Doctor Where?

So, I ran across a webcomic the other day called "Girls Next Door" on Deviant Art.  It's about Sarah (from Labyrinth) and Christine (from Phantom of the Opera) as flatmates going to a university set in a pan-fandom dimension.  By the way, the flatmates down stairs are Jareth and Erik, fandoms respective to the ladies above.

Now, I have no real talent for drawing that I've put effort into developing, so doing a webcomic is beyond me.  However, I did get a silly little idea for something I have affectionately titled "Doctor Where?"  It's the idea of doing a drabble series of a pan-fandom story about Doctor Who, where the Doctor takes his companions to different fandoms in his Tardis.

I'll probably still do other writings on here, but all the ones about this story will be marked clearly as "Doctor Where?" to be told easily apart.

Six Sentence Sunday

“Everyone is readying themselves, Major, but we have no intelligence.  Where is the enemy coming from?”

            

“They’ve already penetrated the gate,” Branimir answered grimly.  “A rag-tag mob of commoners,” he spat the word, and Davir blinked with astonishment, “so they’ll probably wander about lost until they find their goal.  Amass your men, Lieutenant, and make a tight perimeter around Their Majesties.  We have no way of telling beforehand which direction they will come from.”

Six sentences from my novel-in-progress, Lost in Shadow.  Posted in connection to Six Sentence Sunday.  Check them out!

Imagine the Possible

Ceremony is everything.

That is the interesting thing about this culture.  Past, present, probably even future, everything depends on ceremony.  Although I have not lived in Japan very long, nor is it my native anything, it’s hard to miss that one, essential fact.

Not only that, but the Japanese have gotten ceremony down to an art form.  They are meticulous in every detail.  When making tea, it matters which foot one steps forward with first, but be careful about whether you are coming or going, and also careful about whether you carry the waste water with you or not.

Learning the language for the first time?  Careful because every stroke is a part of an elaborate ceremony around the written language.  It has to be.  If someone wrote too fast, and everyone wrote in different ways, how could anyone possibly read it?

The spoken language is a ceremony in its own right as well.  The entire grammar and conjugation shifts and changes with each level of politeness one ascends to.  There are whole verbs that are only used to be vulgar, and which attach to the regular action verbs for no reason other than to make the whole sentence more rude.  Common verbs like “eat” and “speak” have entirely different, ceremonial versions that sound nothing like their other counterparts, an honorific way of speaking that is so archaic-sounding that the entire culture had to adapt it as the language of business in order to keep it around.  Sentimentality, I suppose?  Or just taking “the customer is always right” to whole new, pompous levels?

These are only examples.  The whole country is rife with ceremony, with people going about and doing things in one very specific way, from clapping or not depending on if they’re in a shrine or a temple all the way to the angle at which they turn their foot in a dojo because one scroll says it one way, but another scroll says it another.

Is it really any surprise, then, that the energy put into these ceremonies, day in and day out, year after year, century after century of refinement and absent thought, gave birth to something extraordinary?

Should it be any surprise that in an industrial world, on an industrial island, so densely populated that they stack the homes and businesses on top of each other like Lego cities, in a climate of metal and smoke with the environment dying around us, this island somehow manages to be so teeming with life and beauty?

Does no one stop to wonder at the miracle of forests standing next to skyscrapers?  Of gardens spilling out of concrete yards?  Of monuments to faith and meditation, peace and tranquility, right on the side of busy roads and framed by businesses?

Ceremony.  Tradition.  History.  The modern world has kept them up to speed, but ceremony is too deeply ingrained in the psyche of this culture.  Sure, there is instant tea, tea is plastic bottles in vending machines, and tea made into ice cream, but for centuries, they made tea a very specific way.  They couldn’t just stop that.  It was a ceremony, it was their tradition, it was part of their history.  Part of them.  Not every Japanese person knows the tea ceremony, not every one agrees with its existence in a modern world, or likes it, or even cares.  But not everyone needs to.  They have their own ceremonies they can’t live without, that they would cling to no matter what technological advances were made.

Most people haven’t noticed.  Even the culture that gave birth to such rich, teeming energy is mostly unaware.  These ceremonies give life to the people and area around them.  The longer something has been done in one place, the more palpable it is.  Step into an ancient temple, one that has been around for centuries, and feel the hush.  Nothing is quite as loud inside those unless it’s a natural sound of the place.  A child screaming will sound muted, but a gong as ancient as the building will reverberate through bone.

The subtle effects of the energy of history are felt everywhere.  An old chant, performed in an ancient cathedral, stirs the souls of men.  Why?  The sounds are all the same as ones we hear every day.  The walls are made of stone, which we walk on every day.  The voices are modern, people we might be friends with.  The melodies rudimentary, at the beginning of when music was being explored.

Each component, on its own, is also stirring.  The cathedral itself inspires awe, the ancient song inspires thought, the dead language of the lyrics inspire fascination.  But take the history away, and so does the power.  No one is awed by the cobblestone path they saw in the park.  Music is played in elevators to break the awkward silence of strangers.

