neutrinobunny

[neutrinobunny]

I go with 14-15. Old enough to have a ‘junior’ military rank, especially as a noble in some sort of imperial academy, and old enough to have a very adolescent romance with Deela prior to exile, but young enough for it to make sense to put him into a school setting.

Even then, I feel like he was actually/the equivalent of 15 and small for his age, and they passed him off as a couple years younger. So he’s ‘20 passing for 18’ in Mawdryn Undead.

if you think trion years ≠ earth years, or trions age differently to humans, or he was lying abt his age while on earth, please vote the approximate equivalent to his real age in human terms, and feel free to explain in the notes.

[neutrinobunny]

TEGAN: You're a shifty one. You and Turlough, you'd get along. RIVER: Oh, we did. Famously. Or rather, we will. Oh, the Trion royal family knows how to party!

[neutrinobunny]

TO THE PATRONS OF THIS THEATER, I APOLOGIZE FOR INTERRUPTING YOUR SCREENING OF INLAND EMPIRE BUT I DO NEED YOUR HELP WITH SOMETHING. THERE IS A MAN IN ROW E SEAT 7 WHO HAS BEEN GOOGLING "INLAND EMPIRE EXPLAINED" ON HIS PHONE WITH FULL BRIGHTNESS ON, DISTURBING OTHER VIEWERS IN HIS VICINITY. HE HAS NO LOVE FOR FILM AND JUDGING BY WHAT HE HAS GOOGLED HE THINKS THAT ALL MOVIES ARE PUZZLES THAT HE HAS TO SOLVE LIKE THIS IS LOST OR SOME SHIT. I UNDERSTAND THIS IS AN UNUSUAL REQUEST, BUT I WANT YOU TO REMOVE THIS MAN FROM THE THEATER AND POSSIBLY KILL HIM. WHEN HE IS GONE, YOUR SCREENING WILL RESUME. YOUR PAL, DAVID LYNCH

[neutrinobunny]

do you ever just … picture a whole scene, a whole fanfiction in your head, you know how to place every single word of the english dictionary that you need (or your language dictionary), you know how to structure your sentences, you know just what your characters are going to say to each other and then… and then you just open microsoft word.

[neutrinobunny]

Interlude: Stray Thoughts--Part 4

Xeriander Station, three days ago:

“I have no idea what these are supposed to be, but I have to admit, they aren’t completely terrible.”  Turlough took another thoughtful bite of the starter they’d ordered.  Some sort of meat and cheese mixture in a fried wrapper.

Tegan examined the one she was holding thoughtfully. “I think it’s supposed to be a spring roll.”  Turlough scoffed, and she gave him a half-grimace. “I know. It’s got the wrapper, even if the filling is mostly mince.”

“Any thought of authenticity should have fled the moment we walked in.” Turlough took a very careful sip of the bright blue fizzy drink before him.  Again, not terrible.  But not great either. And almost too sweet to be refreshing. “And this is?”

“Blue raspberry.” Tegan shrugged. “They actually got that right.”

“There are blue raspberries?” Maybe that explained why it didn’t taste anything like anything he’d ever had.  Certainly not raspberries.

“No. But anything ‘raspberry’ usually comes about that shade of blue.”

“Earthlings.”

“Eh…more Americans.”  She took a bite of her ‘spring roll’.  “Verdict so far?”

“As I said, ‘Not Completely Terrible’.”

“What does that even mean?”  Tegan looked at him with exasperation. “Does that mean you like it? Hate it but can eat it without getting sick all over yourself?”

Turlough started snickering.

Tegan muttered under her breath. “Fine, be that—”

“I’m not laughing at you.”  Turlough grinned and grabbed another roll. “It’s just funny that you put it that way. I used to joke, mostly to myself of course, mostly a joke, that Earth food was either disgusting or trying to kill me. ‘Not Completely Terrible’ was a category that became official later, as did the ‘Scale of How Much Willpower It Takes to Not Be Violently Ill After Eating Whatever’.”

“You’re joking.”

“No! Meals at Brendon averaged about a seven. Out of ten.“

“Ouch.” Tegan winced and popped the rest of her roll in her mouth.

Turlough followed suit.  “So, it’s been a bit.  Has the Doctor gotten arrested, found an intergalactic conspiracy, or is he just helping find a lost cat?”

 “All three, somehow,” Tegan snorted. “We’ll give him a few more minutes.  Maybe he just got lost himself.”

---

Fifteen minutes later, the Doctor having made no appearance, Patricia skated up with two plates.  “I present the Buckaroo Burger, with Duke’s Special Secret Sauce, with complementary tater tots.  Enjoy and a have a Rootin’ Tootin’ Day.” She glided away.

 “We could have divided one of these between the three of us, and still had plenty to spare.” Turlough looked at his plate with an expression somewhere between impressed and concerned.  “And what exactly, is a ‘tater tot’?”  

“They’re these little potato things.”  Tegan held one up.  “I’ve heard of them, but not had any before.  I think you’re supposed to put tomato sauce on them.”

Turlough glanced at the side of the table where a bottle labeled ‘Cowboy Carl’s Tomato Catsup’ stood.  Below the name was a drawing of a cat wearing a cowboy hat and boots and giving a double thumbs up.  Because of course there was. He applied some to the tater tots and took a bite.

