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Message in a Bottle [Doctor Who]

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Message in a Bottle [Doctor Who]

Postby Pleh » Wed May 01, 2013 2:45 am

[I'm aware that the show already has an episode by this name (or that's what I remember). But this name was chosen because it's the right name for this story.]


Message in a Bottle


Turning over in his thin blanket to relieve his aching back and warm his frosty side, he knew this park bench wasn't any good at all for sleeping on. But he had to try to get some sleep or else he would miss the morning traffic at his regular begging spot. He sighed in defeat, his breath frosting on the breeze as his crooked back painfully protested his attempts to drift off into a fitful sleep. A sound tickled his ear, so faint he was hardly sure he hadn't imagined it, but then he heard it again a moment later, louder now as though approaching from far away. His eyes popped open in alarm as it was hear a third time, growing to alarming volume as if it were much nearer than he had expected based on its previously soft rumbling. Sitting up with haste, he winced and grabbed his back which wrenched against the exertion, but he pried one eye open to glance around the dimly lit London streets for the source of the now thundering, unearthly growl which drew ever nearer.

By the time he had looked about himself, blinked, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, blinked again and looked about himself again, the sound had disappeared, leaving him again alone in the night. He was about to question his own mental stability until he noticed blue booth labeled "Police Box" which he was sure hadn't been there when he came to the park bench, or much any other time he had slept at this park bench. He didn't have much time to think on it, because the door opened, allowing an animatedly chatting pair to step out onto the walk and then into the street.

..."So, has it ever happened?" The first one asked, turning as he walked to face his companion. He was a black man of average height with a shaved head and face. He wore remarkably odd clothing, as though from some other unidentifiable culture.
..."Has what ever happened?" The other replied, shutting the door of the police box behind him. He was taller, though only slightly, and white with dark hair and more respectable clothing. He wore a proper suit and coat, complete with leather shoes and a tie. He seemed a man of high standing, judging by his attire and his stature. Likely some professor at a university, or a lawyer, or some doctor.
..."Have you ever met another incarnation of yourself?" The first man answered, causing the man on the bench quite a stir of confusion and for his cold, meager supper to turn in his stomach uncomfortably.
..."No," The other man answered, surprisingly unsurprised by the question, "Or if I have, then I have better sense than to let myself know that I have. You can't ever interact with your past self. Ever."
..."But what if it's your future self and not your past self?" The question made the man at the bench reach for his treasured bottle of Irish whiskey and turn it up on end above his mouth, only to find much less remaining in the bottle than he was hoping to squeeze down his throat.
..."I am my past self to my future self," The other man explained, "My future self would never willingly interact with me for the same reason I would never intentionally interact with my past self."
..."But what if you didn't know it was you? I mean, you look completely different each time you regenerate. So what if you didn't recognize yourself?"

The man at the park bench was so confounded that his practiced drinking habits slipped and the alcohol stung the back of his throat and its vapors burned his sinuses, making him cough violently and uncontrollably, sucking air desperately to clear his throat and nose for breathing.
..."Hello, there!" The man in the suit and coat called out to him, having heard him coughing, "Beautiful evening, if a bit nippy. Are you, uh," he paused, eyebrows furrowed to analyze the sight of the man on the park bench before him, "... Are you planning to stay out here all night? You might catch yourself a death of cold."

Coughing as he tried to clear his raw throat to speak and grabbing his miserably few possession into his arms, he answered, "Just leaving, actually," and then he got to his feet and staggered off into the night at a shockingly rapid pace.
..."What do you reckon his problem was?" Conner asked.
..."I dunno," the Doctor answered, shaking his head and lifting his shoulders, "Not a clue."
..."So Doctor, what are we here for?"
..."Uh-" The Doctor looked around at the buildings and the sky for a moment and said, "December thirty first, eighteen ninety nine… and it’s eleven o’clock in the evening!"
..."New year’s eve?" Conner observed quizzically.
..."Top notch, Conner!" The Doctor replied enthusiastically. Conner grimaced uncomfortably back at him. The Doctor winced in agreement and said, "Yeah, I guess that one wasn’t so great, either. Ah! Here we are."
..."Here we are what, Doctor?" Conner asked as the Doctor walked up to a street lamp and removed an advertisement from it.
Holding the parchment next to his face, Conner could see an announcement of a New Year’s Eve party, boldly entitled, as the Doctor read aloud to him, "The Party of the Century!"
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Re: Message in a Bottle [Doctor Who]

Postby Pleh » Wed May 01, 2013 2:53 am

As the pair walked down the streets of London together towards the address given on the advertisement, Conner couldn't help asking the Doctor, "So, Doctor, I don't remember reading about this particular party in any of my history books."
..."Neither do I," The Doctor answered, "In fact, I don't recall hearing about this party any of the times I've celebrated this new year."
..."So much for 'Party of the Century,' then, I suppose?" Conner quipped.
..."Oh, well," The Doctor shrugged, "I dunno about that. Half the best parties I've been to in all of time are the ones history forgot about or neglected to mention."
..."Oh, yeah?" Conner asked, "Such as?"
..."Shh," The Doctor shushed, covering his lips with one index finger and staring at Conner with keen sincerity, "What happens in Boltenarius Five stays on Boltenarius Seven."

