Dr Who and the Story of the Many Installments
Jan 5, 2014 15:27:57 GMT
Not the Mind Probe!!! likes this
Post by theretsam on Jan 5, 2014 15:27:57 GMT
Welcome, my dear Recipe ****ers! In this thread I will begin my own fanfic of the Dr Who. I will try to outdo myself in madness in each consecutive installment.
I shall now begin the story.
Dr. Who: "The Night of Fear"
It was night in the TARDIS as Barbara wandered around the console. She couldn't sleep. Ian had an inexplicable talent for snoring.
As she walked around the lime green hexagonal console, Barbara was thinking about home. She missed London in the year 1963. Or was it 1964 by now? It was pretty hard keeping track of the time in a time machine, she had to admit.
Barbara lay her hands on the console. Were they ever going to get home? The Doctor didn't seem to know how to fly the TARDIS. Two times he had tried to get them home; one time they ended up meeting Marco Polo and Kublai Khan, the other had put them right in the middle of the reign of Terror. Speaking of which, she did secretly love the historical trips. Too bad the Doctor had forbidden her to change history. They weren't even sure if it was possible, since they - okay, she - had only tried one time. If only she could try again.
Barbara flicked a switch. The scanner switched on. Maybe she could watch some television while passing the time. She changed some channels, but found nothing of interest. Some northerner in a leather jacket hacking something called 'Big Brother', the Beatles on Top of the Pops, some new programme called Doc- , the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth (the Third, mind you)... Unsurprisingly, there had never been and will never be much decent on the telly.
As she was preparing to switch the scanner off, one programme generated her interest. It was a very familliar type of broadcast: black and white, broadcast in 405 lines by the BBC. It was the Olympic Games coverage.
On the scanner, a speaker appeared and took hold of the microphone. He started to address the public in a language she couldn't understand. Yet she had heard him somewhere before, she just knew she had.
The camera shot a close-up of the man's face. His hair was nicely kept, his face worn and his uniform gave him an authoritarian look. However, none of these were his most distinctive feature.
A sense of fear raced through her body as soon as she saw him, as Barbara's hands trembled as she backed away from the console in a reflex.
He had a toothbrush moustache.
I shall now begin the story.
Dr. Who: "The Night of Fear"
It was night in the TARDIS as Barbara wandered around the console. She couldn't sleep. Ian had an inexplicable talent for snoring.
As she walked around the lime green hexagonal console, Barbara was thinking about home. She missed London in the year 1963. Or was it 1964 by now? It was pretty hard keeping track of the time in a time machine, she had to admit.
Barbara lay her hands on the console. Were they ever going to get home? The Doctor didn't seem to know how to fly the TARDIS. Two times he had tried to get them home; one time they ended up meeting Marco Polo and Kublai Khan, the other had put them right in the middle of the reign of Terror. Speaking of which, she did secretly love the historical trips. Too bad the Doctor had forbidden her to change history. They weren't even sure if it was possible, since they - okay, she - had only tried one time. If only she could try again.
Barbara flicked a switch. The scanner switched on. Maybe she could watch some television while passing the time. She changed some channels, but found nothing of interest. Some northerner in a leather jacket hacking something called 'Big Brother', the Beatles on Top of the Pops, some new programme called Doc- , the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth (the Third, mind you)... Unsurprisingly, there had never been and will never be much decent on the telly.
As she was preparing to switch the scanner off, one programme generated her interest. It was a very familliar type of broadcast: black and white, broadcast in 405 lines by the BBC. It was the Olympic Games coverage.
On the scanner, a speaker appeared and took hold of the microphone. He started to address the public in a language she couldn't understand. Yet she had heard him somewhere before, she just knew she had.
The camera shot a close-up of the man's face. His hair was nicely kept, his face worn and his uniform gave him an authoritarian look. However, none of these were his most distinctive feature.
A sense of fear raced through her body as soon as she saw him, as Barbara's hands trembled as she backed away from the console in a reflex.
He had a toothbrush moustache.