“Well?” 

Turlough chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Not Completely Terrible.”

“Of course.” Tegan was busy trying to navigate how exactly to take a bite of her Buckaroo Burger. “Maybe it would help if I cut it in half?”

“I think these need a lot more help than that.”  Turlough frowned at the rivers of Duke’s Secret Sauce dripping down the sides of his Buckaroo Burger.  It was a rather unnatural shade of green. He dabbed a finger into it and gingerly took a taste. “Oh.  Oh, see that is Completely Terrible.”  It was sweet and tart and burning and…oddly familiar.  He started to deconstruct the burger, scraping as much of the sauce as he could off onto the side of the plate.

Tegan, who had finally managed a bite, chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I mean it’s different. But also…I know this from somewhere.”

“They say tomato sauce can cover a multitude of sins.”  Turlough doused his burger with Cowboy Carl’s Tomato Catsup, squashed it down so he wouldn’t have to unhinge his jaw, and took a bite.  Better.  It was still too sweet, but the tartness and burning were muffled.  And he had to admit, the actual hamburger had been cooked fairly well.  Good chew, not too greasy.  If it wasn’t for that Secret Sauce…

“Let me guess. ‘Not Completely Terrible.’”  Tegan made a face at him.

“With the tomato sauce, absolutely.”  Turlough took a second bite, swallowed thickly, cleared his throat a couple of times, and then took a large gulp of his Wild Blue Whatever.  Unfortunately, the burning from whatever remained of the green sauce was now lingering at the back of his throat. “I’m not adverse to spicy food, but whatever they put in that sauce is a bit much.  Even with most of it scraped off.”

“Spicy?”  Tegan looked puzzled.  “I was getting more sweet-and-sour.”

“Hmm. Strange.” Turlough cleared his throat again and took another swallow of his drink. The burning was getting worse. “Just because I’ll eat something doesn’t mean it’s Not Completely Terrible, and just because something isn’t Disgusting, doesn’t mean I like it.” He pushed his plate aside and pulled his fizzy drink closer.  “The first time I had one of these, it almost killed me.  Went up instead of down when I swallowed.  The taste was fine, maybe good even.  The next ten minutes of choking wasn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s never great.” Tegan winced, and then brightened. “The Doctor just showed up!”  She turned to the entrance and raised a hand to beckon him over.   

“Hmm?  Oh good.” Turlough leaned over his drink, taking little sips through the straw.  He loosened his tie, which was starting to feel oddly tight.  And he felt…a bit warm, a bit light-headed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his stomach started doing flip flops. Strange. He hadn’t eaten much, a couple of those ‘spring rolls’, a few tater tots, and two bites of burger, but he felt…full; the waistband of his trousers slightly snug.  The light-headed, floating, feeling was intensifying, and a fuzzy dark greyness was creeping in at the edges of his vision. A thread of panic, starting somewhere deep in Turlough’s mind, slowly struggled to reach the front of his thoughts, because he knew this feeling.  It had happened before.  Briefly a connection sparked, it was this feeling the Black Guardian had pulled from whenever he had decided that Turlough needed to be kept in line.  Something from early on at Brendon.

“Hello!”  The Doctor strode up cheerily.  “I’m so sorry it took me so long.  I was queued up at the communication center, and all of a sudden a cat--well not quite a cat--ran by with a bunch of security officers chasing it, and—Turlough?”

“Gooseberry Tarts.” He groaned and stared at his hands.  His pink, puffy hands.

“That’s it! I knew I knew that taste—Turlough! Your face!” As Tegan turned back to him, her expression changed from joy at her realization, to horror.

“Who the hell puts gooseberries into a burger sauce?!”  Turlough’s voice was a croak. He put his head into his hands, now covered in welts, as the greyness turned in on him and collapsed his vision into a tunnel.  He never quite lost consciousness, but he felt distant, removed, as they asked Patricia to get help, and the Doctor loosened his clothing, and quietly said things that he couldn’t quite understand, and Tegan kept telling him to breathe, and matched her breathing to his, and finally the station medics came and took him away.

---

As Turlough walked down the corridors, trying not to panic, trying to breathe slowly and steadily, the light continued to get dimmer and dimmer.

Or maybe…he stopped and blinked a few times.  Maybe it wasn’t the light.  Maybe it was him.

He felt, not himself.  Not dizzy, but dissociated. And he still had that feeling of being watched.

And then he saw it. From the seams between the panels and the edges of the roundels, darkness was creeping.  Creeping towards him. Feathery darkness. Creeping at the edges of his vision.

No. it can’t be.

A flock of shadows, feathery, birdlike, stalking, creeping.

Waking or Sleeping…

With a soft moan he started to run. Taking turns at random. Caring less about finding the path back to the places he knew than away from the darkness.

Turns upon turns, twists upon twists, the corridors blending and bleeding together until they didn’t even look like the TARDIS anymore, sometimes forest, sometimes smooth stone—

--Down in the Deep Below—

--sometimes black glass, he ran and ran until he couldn’t, collapsing, curling in on himself as the feathery, pecking, darkness encircled him and—

“It’s bad enough that he brings in strays, but when they bring in pests…unacceptable!”

