This is a fake.
Aug. 6th, 2005 03:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenAh, peace and quiet. Actually, it's been a rather quiet day at work, good for me as I didn't want to have to walk too much, but interesting. Niall came in for the morning, got increasingly depressed over the Ashes and then left again; he was followed by Gary and then a frantic banging at the back door. I unlocked it to find Tony, Bethany, Matthew and a metric tonne of cardboard. Apparently no-one's put the rubbish out in a while. So I vented some stress and frustration, as you do, and comprehensively destroyed the boxes into flat cardboard, and went back into the shop to find Matthew playing cowboys and Indians in the back. He's five (Beth is nine, I think; it's been a while since I've heard about Tony's children), and between them they manned the till, giving me surprisingly little to do, which suited me fine.
Somewhat amused, I later told Matthew that I am an Indian, a different sort but an Indian nevertheless; he informed me that he was killing cowboys and Indians indiscriminately, evidently in favour of equal-opportunity genocide. It seemed wisest to leave him to it. Both of them were actually very well-behaved and helpful, and their being there made things easier rather than harder. Still, I wasn't displeased to get home. I'm tired and PMS-y and I think the constant limping is getting to me; it tires me out very quickly and I kind of don't want to do much, now.
Yesterday I wasn't allowed to walk at all, and so I decided the best idea was to make coffee, sit with foot elevated and re-watch City of Death. Which I enjoyed thoroughly, as you might expect. One thing that struck me is the sheer inventiveness of the way it's filmed, particularly in the first episode; all those lovely long shots through postcard racks and around corners, and the riotous details such as the fact the Doctor and Romana run across roads holding hands, just like kids, and the way the relentlessly crazy plot actually asks a very sensible, serious question: is the Mona Lisa a fake if da Vinci painted it, even if the Doctor has written "THIS IS A FAKE" in felt-tip on the canvas?
[One more silly detail that struck me yesterday: when the Borgias torturer comes back with his instruments, the Doctor is worriedly sucking his thumb.]
Once again, I am moved to wonder where all the Four/Romana II fic is. I've only ever found two good examples of it, and both of them are set in and around Paris, 1979. There's City of Loss by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gwynnega, which is sort of Nine/Rose and Four/Romana, and Complete Strangers by andrastewhite, which is perfect. It's like the inexplicable absence of Doctor/Master fic online. I hate DIY fandom. Although, that said, one of the published short stories is Four/Romana II, and very much of teh cute.
Moving on, then: a meme, nicked fromlikethesun2, that I've wanted to do for a while. I forget the blurb, but basically it involves posting bits from whatever WIPs you have lying around, like so:
From a Doctor Who fic provisionally titled "Aldwych", which is getting more and more epic and may be finished some time before the end of days:
Jack wouldn't have thought you could have fitted two humans and a Time Lord behind a twenty-first century wheelie bin, but with the Doctor all things were possible. Still, it was a bit of a squash, and his heels were resting on the wall with Rose half on top of him and the Doctor wedged in front of her, mostly pressed against the back of the bin. They'd been there ten minutes and Jack was beginning to lose all sensation in his feet.
The Doctor leaned forward, nearly causing all three of them to fall sideways, and muttered, "Quarry sighted, nine o'clock."
Rose peered to her left, and Jack tried to look over her shoulder. "That's him," she reported.
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"Go, go, go!" whispered Jack in his best SWAT team impression, and Rose leapt to her feet. Unfortunately, her foot caught the Doctor and sent him rolling backwards into Jack. They hit the wall behind them with identical groans as Rose collected herself, took a deep breath and walked forwards.
"Excuse me!" she called.
"What's going on?" asked Jack after a moment. It was hard to talk with most of the Doctor's weight on top of his chest.
"Dunno," muttered the Doctor, and then Jack felt him freeze. They both recognised the unmistakeable sound of a postman falling off his bicycle.
Another Doctor Who fic, provisionally titled "Go Forward In All Your Beliefs"; this one is actually finished, but I'm meh about it and a bit wary of sending it to a beta:
The Doctor is still out there. Rose leans against the police box door and looks out across the barren, destroyed landscape. There were buildings here once, she knows; their shattered shells are sinking into the sand, lapped by the waters of the river. It's rising, slowly, imperceptibly, but she can imagine how it will look, the water spilling out over an entirely flat landscape like a spilled glass on a table-top.
There is no movement, no sound. Rose waits, but there is no sign of the Doctor.
"He'll be back when he gets hungry," Jack says, with a hand on her arm.
She turns and tries to meet his smile. "Yeah, of course he will."
Yet another one, featuring the Doctor and Rose from Bohemian Rose:
When Rose found her, the Doctor was in the cloisters reading Mary Wollstonecraft. She was perched on the end of one of the stone benches, chewing on one fingernail as she read, and Rose walked deliberately across and kissed her.
