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It's Christmas! Or close to Christmas! And given the terrible record he has with Christmases, the Doctor has decided to spend this Christmas in the TARDIS, right outside of the normal stream of time and space. This also ought to help Astrid get over her fear of Christmas, kind of ease her into the whole "you don't always die on the holidays" thing.

HOWEVER! Before he can zip the TARDIS out beyond time and space for a very merry unChristmas, it must be properly decorated. With EVERYTHING. Lights, and tinsel, and more lights, and more tinsel, and a tree, and holly, and boughs, and presents, and stockings, and nutcrackers, and there will be so much DECKING. The TARDIS will be DECKED OUT. Like woah.

And it's always more fun to decorate with friends. It makes things go quicker, and you can play in all the boxes and the wrapping paper and argue over where the ornaments should go.

SO! There's a Christmas decorating party in Ten's TARDIS and everyone's invited! Anyone he knows, anyone who he hasn't properly yet met but might wish to make his acquaintance or the acquaintance of anyone else who might show up, whatever. It'll be assumed he's parked it somewhere with some kind of mild Anti-Violence Field, so there'll be no chance of sabotaging the TARDIS or hurting anyone too badly while in it. Unless of course fun plot happens, what with Masters and Brendan and such-like and then, hey, Christmas violence and season's greetings!

Threadjacking and hopping is go, unless folks lock threads; and threads can take place at different times, so characters can come back to the party more than once. AND. Folks can thread in any combination, even without Watch!Ten being involved. It's a party, the doors are open, mingling will happen, and he's a terrible, terrible host who may be in a back room snogging Astrid trying something clever with Christmas lights and Hallmark electric ornaments that might repair the Chameleon Circuit. Maybe. Possibly. Not.

Feliz Navidad! Mi TARDIS es su TARDIS! )
watch_is_me: (Default)
Right, don't know much of anyone, really, not counting one of myselves, the Amazing Reconstituted Stoian (Stoic?) Woman, and a daughter who's not mine (if she was mine, she wouldn't be dating the Master, some of me are falling asleep on the job—hello, mes, have a little self-criticism, free without purchase). Oh, and a very tall bodysnatcher who got my jacket wet.

But! TARDIS, Rift, got hours left 'til she's primed for blast-off, and the good chip shop's closed. Oil fire, too bad I know about it now, or I'd pop back later/earlier and fix it. Now, I could rework the TARDIS filing system, or I could ask strangers, selves, and acquaintances to pry into my personal life.

Here, have a go.

The problem with LJ: we all think we are so close, but really, we know nothing about each other. So I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about.
watch_is_me: (Default)
'Verse: Open!verse. Personal canon or 2Docs+1, depending on respondees, if any.
Words: 198.
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] onapostcard, vaguely the Walt Disney quote "It's kind of fun to do the impossible." Very vaguely.


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Right! Don't know who I'm writing this to, really, but that's the point of writing, isn't it? The discovery. It's like travel, writing, never know where it'll take you.

Saw this film for the, what is it now? Tenth time, premier night every time, always get seats smack in the middle. Lovely. Treat watching them all file out afterward, not a dry eye in the house, ups the old faith in humanity. Brought my own nibblies, Pimm's Sugar-spinners. Had a job explaining to the woman next to me that they weren't actually spiders. Offered her one. It spun her up a gumdrop, and she couldn't keep her hands out of them after that. Ate half the box. Didn't get the queen. I'll put her in a vat of simple syrup, ought to have another batch in a few days.

Recipient, recipient. Oh, I'm not going to bother making up my mind. Limits the possibilities. Whoever gets this, there's a transmitter under the stamp, tap it four times fast six times slow, tell it your name—enunciate— and I'll send you along some of this next spawn of spinners. No more space. Wish cards were bigger on the inside. Cheers!
watch_is_me: (Default)
Right. You, whoever you might be, have reached the voicemail inbox...thing of the Doctor. Not a doctor—if you were looking for one of those, go call another number, my practice is full up and you're not getting in, even with a recommendation, thanks. If you're looking for the Doctor, you might have found him, but, blimey, there are a lot of us thes running about, so who's to know I'm your the?

Mm. Oh, yes, I'm the one who never met Rose.

[Off, as though speaking turned away from the phone] Oi, I am not a bitter old man, you take that back.

[Speaking into the phone again] Leave a tone after the beep. No, a message after the tone. Or the beep. A message after the tone-slash-beep-slash-your-onomatopoeiac-phrase-of-choice. Get on with it, I don't have to tell you how to do everything, do I?

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