Then the Doctor turned suddenly, both from Conner and the subject they were talking about and exclaimed, "At last, we're here! The Party of the Century! Chee-ree-oh, then! Isn’t that spectacular?"
...Conner grimaced again and shook his head.
..."No?" The Doctor asked dejectedly, "Not even 'spectacular?' I thought 'cheerio' was rather clever."
..."Why don't you try, 'smashing,' next time?" Conner suggested.
..."Oh, right. 'Smashing,' because you humans don't do enough of that already. Go on, then."

With a smirk, Conner stepped across the street to stand in line at the entrance of the rather grand building. It was a story taller than the other buildings nearby and featured drastically more ornate architecture, complete with hand carved pillars and elaborate overhangs. And the loud merriment of the party within echoed down the streets in every direction with warmth and intoxicated mirth. The Doctor stood back for a moment, eyebrows furrowed pensively.
..."Smashing."
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Re: Message in a Bottle [Doctor Who]

Postby Pleh » Wed May 01, 2013 3:00 am

When the Doctor finally joined Conner in the line, his companion turned excitedly and said, "I can't believe that a hundred years from now I'll be celebrating the new millennium with my family."
..."Oh yeah," The Doctor replied, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, "And only two thousand years after that, humans will be celebrating the beginning of their ten thousandth recorded revolution around the sun. And only ninety thousand years after that, they'll be celebrating their hundred thousandth turn in empty space, but by that point it'll be a little bit academic since most of their parties will be celebrated on their inter-galactic colony worlds."
..."Now hold on a minute," Conner interrupted, "I thought you liked new year's parties? Isn't that why we're here?"
..."Like them?" The Doctor asked with some surprise in his voice, "I love new year's parties. Wonderful time of year. Time of birth and rebirth. New chances, new opportunities. I just can't stand how humans feel like they have to make everything about themselves all the time."
..."Invitations, Sir?" An older man in an old tuxedo asked.
..."Oh," The Doctor answered, slightly caught off guard by the interruption, "Don't worry. You don't need them."
..."I know that I do not need an invitation, Sir," The man insisted, "I am the host's Doorman."
..."And a perfectly wonderful Doorman you're being, Sir," The Doctor replied, retrieving the advertisement he had found from his jacket pocket and showing it to the man, "But you might be manning the wrong door, because this party was advertised to the public."
..."Sir," The offended Doorman replied bluntly, "If you do not have an invitation, I will have to ask you to stand aside."
..."And I'm telling you that this," He lifted it directly into the Doorman's vision, "...IS my invitation."

The Doorman looked at it a moment and then reached out his hand to take it. The Doctor relinquished the parchment, smiling at Conner in triumph.
..."Very well then," The Doorman answered, "Invitation for 'The Doctor,' plus one. May I have your name?"
..."How is that again?" The Doctor asked, somewhat confused.
..."Your name, Sir," The Doorman replied, his temper rising again as he returned the parchment, "So that I may announce your arrival to the other guests?"
The Doctor stared at the paper a moment before folding it quickly and saying, "Smith. Doctor John Smith." The Doorman looked at Conner and the Doctor quickly added, "...and my associate, Mister White." Conner shot him an angry glance and the Doctor again quickly said, "-fall! My associate, Mister Whitefall."

Conner seemed appeased, and the doorman looked from one man to another for a moment before sighing in defeat. He motioned them to follow him.
..."Allons-y!" Conner whispered.

The Doctor's face twisted as he said, "That'll never catch on. How about 'Bob's yer uncle'?"
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Re: Message in a Bottle [Doctor Who]

Postby Pleh » Wed May 01, 2013 3:23 am

"Presenting, the Doctor John Smith and his associate, Mister Whitefall," Some mild applause followed the announcement, but at this point in the evening enough people were already preoccupied with the festivities to listen to the arrival of some late guests. The Doctor waved merrily at the few people who were actually applauding for them.
..."Keep your eyes out, Conner," The Doctor warned.
..."Why? Did you spot a looker?" Conner asked kind of dreamily, "Cause I think I did, too..."
..."Conner, would you knock it off? This is serious," The Doctor insisted in a low voice.
..."What is it, Doctor?" Conner asked, beginning to realize that the Doctor was actually concerned.
..."Take another look at this advertisement," The Doctor instructed, handing him the parchment.
..."Alright," Conner replied, taking the sheet and staring at it, "What about it?"
..."Does it look like an invitation to you?"
..."Yeah. Well, sort of. It kinda makes it sound like anyone can come who wants to."
..."So why did the doorman tell us we needed an invitation? If this is a public party, why was there a doorman? And why would he think this advertisement was one?"
..."Well, I-..." Conner stopped, staring at the paper with disbelief, "Doctor! It's changed! How did that happen?"
..."Just the same way this one does," He answered, pulling out from his pocket his psychic paper.
..."It's psychic?" Conner asked, trying to catch up with the Doctor's conclusions, "But why would someone leave psychic paper on a street lamp in nineteenth century London?"
..."I don't know," The Doctor answered, "But until I do, I think we ought to be very careful. Understand?"
..."What?" Conner asked, "Do you think they left it here for us? To bring us here?"
..."Maybe not us," The Doctor answered, "But whoever they did leave it for, they wanted someone to come to this party tonight."
..."And they weren't just posh, nineteenth century aristocrats looking for some fancier parchment to use for their party invitations," Conner observed.
..."No, they weren't," The Doctor concurred, glancing around the room at the faces of the party guests with a piercing gaze that could cut through the stoniest of hearts and poker faces.
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