He felt a warm wind, and dimly heard the strangled cries of birds, and then silence.

He still couldn’t see.

“You must be a new one.  Although there was something about those things that seemed that—oh!”

He felt a warm presence, and then a cool hand? on his forehead.

“You aren’t new, you’re one of the old ones.”

“Old ones?” He shuddered, and then leaned into the hand.  And felt…safe.  More safe than he could ever remember being.

“Yes.  Which means that something is very wrong.”

[neutrinobunny]

I don’t know if anyone has ever done this before but, here ya go… The Different Types of Fanfiction! 

I probably left a few out, but these are the most common, compared to their base fiction’s canon plot. Enjoy! XD

[neutrinobunny]

Interlude: Stray Thoughts--Part 3

After several minutes of wandering and backtracking, and somehow not recognizing the corridors he’d just gone through when backtracking, Turlough paused to rest. At one of the many corridor intersections, he’d found a comfortable oversized wing-backed chair with a matching ottoman. They sat on top of a braided rug next to a free-standing lamp, and a small table with a stack of books.  There were many such little tableaus scattered throughout the TARDIS.  Sometimes a grouping of chairs around a coffee table, once a large popcorn machine (much the kind you saw at a fun fair), a bench surrounded by greenery, what he could only describe as mini-wardrobes with a handful of coats and hats and standing mirrors (he could actually see one of them at the end of the corridor the chair was facing), and little reading nooks like this one.

He settled in with his tea and sipped and thought--

So tired.

So…comfortable?

This is the coziest chair I’ve ever sat in. Maybe I can take this chair back to my room.  If I ever find it again. Maybe hundreds of years from now, the Doctor’s, 11th self maybe, and a couple of, probably Earthlings, he’s picked up will find my remains here in this chair after they get lost in the corridors.

…I’m getting terribly morbid.

--and drifted into sleep and memory.

---

The inside of DUKE’S DELECTABLE DINER!!! Authentic Earth Delights!!!!!!!! was even more garish than the outside, all neon and day-glo, with an ‘impressive’ array of ‘Earth artifacts’. On one wall was a giant mural of knights in armor, riding motorcycles, charging with flaming lances at what appeared to be an army of Godzillas.  Above the bar hung an American flag with too many stripes, not enough stars, and in shades more teal and purple than blue and red. Suspended from the ceiling was what appeared to be the chassis of a bright pink 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air welded to a speedboat.  There were posters and signs, and framed articles of clothing, and all kinds of tchotchkes.  All of which were just…wrong. Scattered throughout were plaster statues which purported to be the Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and Elvis, none of which looked anything like any of them. And in pride of place, at the side of a small stage where presumably there was occasionally live music, was a larger-than-life statue of a cowboy.

“John Wayne?” Turlough squinted at the plaque.

“Well, it explains the name, anyway.” Tegan shrugged and headed over to a booth.

It didn’t explain a thing to Turlough, but he shrugged as well and followed Tegan.

“It’d be nice if the Doctor would get here, so we could order.”  Tegan flipped through the menu.  “Although I’m really not sure what to get.  The Chicken Caesar might be good.”

“I’m setting my expectations at partly edible, with a high chance of indigestion.”  Turlough made a face.

“Howdy.” 

Tegan and Turlough jumped at the outlandish, yet monotone, figure that seemingly arrived from nowhere.

“Welcome to DUKE’S DELECTABLE DINER!!! Authentic Earth Delights!!!!!!! I’m Patrica.  I’ll be your server this evening.”

‘Patricia’ was…attired…in a mixture of 1950’s American Diner Uniform and Rodeo Cowgirl.  With copious amounts of fringe.  In colors not native to either. An oversized novelty Stetson, and Roller Skates. Her voice was the sing-song drone of someone reciting lines for the millionth time.

“Our Specials today are the Buckaroo Burger with Duke’s Special Secret Sauce.  I also recommend the ‘Spring in Your Step’ Starter and the Wild Blue Razzamatazz Sodas.”

“We’ll have that!”  Tegan, with a look that Turlough interpreted as possibly panic, took charge, and Turlough was happy to have her do so.  Her pick, after all. “Just bring us each a ‘Wild Blue’ thing and one of those Spring Starters for us to share, and we’ve got a third person joining us.  We’ll hold off on the…Buckaroo Burgers…until he arrives.” 

“Rootin’. Tootin’. Y’all.  Yee. Haw.” Patrica proceeded to silently skate away.

“Explains how she crept up on us.” Turlough turned back to Tegan, who had her head buried in her arms on the table and was shaking silently. “Tegan?”  She made a reply, but it was muffled and incoherent.  Oh no.  He was not good with upset people, and especially not Tegan.  “Tegan, it’s not that bad.”  He tentatively reached out to touch her arm.

With a strangled squawking noise, she popped up. “Bad?” Tears were streaming down her face, above one of the biggest grins he’d even seen her give. “This is better than anything I could have ever expected.”  She grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the table as more giggles slipped out and started dabbing at her eyes. “I probably look a fright.”

Turlough, despite his reservations, found himself grinning back. “No more than usual.”  He ducked aside as she stuck out her tongue, tossed a wadded napkin at him, and continued to unsuccessfully stifle her giggle-fit before ‘Patricia’ got back.

