Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-11-19 12:39 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-11-19 12:39 am
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: deleted scenes
Title: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: deleted scenes
Rating: G
Series: TCR/DW
Summary: A bonus scene from the fifth serial, and gratuitous ickle!Stephen in drag.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
("I Want My MTV", would have been in the final episode but completely wrecked the pacing.)
Earth: 1993.
They stumbled out into the street just as the fire trucks pulled up. A cheer went up from the crowd of gawkers.
As the firefighters charged in, hoses unrolling behind them, one paused next to the trio. "That was brave," she said. "Reckless, but brave. Make sure you stop by the ambulance, get those burns checked out."
"It's okay," said Coffee Thief. "We're with a doctor."
"So they are," declared another voice. It was Crazy Scarf, though the scarf itself seemed to have gone missing. "This way, please. I do believe I have something for your head."
He led Tarantino, still leaning heavily on Coffee Thief, down the street. Dropping the spent fire extinguisher with a clatter, Jon followed, trying to focus on taking deep breaths.
They turned a corner and stopped under a darkened awning, where The Babe was standing over three even hotter unconscious guys tied up with the eponymous crazy scarf. "Oh, thank heaven!" she exclaimed.
She said something else, while she and Crazy Scarf took the dizzy Tarantino off of Coffee Thief's hands; Jon barely heard. His breath wasn't coming any easier. What had he been thinking, running into a smoke-filled room?
"Jon?" It was Coffee Thief. "Oh, God, Jon!" Hands on his shoulders. "Sit down. Where's your inhaler?"
"Jacket," gasped Jon, leaning against the brick and sliding to the ground. "Left it inside."
"Doctor!" cried Coffee Thief angrily. "Do something!"
"Just a moment!" insisted Crazy Scarf, digging through his pockets. (So he was Doctor Crazy Scarf? Who knew?)
Coffee Thief dropped to his knees at Jon's side. "It's gonna be okay," he said shakily. "Hang in there, Jon. Breathe. Breathe."
Jon tried.
After what seemed like an eternity, Doctor Crazy Scarf crouched next to the pair and held out a postmodern contraption just barely recognizable as an inhaler. Probably wasn't sanitary, and it might not even have the right drug, but Jon grabbed it on instinct—pop, click, twist, breathe.
Every gasp was an effort, but it didn't get harder. And then, with agonizing slowness, it got easier.
At long last he took a deep breath and looked up. "I'm okay now, I think."
Coffee Thief flung his arms around Jon's shoulders and squeezed him close. Jon figured he would allow it. Just this once.
⇔
(This never fit anywhere. It was really just an excuse to draw the picture.)
The Vortex.
"Stephen?" Jack swung down the spiral staircase in the center of the TARDIS' wardrobe. Racks of clothing ringed the walls, one above the next as far down as the eye could see: the costumes of billions of cultures from all the ages of the universe. "Are you down here?"
"No!" insisted a voice from behind a bank of 20th-century Earth outfits.
"Sorry, are you changing? I won't look."
There was a pause, then a grouchy admission: "I'm dressed."
"Well, come on out, then!"
"No! You'll get the wrong idea."
"Hand to heart, Stephen, I won't get any ideas at all," promised Jack, wondering what the kid had found. Tie-dye shirts and beads? Leather short-shorts? "Can I see?"
At last the rows of fabric parted, and Stephen emerged.
"Don't laugh!" he warned.
Jack quickly stifled his smile.
"This isn't . . . a thing," said Stephen. "I mean, I just . . . I found it, and it looked like it would fit. So I thought, as long as I'm here, I might as well . . . but it's not a thing, okay?"
Before Jack could answer, there was a clatter above them as the Doctor came tripping down the stairs. "Good! You found him!" he exclaimed, grabbing the center pole with one hand and leaning out over the edge to look down on the level where the two companions stood. "Oi! Stephen, where did you get that?"
"It's not what it looks like!" yelped Stephen.
"It looks like the traditional battle dress of the first-century monks of Arkintoofle Minor. Went missing on me two decades back. Where ever did you find it?"
"Oh!" Stephen straightened his shoulders and let go of the fistfuls of black fabric he was clutching; the skirt swirled around his legs as it was released. "It somehow got misfiled with the Earth stuff. I spotted the problem right away, of course."
