I printed off the first three chapters of my novel over the weekend to share with my Creative Writing class. I am freaking terrified about next week. They will hate it and hate me and tell me to burn it. Also, I realised that my story has some striking parallels to Tina's story, except instead of a rabbit I have a zombie and instead of a circus my novel is set at an intermediate school. I like to think those are differences enough.
What else has been happening? I have been procrastinating like mad over my essays and now there are a lot of due dates coming up awfully quickly. KILL ME.
Liz and I sat in the sun today and talked about Jane Austen and Harry Potter and all good fandom-y things. It was so nice to sit in the sun and talk nerd. I am enjoying the weather.
On Sunday, we are having a Creative Writing field trip to Tina's to record some of our work with professional actors (of which she is one) and with proper recording equipment. People are bringing their kids and we will drink ridiculous amounts of tea and it will be RAD. I am quite excited. Only two more sessions of Creative Writing left, how will I survive? Sigh. I love it so much, it makes my Mondays so fabulous.
I am going to write an essay on the Beats now. I swear.
Title: Doctor Who and the Case of the Nerdy Companions
Warnings: Crack, gratuitous self-insertation, mild swearing, copious fangirling
Summary: annemjw may have thought I was joking in this thread but I wasn't. Anne and Aimee take a voyage through time with the Doctor.
The Doctor peered out of the TARDIS. He had no idea where it had taken him. it was quiet and looked like a university building. Two girls sat, leaning against an orange wall.
“Anne, is that the TARDIS?” The shorter girl said. She pushed her glasses up her nose.
Anne frowned. “Looks like it. I hope it’s the tenth doctor.”
“How do you know what incarnation I’m up to?” the Doctor asked.
“Television,” Anne said. “I read spoilers and it said you were staying on for another season.”
The Doctor felt the conversation already spiraling out of his control. “Right. Well.”
“Do you mind me asking?” The bespectacled girl said, shyly. “You’re not looking for a companion are you? It’s just I’m writing an essay on Shakespeare and it’d be brilliant to ask him what his opinion was of Isabella’s chastity in Measure for Measure. I’m Aimee, by the way.” She held out her hand and the Doctor shook it.
Anne chimed in. “And I’ve always wanted to meet Herodotus. Maybe tell him stories about giant ants.”
The Doctor blinked and scratched his head. “I suppose I haven’t been to Greece for a while now.”
Anne and Aimee were already halfway to the TARDIS. Aimee grabbed her bag full of school books. “You don’t want to proof-read my novel, do you, Anne?” she asked. “It’s due on Monday.”
“I’ll take a look at it,” she said. “Just while we wait for the Doctor to get moving, mind you.”
Feeling rather like he’d been bullied into this, the Doctor closed the door to the TARDIS behind them and set off for fifth century Greece.
An hour later he realised he’d made a terrible mistake. It’d been just his luck Herodotus was writing the first book of his Histories when they arrived.
“He’ll be able to understand you,” the Doctor said.
“We know,” Anne replied. “Happened when you and Donna went to Pompeii.”
Aimee began reading the first book of the Histories, proof-reading it for grammatical sense and cutting out the unnecessary filler. Anne began filling a very perplexed Herodotus’ head with stories of her homeland (Egypt, apparently) and the giant, gold-digging ants. The Doctor held his head in his hands and sighed.
“There’s also a custom I discovered on my travels,” Anne continued. “In Babylon the women have to turn up at the temple once in their lives and wait to be sexed up by a man before they can leave. You should put that in your histories.”
Herodotus blinked slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Come on, come on, back on the TARDIS,” the Doctor said.
“What?” Aimee said. “Where’s the aliens? The disastrous events? I want scandal!”
The Doctor sighed. “Not every trip requires me to save the world.”
“Sure it doesn’t, Pretty Boy,” Anne said.
“Can we track Big Al down now? Please Doctor,” Aimee said, making puppy dog eyes at him.
“She means Alexander the Great,” Anne supplied helpfully.
The Doctor shrugged. “I suppose so.” And the TARDIS set off again.
They landed on the banks of a river, near an encampment of soldiers. “Is this one of the mutinies?” Aimee asked and set off for the nearest soldier, Anne striding next to her and the Doctor running along behind, praying they wouldn’t do anything too stupid.
“Which tent is Alexander’s?” Anne asked.
“That one, miss,” one of the soldiers said, in a way that defied all logic and historical accuracy. “I’m warning you though, he’s not in the best of moods.”