---

Looking back (with the wisdom of three whole days, Turlough thought sourly, as he surfaced from his doze) it had been one of those moments, and there were more than you would think, that it felt like they were actually friends.

That they weren’t like that all the time was probably his fault.  Well, no, it was definitely his fault, because the only reason he was there at all was the Black Guardian and his original ‘mission’ to kill the Doctor.  And no matter how he acted, or protested (felt he had to protest) about duress, that stain was there.

Would it have mattered if he’d been more open? The Doctor, in his own way, was an exile. He knew about being on the run. Tegan had experienced being stuck somewhere against her will, trying to get back ‘home’. That the somewhere was a wonder of a time/space craft capable of going anywhen/where (capable of in theory anyway) and ‘home’ was Earth in the early 1980s…well.

Everyone craves the familiar from time to time. I certainly do now. Where am I? 

The person he’d been most open with, for several reasons, had been Nyssa (though Tegan did know a little of what she knew).  And maybe if she was still around, he might have found himself opening up to the others. Eventually.

Excuses.

He sighed.  And looked around curiously.  The lights had been…dimmed?  And he felt a little better.  Not exactly warm, but cozy perhaps? Less achy.  It couldn’t be just the Tea and the nap, could it? Not with the lights too.  Instead of stark white, the corridors were lit by the rondels, in soft pinks and oranges and blues.

Had…had the TARDIS done this?

There was a soft hum, different from the normal background hum of the TARDIS.  Not one he could hear so much as feel.

Turlough was never quite sure exactly to what degree the TARDIS was…alive?  Aware?  Early on, when the Black Guardian had been a near constant, dark, feathery, thrum in the back of his mind and the edges of his vision, he’d occasionally felt…something…else. A quieter, less intrusive hum. This hum. He knew that there was some sort of telepathic field for translation purposes, and that had worried him, but the Doctor had explained it was mostly passive, and facilitated by the Doctor’s direction.

(Turlough had still made a point of only speaking English. He was used to it by now…mostly.)

He’d worried, from time to time, that the TARDIS didn’t, couldn’t like him.  But that hum had never felt threatening, or painful, and didn’t now.

It was watchful.

He felt…watched.

With a shudder he got up from the chair.  He was tired and sick and now he was frightening himself. Not that that was difficult.  He needed to keep going, and find something, somewhere familiar.  The corridor straight ahead, with the mirror.  He’d try that one.  He left the mug of tea on the table.  It would serve as a landmark if he went in circles.

As he approached the mirror, a trifold one, like in a dressing room, he paused to look at himself. His reflection in the middle mirror was, well, not fine. Still very pink and rather puffy.  Pinker than actual, in this light.  But…it was odd.  It was like he couldn’t quite focus. The reflections on the side mirrors didn’t seem quite right.  But it wasn’t anything he could put into words. It was still him…wasn’t it?

He shook his head and turned left down a dim corridor.

From the side mirrors, The Little Spark in the Dark Made of Dreams and Fire, and the Blood-Red Beast with Burning Golden Eyes watched him go, and with concern looked back down the corridor at the chair, where Vislor Turlough remained in deep slumber.

The mug of tea wasn’t the only thing he’d left behind.

[neutrinobunny]

Accurate.

[neutrinobunny]

Writings Masterpost

Things About Earth That Aren't Completely Terrible

'One Thing About Earth that Isn't Completely Terrible'

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Author Note

'Interlude: Stray Thoughts'

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[neutrinobunny]

Interlude: Stray Thoughts--Part 2

Xeriander Station, three days ago:

“C’mon, slowcoach!”

“Hmm?”

“And stop sulking.  You got to pick last time.  And technically the time before that.”

“I’m not sulking.”  He honestly wasn’t, just a bit…preoccupied. “I’m thinking. And anyway, I picked yesterday, and the day before was the Doctor’s pick.”

Tegan snorted. “Ha! He doesn’t care, and I heard you mention the place to him several times when the two of you were up to your elbows in the console.  So, when it came time, his ‘choice’ was where you’d been priming him with all day, just like you planned.”

She was completely right, not that Turlough would ever admit it. Couldn’t admit it, for a few reasons. “You were perfectly happy with both of those choices.  Mine and the Doctor’s.” 

“Well, it’s my pick now, and this is where I’ve chosen—” She gestured at a garish neon sign on an even more garishly decorated entryway:

DUKE’S DELECTABLE DINER!!!

Authentic Earth Delights!!!!!!!!

“—and honestly should get to choose again, since you got to choose twice.”

Turlough grimaced. ‘The Doctor’s’ choice had been a Trion Takeaway counter Turlough had noticed when scanning the options on their first day at the station, but hadn’t wanted to take the risk of choosing himself.  (The menu had grilled Banba.  Not fried, grilled.  That’s how you knew it was authentic.  He’d felt himself salivating just looking at the pictures on the menu.) So, he’d managed to get the Doctor to ‘choose’ it, Tegan to actually pick it up ‘since he and the Doctor were still working on the console’ (no sense risking going himself), and ‘accidently’ selected a few extra items before putting in the final order. He’d tried to play it off, but it was a bit hard to hide that he’d eaten every bite of those extra items. The original plan had been to put some in one of the TARDIS stasis cabinets, but it had been so long...

