Excerpt: L'Appel du Vide
Apr. 11th, 2012 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kasihyaThis is the actual title of my Amy-as-the-Doctor fic! It fits and it sounds cool and I'm excited even though this story keeps getting bigger and more complicated as I iron it out.
Anyway. I had to modify this scene in order to set it somewhere else, but I liked this version, so here it is for posterity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Fine,’ the Doctor says, quite out of nowhere. They are eating dinner at the time.(Or, at least, food that John associates with dinnertime, with the addition of a couple of distinctly alien additions. This is his life, he has to remind himself: he is aboard a time machine, has been for approximately thirty-six hours now, but if he wanted, he could go back to Leadworth five minutes before he left.)
John swallows his mouthful of space turtle behind his napkin before he even attempts an answer. ‘Fine. Yes. Obviously. Fine what?’
‘My partner always hated it when I didn’t explain exactly what was going on. Even if it was embarrassing, or, or weird, or something I knew he wouldn’t like … he always wanted me to tell him anyway. For once, I was hoping to get someone who just didn’t care.’ The Doctor looks at him like it’s his own fault that he’s curious about his host.
John raises his eyebrows, and takes another enormous bite of turtle.
The Doctor rolls her eyes. ‘Like I said, fine. Anyone who didn’t ask questions would probably have so little imagination they wouldn’t be any fun, anyway.’
‘Or too much imagination,’ John points out.
‘Right.’ She points her fork at him. ‘So. I am going to tell you what we’re doing and where we’re going. Your job is to shut up and not ask stupid questions. Got it?’
John shoves a bit of bready something-or-other into his mouth, which probably makes him look like a goldfish but effectively stifles his powers of speech. He gives her a thumbs-up and crinkles his eyes with anticipation.
The Doctor folds her hands. ‘A long time ago … no … wait, how does that even translate? That’s not right. Never mind. When I was younger, there was a planet. My planet. Gallifrey. It was … beautiful.’ A wistful smile crosses her face. ‘My people lived there, the Time Lords. I had parents, and I had a husband. His name was … well, we called him the Centurion. It’s a long story.’
‘Just like you’re the Doctor?’ John Smith wants to know. ‘I knew it, I knew that wasn’t your real name.’
The Doctor glares at him. ‘It’s my name now. I chose it. Do you want me to continue?’
‘Yes. Sorry.’
She nods. ‘The Centurion and I used to travel together. We’d see the universe, pick people up along the way, save the world. The other Time Lords weren’t happy about that, but we didn’t listen. We had a daughter, too, for a while, but she was stolen from us.’ As she speaks, her eyes harden, and she rests her chin on her hands.
John thinks about the huge console, and the way it would have looked with three people piloting it. ‘What happened?’ he asks.
‘We got her back, eventually. All grown up. Living in the Gamma Forest. It turned out we’d known her for years before she was born, and she never let on that she was our daughter.’ The corners of her mouth lift, and John tries to reconcile that particular paradox in his mind. ‘We took her back to Gallifrey. The Centurion became a nurse, and our daughter became a professor and called herself River Song.’
John looks at her smooth face - she doesn’t look more than thirty years old - and waits for her to continue. His curiosity is nowhere near satisfied, but given how happy she looks, thinking about her family, and how empty the TARDIS is now, he doesn’t particularly want to push it. (He’s not as tactless as his grandmother tells him he is, he’s not.)
The Doctor snitches a bite of his turtle. She swallows. ‘There was another species, who fought the Time Lords, called the Daleks. It got worse and worse, over time - I mean - well - across time. In the end, there was a war. Like World War Two, but without any English countryside you could send your kids to. And with soldiers who kept getting brought back to life to fight. Over and over and over again, until you were sick with it.’ She ducks her head and lets her hair fall over her face. ‘The Centurion got caught up in it. He was a doctor, until the first time he got killed. After that. After that, he was just another soldier.
‘River ran. I was too much of a loose cannon to set loose in a Time War, and she was too clever for them to catch.’ She looks up and smiles at him.
John stares down at his dinner. He doesn’t find that he’s as hungry as he thought he was. In this light, his cake-baking achievements, however heroic they were, seem significantly less interesting. That’s not fair of her, he thinks. It’s not his fault he was born human, without a chance for great, sweeping deeds. ‘Well then.’
‘Yep. Stopped running for long enough to time-lock the war. We needed more time, to figure out how to diffuse the war. Genocide … it’s not really my thing.’
That seems to be the end of her explanation. ‘So …’ John waves his hand around in circles over the table. ‘What happened to River?’
The Doctor licks her lips. ‘The time-lock isn’t a permanent solution. There’s still a war going on! Has been going on, will have been going on. English is rubbish. My husband is still dying. And when I find a way to fix this, I needed someone on the other side of the lock, to help me pull it open. River is better at hiding than I am, as it turns out. Now. I’m going to hope that the TARDIS will do the dishes, because right now, I really need to read a book.’ She stands up, and sticks her plate on a counter that looks like it’s been stolen from a nineteen-fifties home decor magazine.
Books sound tempting to John right about now, too. Perhaps he’ll go exploring later, and see if the TARDIS has a library. A spaceship with a library! Books from other planets. The idea of a room full of intergalactic literature makes his spine tingle. He drops his dishes on top of the Doctor’s, and announces his intentions.
Her face lights up, the distress sliding off in an instant. ‘Oh, you’ll love the library. It’s got little crank elevators to reach the top shelves. Come on, I’ll show you.’
‘Crank elevators?’ asks John, as they set off down a corridor paneled with deep, garnet-red wood. ‘Really?’
