steps behind The Babe now, and Coffee Thief with him, stealing awkward glances at Jon. At least he wasn't yelling this time. Although, come to think of it . . .
"Hey, if you're her cousin, how come you don't have an accent?"
Coffee Thief's head jerked sharply towards him, fixing him with an intense, dark-eyed stare. "It was beaten out of me at a young age."
His tone was so perfectly deadpan that Jon was a little shaken.
Lunatic, remember? he told himself. Might not even know what he's saying.
And then, just like that, the stare was broken as Coffee Thief noticed the other man at the table. "Hey, you're Quentin Tarantino!"
"Uh, that's right," said Tarantino, a little nervously.
Coffee Thief grinned. "I'm a huge fan. I loved Kill Bill."
"Kill who?"
Crazy Scarf coughed loudly. "Well, I think that's quite enough of that!" he said. "We've got to be off. Lovely to meet you both!" With that, he all but dragged Coffee Thief away.
⇔
"I think that went well, don't you?" said the Doctor brightly, as they finally settled down at their table.
Sarah Jane sighed. "I think it went down like a ton of bricks. How about you, Stephen?"
"I think everything here is un-American," replied Stephen, who had turned his entire formidable focus on the food selection. "No hot dogs, no apple pie, no South Carolina peaches, just dishes with freaky Italian names that nobody can pronounce."
"That's probably because it's an Italian restaurant."
"That's no excuse. You think these gastroelitists could be coerced into making a ham salad?"
"I think they would make anyone a salad," said the Doctor sincerely.
When Stephen finally got it, he glowered over the top of his menu.
"Gentlemen, please," protested Sarah Jane. "We still have a couple of alien hoodlums to track down, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," agreed Stephen. "Look, you guys order for me, okay? I've gotta run to the Jon."
He half rose, then paused when he caught the look on Sarah Jane's face. "That's 'the loo' to you people."
Oh. Of course. The john. "Right."
It was a few minutes before she noticed that Jon, too, had left his table. By that point there wasn't time to do anything about it before the explosions started.
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3/Torchwood S2 is fair game.
Summary: Jack and young Stephen go hunting for Ten; young(-ish) Jon is stalked by a loudmouthed coffee thief, a babe, and a guy with a completely unreasonable scarf.
Beta by the overwhelming
stellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.I Want My MTV
Part Four
Another Damn Planet: 7032
The cave entrance was easy enough to find: a long, narrow cleft in the rock, more than high enough to walk comfortably as far as could be seen, though the interior shaded off rapidly into darkness.
"I've got a light in here somewhere," said Jack, rummaging in his pockets. A moment later he pulled out a something like a miniature flashlight and aimed its dim yellow beam at the cave floor. "There we go. Watch your step."
"Will do," said Stephen, trying not to think about orcs.
The mouth of the cave was still large and bright behind them when he heard the noise. "Jack! I think someone's in here!"
Jack took a step closer, and Stephen leaned cautiously against his side. "Yeah, I hear something. But I don't think it's a person."
He swung the flashlight across the dark spaces in front of them, until it met something that glittered and flashed in response. "Aha! A stream!"
"Is that good?" asked Stephen, who was now not-thinking about Gollum.
"You bet it's good. If we follow the water down into the cave, we'll know exactly how to get back. And if the Doctor did the same thing, which he probably did, we'll find him along the way."
Earth: 1994.
"This is where they are?" demanded Stephen.
The Doctor fiddled with his scanner, twisting a dial that Sarah Jane could've sworn hadn't been there before. It hummed cheerily at him. "Picking up signs of technology of the same sort that was in that spaceship. They're in here, all right."
"Impossible," protested Stephen. "This place never would've let them in."
After climbing down from the studio roof, they had spent a while walking the streets of New York City. Sarah Jane was a little afraid they would be mugged, but the Doctor's aura of confidence, not to mention just-this-side-of-sanity, put off any would-be attackers. They had finally come to a stop before a restaurant, set in the first story of a skyscraper whose sleek architecture simply oozed class.
"Their friend said they're using personal chameleon units," the Doctor pointed out. "All they would have to do is look up the appearances of contemporary celebrities."
"Those sound useful," said Sarah Jane. "Do we have anything like that?"
"Oh, not at all."
"Well, maybe it's for the best. I don't think they'd be inclined to serve a couple of talking phone booths."