“Oh, is he sulking?” Aimee cried, delighted and she dashed towards the tent.
The Doctor groaned and followed the pair to the tent. As he reached the doors, he heard a shriek. He cursed. He was not going to lose another companion. He drew his sonic screwdriver and burst into the tent.
Alexander the Great lay on the fur-lined floor, kicking his feet and flailing his fists. “I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO MACEDONIA!” He screamed.
Aimee and Anne observed him with interest. “Oh Big Al,” Anne said. “You are so ridiculous.”
Alexander stopped throwing a tantrum abruptly. He flicked his blonde curls and smiled sweetly at Aimee. Aimee giggled and hid behind her hands. The Doctor contemplated how justifiable homicide was.
Back on the TARDIS, after the girls convinced Alexander that there was a little island not to far from India that he could totally discover and take over, the Doctor steeled himself. “Do you want to go home now?”
“Hah,” Anne said. “No thank you. We have essays due in a week or so.”
“I would like to visit Jane Austen if that’s all right,” Aimee said.
“Will you feed her false information?” the Doctor asked, suspicious. “Because, see, Jane and I get on quite well. It would be a pity for you to mess that up.”
“No, I will give her a hug and tell her I think she is spectacular,” Aimee said.
Aimee did exactly that. When Jane Austen thanked her graciously and inquired after her health, she came over all shy and buried her head in her cardigan. Anne, feeling the gap in the conversation, decided to take over.
“Pride and Prejudice was quite good,” she said. “But I hated Northanger Abbey.”
Aimee lifted her head from her cardigan long enough to glare at Anne. “Northanger Abbey is my favourite book in the whole world. Anne didn’t even finish reading it.”
Jane Austen raised an eyebrow. “It was one of my earlier novels. And I am hardly a genius.”
“They make movies of your novels,” Aimee said. “Mr Darcy is Mr Mac-Sexy-pants.”
Jane Austen blinked. “Movies?”
“Spoilers,” the Doctor said, moving to cover Aimee’s mouth. “Let’s go, shall we? Thank you, Miss Austen.”
Jane Austen inclined her head. “Not at all, Doctor. Next time, I’d appreciate if you left your companions on board though.”
Back on board the TARDIS, the Doctor exploded. “You’ve spent this entire trip embarrassing me. You’re rude and obnoxious and have no sense of the time paradoxes you’ve created. I’m taking you both home.”
Aimee burst into tears. Anne glared at him. We’ve done nothing worse than what Donna said to Agatha Christie or you did to that family in Pompeii.”
The Doctor sighed. All his resolve left him. “Fine. One more trip. Then, I’m taking you home. Essays or no essays.”
Anne and Aimee grinned at each other. “Can we visit Shakespeare, post-Measure for Measure? I have a bone to pick,” Anne said.
“As you wish,” the Doctor said, sighing and fiddling with the TARDIS’s controls. They arrived just at the first performance of Cymbeline. Anne squealed when the chorus cried out “Thanks Jupiter!”
Aimee and Anne strode up to Shakespeare after the show. Anne came over all for a moment, but quickly forgot her embarrassment when Aimee asked, “What the hell was with Measure For Measure, Shakespeare?”
Shakespeare had the good graces to look embarrassed. “Not my finest hour, I admit.”
Aimee nodded. “If you’d had any sense of genre, Angelo would have reformed and married Isabella. I think I read a Mills and Boon like that once.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind Aimee, she’s convinced that The Taming of the Shrew actually involves cross-dressing and political satire. Nice performance of Cymbeline, by the way. I would have staged Act three differently though.”
Shakespeare sighed. “Everyone’s a critic.”
The Doctor gave Shakespeare a look of utmost sympathy. “Very sorry, Will. Won’t waste anymore of your time. This lot are coming back to their own time.”
Grumbling, Anne and Aimee followed the Doctor back to the TARDIS. “One more trip, Doctor. Please,” Anne pleaded.
“Where?” the Doctor asked, suspicious.
“I’d like to visit Wordsworth, circa The Prelude. I have a good mind to give him a swift kick to the gonads.”
“While we’re there,” Aimee added, “Can we pay a visit to Coleridge and suggest that maybe he could stop fangirling that long-winded bastard?”
The Doctor laughed. Maybe, just maybe, having these two as his temporary companions could be fun. Travel around time, visiting the most frustrating people in the universe, taking direct action through swift kicks to delicate areas. “Just one more trip then,” he said, and twiddled with the TARDIS’s dials, flying them into the deep beyond.