Tegan was looking at him suspiciously. Time to deflect.

“Tegan, there are 106 restaurants in this complex, 83 of which serve at least one thing that can be safely ingested by all of us. I made a point of doing the research about this place so we wouldn’t be stuck with packaged sandwiches and vending machine coffee like our last stop.”  They both shuddered, as he continued. “There are also another 10 or so places with things that might be…fine, but with so many choices, I thought we could stick to definitely edible by all, because I don’t want to get you or I poisoned, and I really don’t feel like having to explain to a newly regenerated Time Lord that his last self was struck down by a tummy-ache brought on by insufficiently irradiated Chelarian Chowder.” Tegan laughed, and Turlough gave what he hoped was a friendly smile. “We’ve tried two of those 83.  Two. We are in a place with cuisines that span galaxies, and you want to go to a place just because it claims to have ‘authentic’ food from Earth. You enjoyed the last two places. I get wanting to play it safe.  But how safe can anywhere with that number of neon exclamation marks be?”

Tegan snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Doctor. That sounded far too much like one of his ‘I’m the only one who’s reasonable’ speeches.”

“I—” Turlough thought back over what he’d just said. “You may have a point. Speaking of, shouldn’t he be back here by now?”

The Doctor, after tearing half the console apart, had decided that he needed to run to the other side of the station. Supposedly, he knew someone there who could help him with getting a thing, that would let him do a thing, to make a thing—

At that point Tegan’s eyes had started to glaze over.

--which would help with calibrating a thing, that would let him properly repair a thing, that would make it easier to work with a thing—

At this point Turlough had joined Tegan in staring bleakly off into the middle distance.

--and then that thing would make sure that another thing was back in tolerance, which might possibly just make it easier to realign a thing--

“--which of course would naturally—ah—yes—well—” The Doctor finally seemed to notice their lack of understanding/interest. “It’s something that really is easier to explain if I show you—Which CAN wait,” he held up his hands, as they glared in unison “until after we’ve eaten.  I’ll just pop over to the communication center and leave a message, and then meet you at--?”

“DUKE’S DELECTABLE DINER!!! Authentic Earth Delights!!!!!!!!” Tegan and Turlough chorused, with enthusiasm, and the direct opposite, respectively.

“Quite.”  And then the Doctor had run off.

“Turlough!” Tegan was waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry.”

“You’ve been woolgathering for a couple days now.”  She peered at him intently.

“I’m fine.”  He waved her off. “But seriously, Tegan—"

“Look, it’s not that I’m playing it safe, or even only want food from Earth. And you’re right, the last two places were marvelous and I’d love to try more. And the Doctor gets us to Earth on the regular. Almost never the exact right time or place, but close enough.”  They shared a grimace.

“Then why—”

Tegan grinned. “I want to see what kind of ridiculous mess passes for ‘authentic’ in a place and time like this.”

Begrudgingly, Turlough felt a newfound sense of respect for Tegan welling up in him.  Because that was exactly kind of thing he might have done, under certain circumstances.  “You know it’s almost certainly going to be very strange.  And probably not very good.”

“The weirder the better. That’s the fun part! And yeah, it might be disgusting, but it might be something just so so wrong, it flips around back to great!  And if it’s just not edible, we’ve got your eighty-odd other places to get something.  Maybe even grab more of those grilled things you were inhaling the other night.”

So much for playing it off. Turlough found himself reduced to sputtering denial. “It—I wasn’t—"

“Honestly, I was impressed you managed it all. You usually eat like a bird. And you’re kind of fussy.”

“Fussy?!”

“See!  You’re even starting to get all indignantly squeaky like he does. C’mon. It’ll be a hoot!”

Turlough groaned. “Having spoken that into the universe, they’ll probably serve us stewed owl.”

Tegan laughed again and strode confidently into DUKE’S DELECTABLE DINER!!! Authentic Earth Delights!!!!!!!!

“This is a mistake.” But Turlough followed her in.

----

And oh, had it been.  Turlough picked up the steaming mug he had just poured and started to head back to his room.  Odd that he hadn’t run into the Doctor or Tegan.  By some strange adaptation to the rhythms of a TARDIS ‘day’, they usually all descended on the kitchen for tea at about the same time.  Just as well.  Conversation had been more awkward than usual since DUKE’S DELECTABLE DINER!!! Authentic Earth Delights!!!!!!!!

(Can't even think it without saying the whole name.  Including exclamation marks!)

They were tiptoeing around him. Especially Tegan.

And he wished they would stop.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really.

And…wait.  Had he missed a turn?

Because he should have been back to his room by now.  And nothing looked familiar.

Or rather, this being the TARDIS, it all looked the same, just not in the right way.

[neutrinobunny]

Interlude: Stray Thoughts--Part 1

A Tale of 'Things About Earth That Aren't Completely Terrible'

Note:

While almost all of the 'Things About Earth That Aren't Completely Terrible' take place before the events of 'Mawdryn Undead', and therefore before Turlough's TARDIS Tenure, there are some stories in the same 'continuity' that fit better within the span of the televised series and associated audios/books/etc. These stories I'm calling 'Interludes.' This particular story takes place sometime between 'The Five Doctors' and 'Warriors of the Deep'

***

Considering…everything…all the adventures he’d been on, and presumably would be on (maybe), with the Doctor, this would have been such a stupid way to die.