The Doctor laughed and leaned back, elbows flat against the stone. "You never wanted to do that, before! What's brought this on?"
Rose couldn't answer for a moment. The first answer that leapt, unbidden, to the front of her mind was now you're more human, but that made no sense, that meant Mickey and Jack and the others had been alien, when they weren't, they were human and more close and real to her than the time-traveller in the blue box.
Now you're like me. That wasn't true, either; there was still an alien mind looking out behind those eyes, and a pair of hearts beating out the rhythm of time if Rose only came close enough to touch.
Another answer: I did once.
That was true, but Rose couldn't say it.
And lastly, a Buffy fic, probably called "The Lucky Ones", that I finished months ago and never got betaed because something about it seems off to me:
This time the search gives her exactly one result. Santa Barbara is a town of population ninety-five thousand, by the beach, a hundred miles northwest of LA. Two more clicks bring up the website for UC Santa Barbara, and Tara sits back in her chair, satisfied. She reaches for the pen to scribble a note, then pauses suddenly.
What, precisely, has she achieved? A town that could be Sunnydale, which is a town that does not exist.
But now she's started, she can't stop. She types in slayer, which gives her eighties death metal, and vampires, which gives her in excess of a million hits, and then, thinking quickly, Alexander Harris. She finds a teenage surfer with his own website and a professor of archaeology at Yale among many, many others.
She wonders what she expected.
She almost stops then, but because she can't help herself, her fingers tap out another name: Willow Rosenberg.
And that's it. Not being able to walk or drive is quite annoying.
Somewhat amused, I later told Matthew that I am an Indian, a different sort but an Indian nevertheless; he informed me that he was killing cowboys and Indians indiscriminately, evidently in favour of equal-opportunity genocide. It seemed wisest to leave him to it. Both of them were actually very well-behaved and helpful, and their being there made things easier rather than harder. Still, I wasn't displeased to get home. I'm tired and PMS-y and I think the constant limping is getting to me; it tires me out very quickly and I kind of don't want to do much, now.
Yesterday I wasn't allowed to walk at all, and so I decided the best idea was to make coffee, sit with foot elevated and re-watch City of Death. Which I enjoyed thoroughly, as you might expect. One thing that struck me is the sheer inventiveness of the way it's filmed, particularly in the first episode; all those lovely long shots through postcard racks and around corners, and the riotous details such as the fact the Doctor and Romana run across roads holding hands, just like kids, and the way the relentlessly crazy plot actually asks a very sensible, serious question: is the Mona Lisa a fake if da Vinci painted it, even if the Doctor has written "THIS IS A FAKE" in felt-tip on the canvas?
[One more silly detail that struck me yesterday: when the Borgias torturer comes back with his instruments, the Doctor is worriedly sucking his thumb.]
Once again, I am moved to wonder where all the Four/Romana II fic is. I've only ever found two good examples of it, and both of them are set in and around Paris, 1979. There's City of Loss by
gwynnega, which is sort of Nine/Rose and Four/Romana, and Complete Strangers by andrastewhite, which is perfect. It's like the inexplicable absence of Doctor/Master fic online. I hate DIY fandom. Although, that said, one of the published short stories is Four/Romana II, and very much of teh cute.Moving on, then: a meme, nicked from
likethesun2, that I've wanted to do for a while. I forget the blurb, but basically it involves posting bits from whatever WIPs you have lying around, like so:From a Doctor Who fic provisionally titled "Aldwych", which is getting more and more epic and may be finished some time before the end of days:
Jack wouldn't have thought you could have fitted two humans and a Time Lord behind a twenty-first century wheelie bin, but with the Doctor all things were possible. Still, it was a bit of a squash, and his heels were resting on the wall with Rose half on top of him and the Doctor wedged in front of her, mostly pressed against the back of the bin. They'd been there ten minutes and Jack was beginning to lose all sensation in his feet.
The Doctor leaned forward, nearly causing all three of them to fall sideways, and muttered, "Quarry sighted, nine o'clock."
Rose peered to her left, and Jack tried to look over her shoulder. "That's him," she reported.
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"Go, go, go!" whispered Jack in his best SWAT team impression, and Rose leapt to her feet. Unfortunately, her foot caught the Doctor and sent him rolling backwards into Jack. They hit the wall behind them with identical groans as Rose collected herself, took a deep breath and walked forwards.
"Excuse me!" she called.
"What's going on?" asked Jack after a moment. It was hard to talk with most of the Doctor's weight on top of his chest.
"Dunno," muttered the Doctor, and then Jack felt him freeze. They both recognised the unmistakeable sound of a postman falling off his bicycle.