"Better talking phone booths than you two," pointed out Stephen. "At least I'm wearing a suit! The staff is going to take one look at that scarf and laugh you back out on the street."
"Not if they think we're important enough," countered the Doctor.
"And how are we going to convince them of that? If we'd landed ten years later, I could get you in, but right now these poor fools haven't even heard of me yet."
Waving his companions closer, the Doctor dug through his pockets. "It's going to take some concentration on your part, Stephen," he whispered, pulling out the leather bus pass holder and flipping it open. "This thing's still responding to the papilløn, which in turn responds to what you're thinking. You see?"
Sarah Jane leaned in. Sure enough, the slightly psychic paper read I Can't Believe We're Chasing Alien Stoners.
"I can use it to bluff my way into that restaurant, but only if it isn't contaminated by outside forces. Which means you must keep your mind completely blank."
That Won't Be Hard, snarked the Wørd.
"You too," said the Doctor sternly. "As blank as you can, given that you're a wholly mental being in the first place."
Yes, Mother.
"Good! Let's give it a test run." He closed the bus pass holder and straightened up. "Ready?"
Mouth pressed into a firm line, Stephen looked straight ahead into the distance. His entire body stiffened; the only motion he allowed himself was a short, curt nod.
"Right." The Doctor aimed the paper just at Sarah Jane, flipped it open again. "Nice to meet you. I'm Detective Sherlock Holmes."
And I'm The Queen Of Egypt, said the paper.
Sarah Jane shook her head at the other two. "No good."
"You distracted me," sulked Stephen. "I was caught off guard. Say something realistic next time."
A waiter accosted them within thirty seconds after they walked in the door.
"Excuse me, sir? May I help you with something?"
They had practiced with the psychic paper for a quarter of an hour, after agreeing that it should appear to be a wildly extravagant credit card.
"Yes indeed!" exclaimed the Doctor. "A table for three, my good man."
Credit cards were easy for Stephen to picture. He had quite a few, and he spent a lot of time lovingly studying them.
"I'm afraid sir must be lost. This establishment does not serve—"
Stephen let his vision drift out of focus. Credit card. Think credit card.
"Oh, no, this is definitely the place. Isn't our money good here?"
Seal in the corner. Little swirls around the edges. Shimmer. Lots of shimmer. Rainbow reflections when the light hits it just right.
"I do apologize," said the waiter, his dignity not wavering. "Table for three, did you—"
Shiny stamped numerals . . . printed block letters . . . Jon?
"—dear me, what's that?"
Quick as blinking, the Doctor flipped the case shut. "Latest in hologram technology," he said. "Security purposes. I'm sure you understand. Three, please."
If this wasn't the best day of Jon's life, it had to at least be in the top ten.
He had been excited enough just to have Tarantino on the show. (The Tarantino. Quentin Reservoir-freakin'-Dogs Tarantino.) And now they were having dinner together. Technically it was for work—he was supposed to be writing an article about this—but a meal was a meal, and the man was single. (Hey, a guy can dream, right?)
The food was probably excellent, but Jon hardly noticed. Even the miniature pink umbrellas in the drinks barely registered. As for the random break-in from after the show, that had been completely forgotten.
And then they walked in the door.
Jon sank down a little in his seat; Tarantino noticed. "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Saw someone I recognized, that's all. Keep talking!"
He tried to pay attention, but his eyes kept flicking to the new arrivals. It was them, all right. The coffee thief, the babe, and the guy with the unmistakable crazy scarf.
Flick. Now the waiter was leading them in this direction. Coffee Thief was definitely trying not to look in Jon's direction.
Flick. They had stopped moving, were having a whispered conversation.
Flick. The Babe had broken from the group and was heading towards his table.
And then she was next to them. "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt . . . ."
Tarantino broke off mid-sentence, smiled appreciatively at her. "Well, hello."
She returned him a charming, if somewhat toothy, smile before turning to Jon. "I just want to apologize for the way my cousin's been acting. He's a little . . ." She touched her head meaningfully, then went on in her charming British lilt. "You understand. Completely harmless, though, I promise. We'll try to keep him out of your way from now on."
"Thanks," said Jon warily.
Crazy Scarf was a few steps behind The Babe now, and Coffee Thief with him, stealing awkward glances at Jon. At least he wasn't yelling this time. Although, come to think of it . . .
"Hey, if you're her cousin, how come you don't have an accent?"