Tired.

Achy.

Cold.

Hot.

Hold/Cot?

So tired.

His thoughts chased themselves around his mind.  He’d been preoccupied anyway, and apparently hiding it badly, for days. And it had only gotten worse…

Stupid, not foolish. Foolish was the type of situations the Doctor had gotten him into.  More fairly, that he had found himself in while in the company of the Doctor.  Which is why he was preoccupied.  Because nothing had really been said, but at some point something needed to be said.

He wanted to stay onboard the TARDIS. 

Home, in any sense, really wasn’t an option. And he wanted to stay with the Doctor…and, yes even Tegan…and honestly, it would have been nice if Nyssa hadn’t…he put that out of his mind.  And there had been no real mention of him not staying, not for a while… Wanting to stay might be foolish in itself, deliberately exposing himself to the nonsense the Doctor tended to get involved with—he was chasing his own thoughts in circles, like a metaphorical tail.

Dizzy.

But yes, dying like this would have been stupid.

Nuance.

Stupid vs foolish.

Semantics.

Gotten him into vs found himself in.

Plenty of time to dwell on those, and other things, in bed.

Bed. Comfortable as it was, he was so sick of bed. But he was so…

Tired.

Achy.

Dizzy.

Tired and achy and even more muddled in his mind. It was hard to really focus. Ever since…

He probably wouldn’t have actually died. Certainly, he’d been scared (when wasn’t he) and it hadn’t been pleasant. But they had been, for once, somewhere moderately civilized.

Where after admittedly minor intervention, they’d prescribed bedrest and fluids.

Which was exactly the same as when this had happened before, when he’d actually been on Earth.

Turlough sighed, and maneuvered himself into a sitting position, shoved his feet into slippers, pushed himself vaguely upright, wobbled, carefully donned and secured the admittedly softest, warmest, most comfortable dressing gown he had ever encountered.  That and the flannel pajamas, all blessings upon the TARDIS wardrobe.

He ached everywhere, and he was so tired, and dizzy, and probably? hungry, but nothing sounded remotely appetizing.  No wonder.

Except for Tea.  Which along with dry toast and a little bit of broth was all he’d had for around two days now.

And that was his current objective: Tea.  After certain other necessary matters.

He shuffled to the door of his bedroom, catching a glance at the mirror on his way out.

A pink, puffy, parody of himself glared back at him.

Turlough sighed.  At least the hives were mostly gone.

***

Note:

...

Yeah, Allergies kinda suck

[neutrinobunny]

This is very much in the mold of a bunch of not that great 90s SF that came out in the wake of the X-Files. Or lesser X-Files stories when it got too into its own mythology. Wasn’t fond of it at the time, not too fond of it now.

There is a name oft spoken of in hushed tones within the circles of those who are fans of the Fifth Doctor’s era. It has a rating of 3.5 on the Timescales; it has no plot description; it is the reason why the TARDIS wiki has an article for ‘anal probe’. But, as much as it mentioned and then hushed up, there is at present no further in-depth guide to this novels bizarreness, it’s staggeringly low-quality, it’s unrelenting horniness. If one wishes to understand this horror, one must read it firsthand. Well no more. I, in the name of knowledge and first-hand wisdom, have decided to set out on a journey so that no others may have to undertake it, and with the skills I have honed through my study of English Literature provide a degree of critique and commentary to Keith Topping’s infamous offspring.

I, dear readers, am going to liveblog reading The King of Terror. Starting now.

The King Of Terror Liveblog: Part One

[TW: This being the King of Terror, we will almost certainly be getting into discussions of SA/non-consensual sex. The word ‘r@pe’ will almost definitely come up (indeed it literally comes up on the first page). Also, I will not be censoring it beyond this point because a) this isn’t TikTok, and b) even if I used ‘grape’ or something everyone would still know what I was talking about so there’s no real point. I assume everyone here is a mature adult who doesn’t need to hide behind codes in order to discuss serious and upsetting topics. If you are not, Please God Don’t Read This, it will likely still be here by the time you’re old enough. Go watch the show instead, it’s better and more family friendly (and has well-written violence and kissing in it). If these topics bring up any unpleasant memories for you or will put you in a bad state of mind, then please do not read this live blog, it is not worth it. Furthermore, I imagine various kinds of bigotry will come up in incredibly breezy barely relevant ways (sexism, racism, homophobia, etc.) because this is the year 2000 we’re talking about. There’s also probably something related to medical trauma in here. I will also probably get Very Angry as a lover of literature and Doctor Who at some point, so we’ll see how that goes. Anyways, onwards and downwards.]

Wow, I feel sorry for these guys

Interesting choice. Wonder how this will be relevant to the ‘themes’ of this work.

