Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-08-25 12:51 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-08-25 12:51 am
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: A Thousand Words, part 5
Title: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: A Thousand Wørds (5/5)
Rating: PG-13 (sexytalk, Aliens Made Them Do It)
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3 is fair game.
Summary: On opposite ends of Stephen's developing time loop, Ten watches events fall into place while Four tries to keep our heroes from falling to their deaths.
With pictures in!
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
A Thousand Wørds
Part Five
Mot: 109 AE.
"Hold on, Stephen!" urged Sarah Jane. "Just hold on. We'll get you out of this!"
When Stephen had pitched down the slope, Sarah Jane had automatically launched herself after him. Now she was flat on her stomach at the edge of a cliff, little tufts of grass and dirt crumbling away around her hands as they clung to Stephen's wrist, while Stephen himself dangled over a sharp and unbroken fall.
"Really?" came Stephen's voice from just below her line of vision, high and panicky. "Good! Because I'm way too sexy to die right now!"
The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face, and she didn't have a free hand to push them away. Spitting a few out of her mouth, she insisted: "I won't let you fall!"
"Of course you won't!" squeaked Stephen. "There's an entire species at risk here!"
For a moment Sarah Jane was speechless. At last she added, "There's also you, remember?"
"Yeah, but you don't like me!"
His wrist slipped a little as he said this; Sarah Jane clung more tightly, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve.
"You're . . . not the easiest person to get along with," she allowed. "But that doesn't mean I'd let you die! Papilløn or no papilløn!"
This time it was Stephen who hesitated. Or maybe he had made the mistake of looking down, and was too paralyzed with fear to speak.
But no, a moment later came his reply: "Really?"
"Really!"
"Charming as this heart-to-heart is," interrupted the Doctor's voice from above her, "I'd rather you finished it while one of you isn't hanging in midair."
A strip of cloth with a loop tied at the end was lowered past Sarah Jane's vision: the Doctor's scarf, with one end knotted around itself.
"Hook your arm through this, Stephen. Not just your wrist, either. Get it all the way up to your shoulder, then grab the rope and hang on for dear life. Yes, that's right. Steady there, Sarah Jane! Don't let yourself fall. Now, on three, pull. One—two—three!"
In one great heave they hauled Stephen up over the edge, and all three collapsed on the slope in a tired, windblown, disorderly heap.
Stephen was the first to get up and take stock of himself. "Dammit!" he exclaimed, looking down at his suit. "Grass stains!"
⇔
The Vortex.
"Isn't she just the most adorable thing?"
The baby papilløn had a segmented, grublike body, paper-white, the size of Sarah Jane's clenched fist when rolled up. Its eyes were closed slits, and four pincers surrounded its small, grasping mouth. It was, in her opinion, one of the ugliest things she had ever seen.
"Okay, so she's not really adorable," allowed Stephen, cupping the creature tenderly in his palms. "My gut is telling me she is, but I'm pretty sure my gut is wrong on this one."
"Maybe it's your adult version of the papilløn thinking it," suggested Sarah Jane. "What does it say?"
Shifting the baby into one hand, Stephen began reaching into his pockets, then gasped. "The paper's gone! I must have dropped it when I went over the cliff! I'm sorry, Doctor, I didn't mean to—"
This time, the Doctor nipped the fearful litany in the bud. "Nonsense! Don't worry about it. The papilløn itself is still safe in your mind; you just can't talk to it now. I've got another bit of slightly psychic paper lying about somewhere; I'll dig it out later if you desperately want more sarcasm. Is it changing color?"
"What, the paper? I don't know; I lost it."
"No, no, don't be silly! The papilløn. The physical one, obviously. Is it still pure white?"
Stephen checked. "She's turning blue! What does that mean? Does she need oxygen? Should we warm her up?"
The Doctor grinned. "Not at all. This is good. This is very good. It's imprinted! All it needs now is a cool dark place where it can form a chrysalis and then sit for a few hundred years. I believe there's a cabinet in your room that would be perfect."
⇔
Traken: 1974 AD (Earth time).
Stephen Col-bert is 17.
After changing his cufflinks for the fourth time, Stephen finally decided he liked this pair, then started wondering if he was wearing the right tie.
When the Doctor had suggested they drop in on a fancy ball, it had almost been a relief. If there was any skill Stephen Col-bert was secure in, it was his ability to carry himself properly in a tux. But now that it actually came time to dress, he couldn't stop fretting. He (along with Captain Jack) would be representing all of humanity here. It was crucial that he do it right.