Another Doctor Who fic, provisionally titled "Go Forward In All Your Beliefs"; this one is actually finished, but I'm meh about it and a bit wary of sending it to a beta:
The Doctor is still out there. Rose leans against the police box door and looks out across the barren, destroyed landscape. There were buildings here once, she knows; their shattered shells are sinking into the sand, lapped by the waters of the river. It's rising, slowly, imperceptibly, but she can imagine how it will look, the water spilling out over an entirely flat landscape like a spilled glass on a table-top.
There is no movement, no sound. Rose waits, but there is no sign of the Doctor.
"He'll be back when he gets hungry," Jack says, with a hand on her arm.
She turns and tries to meet his smile. "Yeah, of course he will."
Yet another one, featuring the Doctor and Rose from Bohemian Rose:
When Rose found her, the Doctor was in the cloisters reading Mary Wollstonecraft. She was perched on the end of one of the stone benches, chewing on one fingernail as she read, and Rose walked deliberately across and kissed her.
The Doctor laughed and leaned back, elbows flat against the stone. "You never wanted to do that, before! What's brought this on?"
Rose couldn't answer for a moment. The first answer that leapt, unbidden, to the front of her mind was now you're more human, but that made no sense, that meant Mickey and Jack and the others had been alien, when they weren't, they were human and more close and real to her than the time-traveller in the blue box.
Now you're like me. That wasn't true, either; there was still an alien mind looking out behind those eyes, and a pair of hearts beating out the rhythm of time if Rose only came close enough to touch.
Another answer: I did once.
That was true, but Rose couldn't say it.
And lastly, a Buffy fic, probably called "The Lucky Ones", that I finished months ago and never got betaed because something about it seems off to me:
This time the search gives her exactly one result. Santa Barbara is a town of population ninety-five thousand, by the beach, a hundred miles northwest of LA. Two more clicks bring up the website for UC Santa Barbara, and Tara sits back in her chair, satisfied. She reaches for the pen to scribble a note, then pauses suddenly.
What, precisely, has she achieved? A town that could be Sunnydale, which is a town that does not exist.
But now she's started, she can't stop. She types in slayer, which gives her eighties death metal, and vampires, which gives her in excess of a million hits, and then, thinking quickly, Alexander Harris. She finds a teenage surfer with his own website and a professor of archaeology at Yale among many, many others.
She wonders what she expected.
She almost stops then, but because she can't help herself, her fingers tap out another name: Willow Rosenberg.
And that's it. Not being able to walk or drive is quite annoying.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2005-08-06 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-06 03:54 pm (UTC)Ooh, fic! Would the WI would be all scandalised at the fact she's apparently living in sin with the Doctor, this being pre-naked-calendar days?
no subject
on 2005-08-06 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-06 04:08 pm (UTC)"Yes. Frequently."
no subject
on 2005-08-06 04:12 pm (UTC)(By the way - was it just me, or was Romana inexplicably tripping around Paris in a schoolgirl's uniform? What on Earth were they up to before they landed?)
no subject
on 2005-08-06 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-06 04:33 pm (UTC)evidently in favour of equal-opportunity genocide. It seemed wisest to leave him to it.
Yup, I think thats the way I did it...
xx
no subject
on 2005-08-06 05:04 pm (UTC)*laughs* This cracked me up.
In other news, I am officially mind-blowingly jealous of you people who have multiple stories ongoing. I feel accomplished if I have just one in the works.
no subject
on 2005-08-06 09:30 pm (UTC)[One more silly detail that struck me yesterday: when the Borgias torturer comes back with his instruments, the Doctor is worriedly sucking his thumb.]
Hee! "I see your point..."
no subject
on 2005-08-07 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-07 04:06 am (UTC)Ah, Tom Baker and Lalla Ward. I wanted so much for them to make a duo cameo appearance together on American TV. Tom's appearance as a villain against Pierce Brosnan on "Remington Steele" wasn't enough. (Second season, if you're looking for the episode on DVD.) Maybe as tourists on a Florida holiday on "Miami Vice"? Maybe on "Max Hedroom"? Such missed opportunities.
Did you ever see that Australian computer TV advert in which Romana II buys a new computer for the TARDIS and the computer's first words are "Marry the Girl, Doctor!"?
no subject
on 2005-08-07 08:59 am (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-07 09:00 am (UTC)Really, it's no blessing. It just means I don't finish any of them.
no subject
on 2005-08-07 09:00 am (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-07 09:01 am (UTC)no subject
on 2005-08-07 09:02 am (UTC)Did you ever see that Australian computer TV advert in which Romana II buys a new computer for the TARDIS and the computer's first words are "Marry the Girl, Doctor!"?
Eee! No! That is fantastic. Theirloveissocanon. Heh.
no subject
on 2005-08-07 06:03 pm (UTC)