Huh. Okay. This isn’t actually a bad start. A bit pretentious maybe, but the descriptions are very visceral and it’s certainly a good hook, perhaps this won’t be so bad-

Aaaaand yep not even a page in and we’re already using the phrase “rape”, really cool Keith, very mature and based. Now, I’m not categorically averse to using the phrase ‘rape’ semi-metaphorically. But it is one of those words that has to be handled very carefully and with a proper understanding of the feelings and ideas that it implies.

‘The Things’ (the 2010 short story based off of ‘The Thing’) uses it towards the end in a way that I feel illustrates my point - the alien is disgusted by humanity and our ‘individualised’ existences and decides to forcefully ‘teach’ us why it’s so much better to be like it via the means of, y’know, infecting people with parts of it and then making them go all schlorp. Right before it assimilates one of the men, he calls it a ‘rapist’ which the alien later adopts in the final line of the story: ‘I will rape it into them’. Now, to me, this works because the aliens convictions are painted in a somewhat religious light throughout the story and also because assimilating people is literally a physical violation, so the use of the word at the stories end seems to be used to deliberately conjure ideas of ‘corrective’ SA in a way that feels intentional given the previously discussed themes. It is also, as I have noted, used right at the end as the final line of the story, in a way that indicates to me that the writer understood the very visceral feelings the word evokes and decided to reserve it to be used to reinforce the bleak, foreboding tone of the ending.

Keith does not do this. Keith decides to use the idea of SA and all its violent implications right out of the gate to, presumably, shock the reader and try to grab their attention. He did not have to do this. His abstract, vague descriptions and in-media-res opening were enough by themselves. What this belies to me is a) a belief that violence or shock are inherently compelling and b) a lack of confidence in the strength of his writing on its own. We shall see if I am correct in both of these estimations.

Now, Keith is certainly not the only writer guilty of a very liberal use of SA in the wilderness years of Doctor Who. It seems, from the little I have read, almost inescapable. I remember reading ‘Goth Opera’ and the word ‘rape’ being used to describe what the Mara did to Tegan within, like, the first 30 pages or something. (Which, okay, some critics have definitely compared the scene from ‘Kinda’ where the Mara possesses her to an SA scene, but within the first 30 pages? And without unpacking any of that? Mr. Cornell??) But that doesn’t excuse any of this it just makes him another part of a rather unfortunate pattern.

Oooo somebody wrote this before ‘The Weddding of River Song’. Keith Hopping JNT just called, he wants you to know that fucking with the UNIT timeline is his domain.

So old Keith is aware of Shadows Over Avalon. I don’t really know how much cross-continuity was going on with the PDA / EDA / VNA / VMA writers, so I’m not really certain whether this reference to stuff that has happened in other stories is complacent or unusual. I haven’t actually read Shadows Over Avalon, I’m not that far into the EDA’s (I got distracted before I could read Alien Bodies :( ).

WILL this man ever get to enjoy retirement!

I was never under the impression that the Brigadier was a straight up Tory but I haven’t seen that much of him so what do I know? Also, ‘a smile of admiration’? What, cause being a Tory is just such good old lovable nostalgic Britain? And patriotism too? Ugh. Anyway, the set-up for this narrative is seemingly that a bunch of UNIT files have been decommissioned. This journalist is initially interviewing the Brigadier about a case involving the Waro (who were in Keith’s last book “The Devil Goblins From Neptune”, so, nice self-repping Keith).

This then moves into the two of them discussing the Doctor and his involvement with some company called ‘Intercom’, setting up the events of this story. I also don’t know what the Brig is on about here with the Doctor being ‘a man of peace’ because *I* definitely saw Three’s Venusian moves but okay. Anyway, this section is attributed to an in-universe book so it seems like Keith is trying to a bit of a meta-textual House of Leaves thing. Let’s see how he succeeds in the next post, which will be a reblog of this one.

[neutrinobunny]

i love you turlough with all my heart

[neutrinobunny]

The Rare Moments of Tranquility

[neutrinobunny]

Happy Birthday Mark Strickson!

Happy Birthday Mark Strickson (6 April 1959)

Vislor Turlough

[neutrinobunny]

If the TARDIS thinks of the Companions as strays the Doctor keeps bringing home, and Rory is ‘The Pretty One,’ is Turlough ‘The Naughty One Who Keeps ‘Chewing’ On The Wires’?

[neutrinobunny]

One Thing About Earth That Isn’t Completely Terrible—Author’s Notes

First and foremost forgive me.  I am desperately going to try not to ramble.  This is like draft 4 of this afterword.  I keep going off on tangents.

Maybe the best way to start is to explain certain choices, and then let myself ramble at the end.

Peter Grimwade, who wrote the scripts for Mawdryn Undead and Planet of Fire, has been quoted in Doctor Who Magazine as saying “I characterized the school [for Mawdryn Undead] and when I was told about the new companion, Turlough, I did ask, “How come he got there?” but I was told that would be dealt with at a later date and wasn’t my problem. Ironic, because in the end it was!” 

So I asked myself:

Why was Turlough on Earth? 

His people had Exiled him there.

Why was he Exiled?

“There was civil war on my planet.  My mother was killed.  My father was on the wrong side, and was exiled here with my younger brother.  I, for my sins, was sent by the regime to Earth.” –Turlough, Planet of Fire, Episode 4

Why wasn’t he either sent with his father and brother, or kept on homeworld as a hostage for good behavior?  Or even killed for his ‘sins’?