In the end, though, it didn't matter if not a single Trakenite (Trakener? Trakenling?) was impressed by his display. He would settle for the Doctor's approval.
For no reason that he could explain, Stephen paused in his preparations and went over to the table where he had left the odd purple lump. Somehow the warmth of it was comforting—as if, even though he had never seen anything like it in his life, he knew it somehow. Or as if it knew him.
He picked it up . . . and it was cool. With a shiver, Stephen turned it over to see a large rip down the side.
What if I wasn't supposed to touch it?
What if there's no way to fix it?
What if it's really important to the Doctor, for some alien reason or other?
Well, he resolved, I just won't tell him.
Setting the object down with the rip facing the table, Stephen went back to the large oval mirror and focused with furious intensity on making his tie perfect.
⇔
The Vortex.
Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
As Stephen set the ugly
(Beautiful, said a voice in the back of his mind)
little creature down on the shelf of a cabinet, he heard footsteps outside and stood up quickly. "Hi."
"Hey," said Sarah Jane, easing the full-length oval mirror off of her back and onto his floor. "I brought you something."
"You . . . didn't have to do that, you know."
Sarah Jane shrugged. "It's only a mirror. No big deal."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay." In a very small voice, Stephen added, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Now, come on! We've got a species to save!"
⇔
Mot: 4734 AE (Ailurean Era).
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
Doctor Racine sat alone in her office, trying to muster up the courage to deliver the bad news.
Her Queen had predicted the unrest long before it reached the breaking point, but even someone like Racine, who did not have a single political fiber in her being, could see the turmoil in the citizenry these years. There could only be one outcome now. She would deliver the announcement that all of their experiments had failed, and then the mob would tear her to pieces.
She rose from her seat—and was struck by an unfamiliar noise in the corridor. It wasn't a mob of enraged citizens, but it was certainly loud.
Opening her door, Racine found a large blue box sitting in the middle of her hall.
As she gaped at it, a panel on one side swung open and a strange being hopped out. "People of Mot, rejoice!" he exclaimed. "Your sexy, sexy savior from outer space has arr—oh. Uh, hello."
Racine was struck dumb. The creature was like no animal Mot had ever known. It was pink, for one thing, and very fleshy.
But it had a papilløn. A female papilløn. And young.
Her own papilløn was instantly attracted, and Racine found herself clicking her pincers in appreciation.
Another, similar creature appeared behind the first. "Nice to meet you!" he said brightly. "I'm the Doctor. And I brought a friend."
"Yes!" squeaked the first creature. "And she's going to get along perfectly with your little hanger-on, I can tell. You two crazy kids have fun! I'll just be in the TARDIS. Alone."
Hi There, said his papilløn smoothly, as its host ran back into the box and slammed the door. Are There More Like You Around Here?
Though her own papilløn was reluctant to share, Racine overruled him. "Yes, there are. In fact, there's a bit of a mob outside who will be very pleased to see you."
⇔
Traken: 1974 AD (Earth time).
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. If, like wine, people improve with age, Jack Harkness is darn near perfect.
"Come on, this way, right-o, keep away from that statue!" ordered the Doctor as he shepherded the tuxedo-clad Jack and Stephen toward the front steps of a bustling Trakenite mansion. "Don't want to pre-empt my own brilliance. Ah, hello!" he added brightly to the well-dressed but strikingly muscular man standing at the gate. "Nice to meet you. Lovely evening, isn't it?"
"Do you have an invitation, sir?" asked the guard without preamble.
"Of course we do. Got it here somewhere—aha!" The Doctor pulled out a dark blue bus pass case and flipped it open. "Right here."
The guard squinted at the paper within, then raised his arm and spoke into something on his wrist. "Suspicious characters at front gate. Requesting backup."
Startled, the Doctor stood stock-still for a moment, then regained the presence of mind to look at the slightly psychic paper. Instead of a properly formatted Trakenite formal invitation, it sported a messy scrawl: he just wants you to like him like him please please like him.
"Doctor?" asked Jack. "Is everything all right?"
The Doctor turned to them and grinned broadly. "All's fine! Just a slight change of plans. RUN!"
⇔
Mot: 1 CE (Colbertan Era).