Rating: G
Series: TCR/DW
Summary: A bonus scene from the fifth serial, and gratuitous ickle!Stephen in drag.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
("I Want My MTV", would have been in the final episode but completely wrecked the pacing.)
Earth: 1993.
They stumbled out into the street just as the fire trucks pulled up. A cheer went up from the crowd of gawkers.
As the firefighters charged in, hoses unrolling behind them, one paused next to the trio. "That was brave," she said. "Reckless, but brave. Make sure you stop by the ambulance, get those burns checked out."
"It's okay," said Coffee Thief. "We're with a doctor."
"So they are," declared another voice. It was Crazy Scarf, though the scarf itself seemed to have gone missing. "This way, please. I do believe I have something for your head."
He led Tarantino, still leaning heavily on Coffee Thief, down the street. Dropping the spent fire extinguisher with a clatter, Jon followed, trying to focus on taking deep breaths.
They turned a corner and stopped under a darkened awning, where The Babe was standing over three even hotter unconscious guys tied up with the eponymous crazy scarf. "Oh, thank heaven!" she exclaimed.
She said something else, while she and Crazy Scarf took the dizzy Tarantino off of Coffee Thief's hands; Jon barely heard. His breath wasn't coming any easier. What had he been thinking, running into a smoke-filled room?
"Jon?" It was Coffee Thief. "Oh, God, Jon!" Hands on his shoulders. "Sit down. Where's your inhaler?"
"Jacket," gasped Jon, leaning against the brick and sliding to the ground. "Left it inside."
"Doctor!" cried Coffee Thief angrily. "Do something!"
"Just a moment!" insisted Crazy Scarf, digging through his pockets. (So he was Doctor Crazy Scarf? Who knew?)
Coffee Thief dropped to his knees at Jon's side. "It's gonna be okay," he said shakily. "Hang in there, Jon. Breathe. Breathe."
Jon tried.
After what seemed like an eternity, Doctor Crazy Scarf crouched next to the pair and held out a postmodern contraption just barely recognizable as an inhaler. Probably wasn't sanitary, and it might not even have the right drug, but Jon grabbed it on instinct—pop, click, twist, breathe.
Every gasp was an effort, but it didn't get harder. And then, with agonizing slowness, it got easier.
At long last he took a deep breath and looked up. "I'm okay now, I think."
Coffee Thief flung his arms around Jon's shoulders and squeezed him close. Jon figured he would allow it. Just this once.
(This never fit anywhere. It was really just an excuse to draw the picture.)
The Vortex.
"Stephen?" Jack swung down the spiral staircase in the center of the TARDIS' wardrobe. Racks of clothing ringed the walls, one above the next as far down as the eye could see: the costumes of billions of cultures from all the ages of the universe. "Are you down here?"
"No!" insisted a voice from behind a bank of 20th-century Earth outfits.
"Sorry, are you changing? I won't look."
There was a pause, then a grouchy admission: "I'm dressed."
"Well, come on out, then!"
"No! You'll get the wrong idea."
"Hand to heart, Stephen, I won't get any ideas at all," promised Jack, wondering what the kid had found. Tie-dye shirts and beads? Leather short-shorts? "Can I see?"
At last the rows of fabric parted, and Stephen emerged.
"Don't laugh!" he warned.
Jack quickly stifled his smile.
"This isn't . . . a thing," said Stephen. "I mean, I just . . . I found it, and it looked like it would fit. So I thought, as long as I'm here, I might as well . . . but it's not a thing, okay?"
Before Jack could answer, there was a clatter above them as the Doctor came tripping down the stairs. "Good! You found him!" he exclaimed, grabbing the center pole with one hand and leaning out over the edge to look down on the level where the two companions stood. "Oi! Stephen, where did you get that?"
"It's not what it looks like!" yelped Stephen.
"It looks like the traditional battle dress of the first-century monks of Arkintoofle Minor. Went missing on me two decades back. Where ever did you find it?"
"Oh!" Stephen straightened his shoulders and let go of the fistfuls of black fabric he was clutching; the skirt swirled around his legs as it was released. "It somehow got misfiled with the Earth stuff. I spotted the problem right away, of course."