The Doctor leans in, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. ‘And secret panels. You’ll have to guess which ones.’
Anyway. I had to modify this scene in order to set it somewhere else, but I liked this version, so here it is for posterity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Fine,’ the Doctor says, quite out of nowhere. They are eating dinner at the time.(Or, at least, food that John associates with dinnertime, with the addition of a couple of distinctly alien additions. This is his life, he has to remind himself: he is aboard a time machine, has been for approximately thirty-six hours now, but if he wanted, he could go back to Leadworth five minutes before he left.)
John swallows his mouthful of space turtle behind his napkin before he even attempts an answer. ‘Fine. Yes. Obviously. Fine what?’
‘My partner always hated it when I didn’t explain exactly what was going on. Even if it was embarrassing, or, or weird, or something I knew he wouldn’t like … he always wanted me to tell him anyway. For once, I was hoping to get someone who just didn’t care.’ The Doctor looks at him like it’s his own fault that he’s curious about his host.
John raises his eyebrows, and takes another enormous bite of turtle.
The Doctor rolls her eyes. ‘Like I said, fine. Anyone who didn’t ask questions would probably have so little imagination they wouldn’t be any fun, anyway.’
‘Or too much imagination,’ John points out.
‘Right.’ She points her fork at him. ‘So. I am going to tell you what we’re doing and where we’re going. Your job is to shut up and not ask stupid questions. Got it?’
John shoves a bit of bready something-or-other into his mouth, which probably makes him look like a goldfish but effectively stifles his powers of speech. He gives her a thumbs-up and crinkles his eyes with anticipation.
The Doctor folds her hands. ‘A long time ago … no … wait, how does that even translate? That’s not right. Never mind. When I was younger, there was a planet. My planet. Gallifrey. It was … beautiful.’ A wistful smile crosses her face. ‘My people lived there, the Time Lords. I had parents, and I had a husband. His name was … well, we called him the Centurion. It’s a long story.’
‘Just like you’re the Doctor?’ John Smith wants to know. ‘I knew it, I knew that wasn’t your real name.’
The Doctor glares at him. ‘It’s my name now. I chose it. Do you want me to continue?’
‘Yes. Sorry.’
She nods. ‘The Centurion and I used to travel together. We’d see the universe, pick people up along the way, save the world. The other Time Lords weren’t happy about that, but we didn’t listen. We had a daughter, too, for a while, but she was stolen from us.’ As she speaks, her eyes harden, and she rests her chin on her hands.
John thinks about the huge console, and the way it would have looked with three people piloting it. ‘What happened?’ he asks.
‘We got her back, eventually. All grown up. Living in the Gamma Forest. It turned out we’d known her for years before she was born, and she never let on that she was our daughter.’ The corners of her mouth lift, and John tries to reconcile that particular paradox in his mind. ‘We took her back to Gallifrey. The Centurion became a nurse, and our daughter became a professor and called herself River Song.’
John looks at her smooth face - she doesn’t look more than thirty years old - and waits for her to continue. His curiosity is nowhere near satisfied, but given how happy she looks, thinking about her family, and how empty the TARDIS is now, he doesn’t particularly want to push it. (He’s not as tactless as his grandmother tells him he is, he’s not.)
The Doctor snitches a bite of his turtle. She swallows. ‘There was another species, who fought the Time Lords, called the Daleks. It got worse and worse, over time - I mean - well - across time. In the end, there was a war. Like World War Two, but without any English countryside you could send your kids to. And with soldiers who kept getting brought back to life to fight. Over and over and over again, until you were sick with it.’ She ducks her head and lets her hair fall over her face. ‘The Centurion got caught up in it. He was a doctor, until the first time he got killed. After that. After that, he was just another soldier.
‘River ran. I was too much of a loose cannon to set loose in a Time War, and she was too clever for them to catch.’ She looks up and smiles at him.
John stares down at his dinner. He doesn’t find that he’s as hungry as he thought he was. In this light, his cake-baking achievements, however heroic they were, seem significantly less interesting. That’s not fair of her, he thinks. It’s not his fault he was born human, without a chance for great, sweeping deeds. ‘Well then.’
‘Yep. Stopped running for long enough to time-lock the war. We needed more time, to figure out how to diffuse the war. Genocide … it’s not really my thing.’
That seems to be the end of her explanation. ‘So …’ John waves his hand around in circles over the table. ‘What happened to River?’
The Doctor licks her lips. ‘The time-lock isn’t a permanent solution. There’s still a war going on! Has been going on, will have been going on. English is rubbish. My husband is still dying. And when I find a way to fix this, I needed someone on the other side of the lock, to help me pull it open. River is better at hiding than I am, as it turns out. Now. I’m going to hope that the TARDIS will do the dishes, because right now, I really need to read a book.’ She stands up, and sticks her plate on a counter that looks like it’s been stolen from a nineteen-fifties home decor magazine.
Books sound tempting to John right about now, too. Perhaps he’ll go exploring later, and see if the TARDIS has a library. A spaceship with a library! Books from other planets. The idea of a room full of intergalactic literature makes his spine tingle. He drops his dishes on top of the Doctor’s, and announces his intentions.
Her face lights up, the distress sliding off in an instant. ‘Oh, you’ll love the library. It’s got little crank elevators to reach the top shelves. Come on, I’ll show you.’
‘Crank elevators?’ asks John, as they set off down a corridor paneled with deep, garnet-red wood. ‘Really?’
The Doctor leans in, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. ‘And secret panels. You’ll have to guess which ones.’