"Stephen?" called Sarah Jane, knocking gingerly at his door. "It's worked brilliantly. There are healthy papilløn clutches all over the place. The people of Mot are working on a banquet in your honor. They want to give you a medal, and something called the Order of Paiyatemu, First Class, and probably a fruit basket of some kind. Do you feel up to it?"
The man opened the door, and Sarah Jane had to fight not to let her expression change. Stephen was more disheveled than she had imagined he could get. His cheeks were flushed, his clothes hanging loosely, bags under his eyes.
In spite of this, his lips were curved into a sleepy, sated smile. "'Saright. For giant bugs, y'know, the sex is still okay when 'sjust mental."
". . . I see."
"But . . . c'n I have a bit of time to, whatsit, sleep, first?"
"Oh, of course! Not a problem!"
"'S tiring, being stud for a whole planet," mumbled Stephen. "Or mare. Whatever."
"I can imagine," lied Sarah Jane. "Listen, you sleep, okay? We'll party when you've had some time to recover."
Stephen giggled. "I've had hundreds of girlfriends!" he announced to nobody in particular.
"Good night, Stephen."
⇔
Traken: 1974 AD (Earth time).
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is older than several well-established civilizations.
Jack pushed Stephen into the TARDIS and slammed the door, while the Doctor sprinted to the console and began pulling levers. The room began to vibrate as the ship took off.
"So much for this!" cried the Doctor over the noise, tossing the bus pass aside as he circled the console. "It's going to be totally useless until you leave, Stephen! Might as well be an American dollar in 1066 when you're around!"
"I'm sorry!" cried Stephen, panic rising in his voice. "What did I do?"
"Doctor—" began Jack in exasperation.
"No, no, it means he just closed a time loop!" When the Doctor looked up from the console, his face was still broken by a broad manic grin. "That's a good thing!" he clarified.
"It—it is?" stammered Stephen.
"Oh, it is. It's good. It's better than good. It's fantastic! Means we're going to be doing a lot more running, though. Think you're up to that?"
Stephen looked anxiously at Jack, who did his best to give the kid an encouraging smile, then back at the Doctor. "Yeah," he said. "Running's okay. Actually, that was kinda fun."
"Brilliant!" replied the Time Lord, mashing some buttons apparently at random. "Let's go find somewhere to run!"
Rating: PG-13 (sexytalk, Aliens Made Them Do It)
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S3 is fair game.
Summary: On opposite ends of Stephen's developing time loop, Ten watches events fall into place while Four tries to keep our heroes from falling to their deaths.
With pictures in!
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
A Thousand Wørds
Part Five
Mot: 109 AE.
"Hold on, Stephen!" urged Sarah Jane. "Just hold on. We'll get you out of this!"
When Stephen had pitched down the slope, Sarah Jane had automatically launched herself after him. Now she was flat on her stomach at the edge of a cliff, little tufts of grass and dirt crumbling away around her hands as they clung to Stephen's wrist, while Stephen himself dangled over a sharp and unbroken fall.
"Really?" came Stephen's voice from just below her line of vision, high and panicky. "Good! Because I'm way too sexy to die right now!"
The wind was blowing strands of hair in her face, and she didn't have a free hand to push them away. Spitting a few out of her mouth, she insisted: "I won't let you fall!"
"Of course you won't!" squeaked Stephen. "There's an entire species at risk here!"
For a moment Sarah Jane was speechless. At last she added, "There's also you, remember?"
"Yeah, but you don't like me!"
His wrist slipped a little as he said this; Sarah Jane clung more tightly, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve.
"You're . . . not the easiest person to get along with," she allowed. "But that doesn't mean I'd let you die! Papilløn or no papilløn!"
This time it was Stephen who hesitated. Or maybe he had made the mistake of looking down, and was too paralyzed with fear to speak.
But no, a moment later came his reply: "Really?"
"Really!"
"Charming as this heart-to-heart is," interrupted the Doctor's voice from above her, "I'd rather you finished it while one of you isn't hanging in midair."
A strip of cloth with a loop tied at the end was lowered past Sarah Jane's vision: the Doctor's scarf, with one end knotted around itself.
"Hook your arm through this, Stephen. Not just your wrist, either. Get it all the way up to your shoulder, then grab the rope and hang on for dear life. Yes, that's right. Steady there, Sarah Jane! Don't let yourself fall. Now, on three, pull. One—two—three!"