People who steep their lives in ceremony are different from the rest of us.  A true master of martial arts, one who dedicated himself to the spirituality of it as well as the physicality of it for his entire life, can quiet a room simply by entering.

Not everyone with a long life can be this way, yet.  Most people live their lives very scattered, jumping from one thing to next when it seems the right thing to do.  The ones who are different can be picked out of a crowd.  That’s the kid that knew he wanted to be a chemist since he was five years old, and now he’s retired, living off a well-earned retirement and the warm after-glow of changing the world.  Over there is the war veteran who served his country his whole life, finished as a four-star general, and inspired every one of his grandchildren to join the military with nothing more than sitting in his favorite armchair and telling stories when they begged.

Now imagine you could tap into that vast reserve of energy.  Imagine pulling it in at will, using all of the centuries of focus that thousands, maybe even millions, of people have used on that exact spot.  A strength of ages.  Remember the day of your life you felt the most inspired, the strongest, and imagine calling that state of mind into being at will.

Linking your own energy with the energy of history and ceremony, of pattern and tradition, of the same energy used by people just like you stretching back into time, and harnessing it for the betterment of yourself and humanity.

Why just imagine?

The Ginger Doctor

The Doctor groaned, stretching and blinking at the underside of the TARDIS console.  Well, at least that explained where he was, even if it didn’t explain what had happened.  “Right,” he mumbled, reaching up to grab onto the edge of the console and pull himself up.  His arm moved a lot faster than he thought it would, and it required a lot less pull to get himself upright, so he ended up splayed over the console with a new bruise on his wrist.

“Well, that’s new.”  New....  New!  Straightening, he carefully examined his hands and grinned.  “New hands!  I guess I was forgetting something!  Good lord, I’m tiny now....”  He followed his arms up to his elbows, and then started spotting some very, very alarming differences.  “Oh.  Oh.  Um....  Isn’t this awkward.”  Sure, they were his--should he even be thinking that about himself anymore?--but he still didn’t really know what to do with that knowledge.

Squirming uncomfortably led to a new revelation, though.  Long hair!  It fell in his face, and he squealed with delight, seizing a lock of it and holding it up to see the color better.  “At long last!  Ginger!”  After lots more examination, and a bit of tossing his head around with the new experience of how long hair whips about, he put his hands on his now rather curved hips and surveyed his TARDIS.

Then, the Doctor sighed.  “No use in being sentimental, I guess.  Fine, fine, I’m a she, now.  Don’t really feel like a ‘she’, but I suppose I don’t know how ‘she’s are supposed to feel.  Unbalanced, apparently.” 

While she was still trying to figure out how the new body operated, a banging sounded at the door of the TARDIS.  “Doctor!  Amy!  Really need you out here!”

“Oh!  Rory!  Yes, Rory, wonderful Rory, of course it’s Rory!”  Grinning, the Doctor dashed out of the TARDIS to check on him, but ended up running smack into him instead.  “Oh, hello Rory!”

“Hello.”  He helped her steady herself, but eyed her with confusion.  “Are you all right?  Where’s--”

“Coming, don’t you worry.  Now, Rory.”  The Doctor leaned in a little closer, and Rory leaned in, too, out of habit.  “What happened?” she whispered.  “Memory’s a little fuzzy; I seem to have misplaced a couple more recent pieces.”

“Uh, well,” Rory began, but that was about when the Doctor actually started looking around.  Daleks.  Lots of them.  That didn’t really require a whole lot of explanation, and she was sure that the rest of the details would filter in as her brain settled into its new box.  Its new ginger box!  She really couldn’t get over that.  It had finally happened!

“Never mind.  Got it.”  She stepped forward to address them.

“Ah!  I think we should wait--!”

“Daleks!” she called, putting her hands on her hips and leveling a challenging look at them.  “Sorry for the wait.  I’m ready to listen to your grand scheme to destroy everything again so that I can stop you all cold in your tracks.”

“WHAT IS THIS TRICKERY?” one Dalek demanded.

“WHERE IS THE DOCTOR?” from another.

“WE SHALL DEFEAT THE DOCTOR!  YOUR EXTERMINATION IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE!”

“Amy, really, we should wait for the Doctor,” Rory called quietly, creeping his way forward to try and snag her hand and drag her back.

“We don’t have to--wait, Amy?  Did you just call me Amy?”  The Doctor turned in a circle, looking at the outfit she was wearing, which looked nothing like the old jacket and bowtie that his last regeneration had worn, which should logically be what she was still wearing.  “What?”  Instead, it was a jean skirt, boots, and a tight little t-shirt with a jacket over it.  “Now, really, what’s the point in wearing a jacket if you’re wearing a short skirt?”  The Doctor put her hands on her hips.  “Does that even make sense?”

“You’re ... not Amy?” Rory took a wild guess.

