watch_is_me

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.

And, lo, another 'verse was born. Or at least the potential for one, as Watch!Ten and Jenny (jen_anomaly) bond over at sixwordstories. And fight. Which is how Time Lords bond, apparently.

One of my favorite parts about this thread is the juggling around of the "Dad" title. It goes like this in my head:

Jenny: Dad!
W!Ten: NO, you don't happen in my universe >:| Weird pseudo-Gallifreyan clone freak. :P
Jenny: Dad, you're a bastard.
W!Ten: I'm not your Dad!
Jenny: I'm dating the Master.
W!Ten: HOSHIT. DON'T.
Jenny: You sound just like my Dad.
W!Ten: B|
*fighting sonic screwdriver punching Jenny 1 Doctor 0*
Jenny: You really aren't my Dad, are you?
W!Ten: I TOLD you.
Jenny: *sniffle*
W!Ten: D: Um, um. *hugs*
Jenny: Well, if you're aren't my Dad, I'll tell you all the things that pissed my Dad(s) off.
W!Ten: And since you aren't my daughter, I'll tell you all the things your Dad(s) didn't tell you because we have massive Issues.
*pause*
W!Ten: So, TARDIS, y/y/mfy?
Jenny: Aw, Dad.
W!Ten: \o/

( The actual thread is much more eloquent. And longer. )

Verse: Personal canon.
Words: 3,687.
Prompt: oncoming_storms, Prompt 30.2.b, "Hope," and some personal research.

EDIT: Fixed my obvious historical error, go, me!

I know it's a lot of text, this piece, not broken up by dialogue, but I'd love feedback on it! I did quite a bit of research to get it put together, and I'd very much like to hear what people think. I'd like to believe it's worth the textiness, but that's me reading it. What are you folks' reactions? I shall give you Interweb virtual cookies for your thoughts!

Dear Mother and Father,

I know that you will wonder why I am writing again so soon. My last letter was only a week ago, so that this one may arrive right behind it. You’ll think that your son has all the time in the world here, to write and to stargaze. The war, I can hear you say, that must all be a sham in the papers, the dear boy’s down there larking about, writing us serial novels and learning the constellations. A Continental vacation, that’s what it is, government-paid!

It’s not like that. Paper’s hard to get, and time is harder, and a dry spot in the trenches, even harder still. So you’ll have to believe me when I tell you I’m writing again because I’ve got a story worth telling. Really worth telling, and I hope you put this on to the local paper, though I don’t doubt they’ll think I’m mad.

( It’s a story about Christmas, Mum and Da, and about peace and the best parts of us English. Maybe the Germans, too, though I don’t know about that. )

NO LONGER PERSONAL CANON (RETCONNED OUT) 1 NOV 2008

Once upon a time, there was a man called the Doctor. He'd lived for centuries; he'd seen war and death and the faces of friends lost to time and accident and choice. Through it all, he'd survived, selfish and center, the bright star at the heart of his own universe.

The death of Gallifrey, double genocide at his hands, left him shaken. But not, another great selfish adventurer might say, stirred. He kept on running, in his blue box, and he kept on seeing and summoning wonders.

( Except for one. )