In one great heave they hauled Stephen up over the edge, and all three collapsed on the slope in a tired, windblown, disorderly heap.
Stephen was the first to get up and take stock of himself. "Dammit!" he exclaimed, looking down at his suit. "Grass stains!"
The Vortex.
"Isn't she just the most adorable thing?"
The baby papilløn had a segmented, grublike body, paper-white, the size of Sarah Jane's clenched fist when rolled up. Its eyes were closed slits, and four pincers surrounded its small, grasping mouth. It was, in her opinion, one of the ugliest things she had ever seen.
"Okay, so she's not really adorable," allowed Stephen, cupping the creature tenderly in his palms. "My gut is telling me she is, but I'm pretty sure my gut is wrong on this one."
"Maybe it's your adult version of the papilløn thinking it," suggested Sarah Jane. "What does it say?"
Shifting the baby into one hand, Stephen began reaching into his pockets, then gasped. "The paper's gone! I must have dropped it when I went over the cliff! I'm sorry, Doctor, I didn't mean to—"
This time, the Doctor nipped the fearful litany in the bud. "Nonsense! Don't worry about it. The papilløn itself is still safe in your mind; you just can't talk to it now. I've got another bit of slightly psychic paper lying about somewhere; I'll dig it out later if you desperately want more sarcasm. Is it changing color?"
"What, the paper? I don't know; I lost it."
"No, no, don't be silly! The papilløn. The physical one, obviously. Is it still pure white?"
Stephen checked. "She's turning blue! What does that mean? Does she need oxygen? Should we warm her up?"
The Doctor grinned. "Not at all. This is good. This is very good. It's imprinted! All it needs now is a cool dark place where it can form a chrysalis and then sit for a few hundred years. I believe there's a cabinet in your room that would be perfect."
Traken: 1974 AD (Earth time).
Stephen Col-bert is 17.
After changing his cufflinks for the fourth time, Stephen finally decided he liked this pair, then started wondering if he was wearing the right tie.
When the Doctor had suggested they drop in on a fancy ball, it had almost been a relief. If there was any skill Stephen Col-bert was secure in, it was his ability to carry himself properly in a tux. But now that it actually came time to dress, he couldn't stop fretting. He (along with Captain Jack) would be representing all of humanity here. It was crucial that he do it right.
In the end, though, it didn't matter if not a single Trakenite (Trakener? Trakenling?) was impressed by his display. He would settle for the Doctor's approval.
For no reason that he could explain, Stephen paused in his preparations and went over to the table where he had left the odd purple lump. Somehow the warmth of it was comforting—as if, even though he had never seen anything like it in his life, he knew it somehow. Or as if it knew him.
He picked it up . . . and it was cool. With a shiver, Stephen turned it over to see a large rip down the side.
What if I wasn't supposed to touch it?
What if there's no way to fix it?
What if it's really important to the Doctor, for some alien reason or other?
Well, he resolved, I just won't tell him.
Setting the object down with the rip facing the table, Stephen went back to the large oval mirror and focused with furious intensity on making his tie perfect.
The Vortex.
Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
As Stephen set the ugly
(Beautiful, said a voice in the back of his mind)
little creature down on the shelf of a cabinet, he heard footsteps outside and stood up quickly. "Hi."
"Hey," said Sarah Jane, easing the full-length oval mirror off of her back and onto his floor. "I brought you something."
"You . . . didn't have to do that, you know."
Sarah Jane shrugged. "It's only a mirror. No big deal."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay." In a very small voice, Stephen added, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Now, come on! We've got a species to save!"
Mot: 4734 AE (Ailurean Era).
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
Doctor Racine sat alone in her office, trying to muster up the courage to deliver the bad news.
Her Queen had predicted the unrest long before it reached the breaking point, but even someone like Racine, who did not have a single political fiber in her being, could see the turmoil in the citizenry these years. There could only be one outcome now. She would deliver the announcement that all of their experiments had failed, and then the mob would tear her to pieces.
She rose from her seat—and was struck by an unfamiliar noise in the corridor. It wasn't a mob of enraged citizens, but it was certainly loud.
Opening her door, Racine found a large blue box sitting in the middle of her hall.
As she gaped at it, a panel on one side swung open and a strange being hopped out. "People of Mot, rejoice!" he exclaimed. "Your sexy, sexy savior from outer space has arr—oh. Uh, hello."
Racine was struck dumb. The creature was like no animal Mot had ever known. It was pink, for one thing, and very fleshy.