Coffee Thief's head jerked sharply towards him, fixing him with an intense, dark-eyed stare. "It was beaten out of me at a young age."
His tone was so perfectly deadpan that Jon was a little shaken.
Lunatic, remember? he told himself. Might not even know what he's saying.
And then, just like that, the stare was broken as Coffee Thief noticed the other man at the table. "Hey, you're Quentin Tarantino!"
"Uh, that's right," said Tarantino, a little nervously.
Coffee Thief grinned. "I'm a huge fan. I loved Kill Bill."
"Kill who?"
Crazy Scarf coughed loudly. "Well, I think that's quite enough of that!" he said. "We've got to be off. Lovely to meet you both!" With that, he all but dragged Coffee Thief away.
"I think that went well, don't you?" said the Doctor brightly, as they finally settled down at their table.
Sarah Jane sighed. "I think it went down like a ton of bricks. How about you, Stephen?"
"I think everything here is un-American," replied Stephen, who had turned his entire formidable focus on the food selection. "No hot dogs, no apple pie, no South Carolina peaches, just dishes with freaky Italian names that nobody can pronounce."
"That's probably because it's an Italian restaurant."
"That's no excuse. You think these gastroelitists could be coerced into making a ham salad?"
"I think they would make anyone a salad," said the Doctor sincerely.
When Stephen finally got it, he glowered over the top of his menu.
"Gentlemen, please," protested Sarah Jane. "We still have a couple of alien hoodlums to track down, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah," agreed Stephen. "Look, you guys order for me, okay? I've gotta run to the Jon."
He half rose, then paused when he caught the look on Sarah Jane's face. "That's 'the loo' to you people."
Oh. Of course. The john. "Right."
It was a few minutes before she noticed that Jon, too, had left his table. By that point there wasn't time to do anything about it before the explosions started.
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"I think they would make anyone a salad," said the Doctor sincerely.
Oh, that's awful XD I love it.
Poor Coffee Thief. He just can't get the hang of time travel, can he? Incidentally, I will never again be able to look at the psychic paper without giggling.
So I'm not the only one thinking the pond in the spider cave was a Gollum reference?
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secret crushboss is hanging around...I actually wrote this chapter weeks ago, so it wasn't in response to that segment - but yes, it was definitely very Tolkeinian! (He was bitten by a spider at a young age - Tolkien, not Stephen - which explains a lot.)
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"What?"
hahaha! I love it!
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Ahahah! Oh distracted Stephen <3
I loved this, and can't wait for the next part. Also: explosions? What? Gah.
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(Anonymous) 2008-11-10 10:04 pm (UTC)(link)...i like this chapter already.
"Well, maybe it's for the best. I don't think they'd be inclined to serve a couple of talking phone booths."
"Better talking phone booths than you two," pointed out Stephen. "At least I'm wearing a suit! The staff is going to take one look at that scarf and laugh you back out on the street."
...that amused me.
I Can't Believe We're Chasing Alien Stoners.
oh, Word-sama!
hee, Jon has a Tarantinocrush! can't say i altogether blame him.
Coffee Thief's head jerked sharply towards him, fixing him with an intense, dark-eyed stare. "It was beaten out of me at a young age."
His tone was so perfectly deadpan that Jon was a little shaken.
as the Doctor and probably some other British people would say, BRILLIANT. oh, Stephen.
"...kill who?" (no, don't kill Who! okay, no more puns)
the ham salad bit and the stalking-Jon/john/loo bit were great.
much :heart:s and miniature pink umbrellas,
Kagaya
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Jon's been having celebrity mancrushes for a loooong time. Not that we're complaining.
"...kill who?" (no, don't kill Who! okay, no more puns)
...I totally have to steal that now. *scribbles it quickly in*
Thank you!
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(Anonymous) 2008-11-11 01:40 am (UTC)(link)your humble servant,
Kagaya
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....
..........I mean. Yeah. Great chapter.
*awkward cough*
.,;:Meex:;,.
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Thank you!
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God, I promised myself no more weird comments!
.,;:Meex:;,.
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(Anonymous) 2010-09-26 08:03 am (UTC)(link)Anywho. (No pun intended there 8D) This is a freaking AMAZING fic. If laughing extends your life I think I'm going to live to be about a hundred and fifty. 8D ( And no, I haven't finished it yet, but I'm commenting on this chapter because this is what I was reading when I figured out the Douglas Adams thing. :) )
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