There wouldn’t be a story. Same reason he can’t actually kill the Doctor. Plus the premise of Turlough was developed before any backstory.

Well, yes, but why in universe?

Maybe someone, or someones, wanted him alive for a purpose, relatively safe, locked down on a low-tech planet so he couldn’t just hitch a ride on the nearest passing spacecraft.  Basically on ice until needed.

Why keep an exiled Noble on ice?

Revolutions are messy things.  What happens if there’s infighting? (Charlie Gibbs says hello). What if the New Regime turns out to be just as unpopular as the old? Maybe the Old Days were the Gold Days. Maybe someone wants some insurance in case counter-revolution starts. Behold the Ace in the Hole, one of the old nobles to use as a figurehead.  How many stories and legends of lost princes and true kings returned are out there? And maybe he looks a little like a legendary figure? Enough for propaganda purposes?

Trions apparently have a history of exiling political prisoners, since the Misos Triangle seems to be an in universe established thing, so the infrastructure would have to be there. Trions have Agents on ‘every civilized planet.’ And we know about the very odd Solicitor in London. So why not start with him?  What would he usually do to set up a new exile, and what happens when the right hand of the Regime doesn’t know what the left is doing?  How hard does that make his job?  What if the new exile has had absolutely no preparation, because the idea was to get him safely tucked away as quickly as possible?

And the story flowed from there.

I never specified, but in my head, the newly arrived Turlough was 15 passing for Earth 13, and arrived sometime in 1978, making him 20 ‘passing’ for Earth 18 at the time of 1983 Mawdryn Undead, while not being present yet for 1977 Mawdryn Undead.  I can mentally justify a 15-year-old having a military rank, especially a ‘junior’ one, especially since ‘attending the Imperial Academy’ has popped up in expanded universe stories.  There’s a war, I can also handwave him being involved in the fighting, civil war and all. I can also mentally justify a rather cutesy ‘the gene-locked door will only open when we kiss’ adolescent romance (Kiss of Death) at the age of 14-15, leading up to the war.  Also, for a few ideas I’ve got for future stories, this gives me five years to work with.

(As far as what I’m going with for canon, televised stories are top of the iist, and then Big Finish where they don’t contradict, and then everything else.)

The Trion language is sung/spoken in Triads, aka three note chords.  Mostly just for rule of cool, but also because Mark Strickson trained as a musician, and I like making little nods like that.

One of the earliest Big Finish audios I listened to was Loups-Garoux.  So the image of the Blood-Red Beast with Burning Golden Eyes as an aspect of Turlough’s personality, if not necessarily so simple as a ‘Dark Side’, has been in my mind for a while.  And I will say that the concept of a golden-eyed shadow self, who isn’t necessarily evil does nod to the Persona series of games. (While ‘I am a Shadow, the True Self’ and ‘I Am Thou, Thou Art I’ language is more from the later games, gold-eyed shadow selves have been a thing since at least the Persona 2 duology from the late 90s).

Which leads to his counterpart, Little Spark in the Dark made of Dreams and Fire.  I’ve leaned into sort of fairy-tale, sort of journey to the center of the mind writing in other fandoms.  Danny Phantom.  RWBY.  The cover of Loups-Garoux is bright orange, with sort of ghostly images of Turlough and Five on the front. Plus the red hair, plus ‘Planet of Fire’, plus I was picturing Turlough confronting his ‘Beast’ and wound up doodling a little guy, which I subsequently took a bunch of orange markers to.

Also, the first, now backburnered idea I had for a fic, was going to be a short internal thoughts story taking place during Frontios, leading up to the Tractators revelation.  I wrote the ‘Down in the Deep Below’ rhyme for that, with thoughts of expanding it throughout that story.  Bits and pieces from that turned into the Little Spark sections.

I’ve taken bits and bobs from various things in various media and fanon.  Turlough is thin, doesn’t really eat or like much in the way of Earth food (‘survives on the occasional packet of crisps’ although both Phantasmagoria and Loups-Garoux have him kind of obsessed with getting something to eat, and in Phantasmagoria he spends a decent amount of time chowing down with at the Diabola Club with Jeake so maybe it just depends), likes tea, softens a bit when someone is kind to him with no obvious ulterior motive (Miss Carillon is very much a nod to Matron), is kind of a sensitive little soul beneath the snark (Little Spark shining through the Beast’s attempts for Survival Above All Else), is prone to nausea, migraines, and asthma due to Earth’s atmosphere, Charlie Gibbs and the Solicitor being relatively OK being due to having preparation that Turlough didn’t. Little Spark crouching in corners with hands cupped together. The Deep Below of Mind where the Nightmares Dwell being where the ancestral memory of the Tractators waits.  The experience with the ‘fizzy drink’ is a nod back to his refusing Rosa’s offer of a soda in Loups-Garoux. Turlough’s mother being a niece of the Queen? References to a many Greats Grandfather being part of the royal court and the offer of the Winter Palace as a safe house in Kiss of Death.  As well as the 2023 Doctor Who annual calling him an ‘alien prince’ as opposed to ‘alien noble’.

The Corva…is something I’m keeping for later. : )

Thanks for reading.