But it had a papilløn. A female papilløn. And young.
Her own papilløn was instantly attracted, and Racine found herself clicking her pincers in appreciation.
Another, similar creature appeared behind the first. "Nice to meet you!" he said brightly. "I'm the Doctor. And I brought a friend."
"Yes!" squeaked the first creature. "And she's going to get along perfectly with your little hanger-on, I can tell. You two crazy kids have fun! I'll just be in the TARDIS. Alone."
Hi There, said his papilløn smoothly, as its host ran back into the box and slammed the door. Are There More Like You Around Here?
Though her own papilløn was reluctant to share, Racine overruled him. "Yes, there are. In fact, there's a bit of a mob outside who will be very pleased to see you."
Traken: 1974 AD (Earth time).
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. If, like wine, people improve with age, Jack Harkness is darn near perfect.
"Come on, this way, right-o, keep away from that statue!" ordered the Doctor as he shepherded the tuxedo-clad Jack and Stephen toward the front steps of a bustling Trakenite mansion. "Don't want to pre-empt my own brilliance. Ah, hello!" he added brightly to the well-dressed but strikingly muscular man standing at the gate. "Nice to meet you. Lovely evening, isn't it?"
"Do you have an invitation, sir?" asked the guard without preamble.
"Of course we do. Got it here somewhere—aha!" The Doctor pulled out a dark blue bus pass case and flipped it open. "Right here."
The guard squinted at the paper within, then raised his arm and spoke into something on his wrist. "Suspicious characters at front gate. Requesting backup."
Startled, the Doctor stood stock-still for a moment, then regained the presence of mind to look at the slightly psychic paper. Instead of a properly formatted Trakenite formal invitation, it sported a messy scrawl: he just wants you to like him like him please please like him.
"Doctor?" asked Jack. "Is everything all right?"
The Doctor turned to them and grinned broadly. "All's fine! Just a slight change of plans. RUN!"
Mot: 1 CE (Colbertan Era).
"Stephen?" called Sarah Jane, knocking gingerly at his door. "It's worked brilliantly. There are healthy papilløn clutches all over the place. The people of Mot are working on a banquet in your honor. They want to give you a medal, and something called the Order of Paiyatemu, First Class, and probably a fruit basket of some kind. Do you feel up to it?"
The man opened the door, and Sarah Jane had to fight not to let her expression change. Stephen was more disheveled than she had imagined he could get. His cheeks were flushed, his clothes hanging loosely, bags under his eyes.
In spite of this, his lips were curved into a sleepy, sated smile. "'Saright. For giant bugs, y'know, the sex is still okay when 'sjust mental."
". . . I see."
"But . . . c'n I have a bit of time to, whatsit, sleep, first?"
"Oh, of course! Not a problem!"
"'S tiring, being stud for a whole planet," mumbled Stephen. "Or mare. Whatever."
"I can imagine," lied Sarah Jane. "Listen, you sleep, okay? We'll party when you've had some time to recover."
Stephen giggled. "I've had hundreds of girlfriends!" he announced to nobody in particular.
"Good night, Stephen."
Traken: 1974 AD (Earth time).
The Doctor is in his tenth incarnation. Stephen Col-bert is 17. Jack Harkness is older than several well-established civilizations.
Jack pushed Stephen into the TARDIS and slammed the door, while the Doctor sprinted to the console and began pulling levers. The room began to vibrate as the ship took off.
"So much for this!" cried the Doctor over the noise, tossing the bus pass aside as he circled the console. "It's going to be totally useless until you leave, Stephen! Might as well be an American dollar in 1066 when you're around!"
"I'm sorry!" cried Stephen, panic rising in his voice. "What did I do?"
"Doctor—" began Jack in exasperation.
"No, no, it means he just closed a time loop!" When the Doctor looked up from the console, his face was still broken by a broad manic grin. "That's a good thing!" he clarified.
"It—it is?" stammered Stephen.
"Oh, it is. It's good. It's better than good. It's fantastic! Means we're going to be doing a lot more running, though. Think you're up to that?"
Stephen looked anxiously at Jack, who did his best to give the kid an encouraging smile, then back at the Doctor. "Yeah," he said. "Running's okay. Actually, that was kinda fun."
"Brilliant!" replied the Time Lord, mashing some buttons apparently at random. "Let's go find somewhere to run!"