The Doctor held a finger up to the Daleks.  “Hold that thought.”  Charging back into the TARDIS, she headed into the back to find the wardrobe which had the best mirror for this very problem.  Pushing impatiently past the racks of clothes, she finally stopped in front of the full mirror and stared straight into Amelia Pond’s face.

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!”  The Doctor felt cold metal suddenly.  Back in the TARDIS control room, lying on the floor again face down.  “Quick, quick!  Hands, face, hair....  Not ginger!”  Springing up, the Doctor rediscovered his whole body all over again and leaned against the console, breathing deeply and running a hand over his face.  “A dream.”

“Amy!”

He jumped, then put a hand through his hair to try and disguise the motion, as if those two even made any sense together.  “Rory, go look for your wife someplace else!” he snapped, turning to the console and flipping dials to busy himself so that his tone wouldn’t draw suspicion.  He kept an eye on Rory discreetly, though, and as soon as he was out of sight, the Doctor dashed off to find the mirror again, just to reassure himself.

“What a nightmare....”

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

Nina pressed her back against Terrin’s, keeping her hands clearly where the ring of police could see them.  “This is all your fault,” she whispered harshly, trying to keep her anger and terror in check.

“What was I supposed to have done?” he demanded back in a whisper.  “Just let him hurt you?  Yeah right.  Family’s all we’ve got.”

“And what about freedom?”  The police tightened their circle a bit as a couple in the back readied restraints.  Not the normal ones, either, since they didn’t know what the sibling pair could do.  “We did have that, but thanks to you, we don’t anymore.”

“No, thanks to a thug, we can’t stay in this city anymore.”  Nina glanced at Terrin but didn’t answer.  She suddenly felt a lot more nervous.  “Come on, Nina.  It won’t do more damage, but it will get us out of here.  If they take us to prison, they won’t let us stay together, you know that.”  He took her hand, and she clutched it tightly, even as they still held them up where the police could see.  “This is our last chance.”  He was right, too.  The circle was starting to break, and those horrible contraptions that would keep them contained were all she could see in the gap.

“Don’t let go for anything.”  Squeezing his hand, she broke the very law that had landed them in this situation in the first place and made them both invisible.

Shouts immediately rang out, but Nina and Terrin were already crouched down on the ground, just looking for an opening, any opening.  One gap in the confusion, and they rushed past the tangle of legs, drawing up a shout with the contact, but no one could see what to shoot at by the time they heard it.

They ran for miles.  Dodging through alleys and across major streets by skirting the crowd.  Neither of them said a word.  Finally, on the outskirts of downtown, they leaned against a brick wall in a deserted alley, exhausted, and Nina relaxed her focus as they slid to the ground.






To be continued...?

To Earn a Name

The whole village followed Sophia down as she held her daughter aloft in the air, the singing buoying them up with ecstasy.  Rhythmic singing, like the flowing of ocean waves, the ritual songs were not just tradition but also appropriate, even though there were no words.

The pod of dolphins broke the surface when they approached, adding their own sounds to the singing of their people, their other halves, their partners.  They splashed and danced in their own way, frolicking in the water deep enough to handle it, letting the people come to them.  One in particular was at the front, barely able to contain her excitement and energy, only doing so to spare her own young child the chaos of it, and to guide her.

For the joy of this day to Sophia was not just that her child would finally find the other half of herself and gain her name, but also that it was the daughter of Sophia’s own partner, Orina, who was of the proper age and untied.  They would have a bond closer even than mother and daughter, one shared through both halves of the pair independently and made all the stronger because of it.

The rest of the village waded into the tropical waters and swam deftly out to meet the pod, catching the fins of their partners and being pulled out into deeper waters.  Sophia did so as well but slower, behind everyone else.  The unnamed always came last when the ritual finally began, and so it was that Sophia turned around and swam on her back, letting her daughter rest on her chest where all the air would keep her safe, until she felt the warm slickness of Orina’s skin against her outstretched hand, and she grasped it to let it pull her gently after the others. 

Now and then, the tiny head of Orina’s daughter would poke above the surface, to peer at the two people, especially the tiny one, and make a small sound of curiosity before shyly diving below the waves again and swimming in her mother’s wake until she felt brave again.

The rest of their pod had already formed a circle that they lazily swam around in an ongoing circle, creating a barrier not just with bodies but with current as well.  Orina pulled Sophia and their daughters into the center, swimming along the inside of the circle just a little faster than the others, so they would pass each of them in turn.  Each person reached out with a wet hand and touched a part of the unnamed human child, whispering praise or well wishes, even as each dolphin nudged the young calf, urging her forward to the next one, encouraging her in their own way which was more body language than sound.  Sounds were worth less under water.

The circle tightened slowly as they spiraled their way inward.  Finally they stopped in the middle, and the calf surfaced, seeming to understand that this was an important moment that she could not remain hidden for.  Sophia released Orina and balanced herself upright in the water, one arm still supporting her unnamed daughter.  Orina nudged her own daughter forward, and Sophia pulled her daughter from the crook of her arm and supported her upright in the water, too, so she could blink owlishly at the dolphin in front of her.

After she got over her confusion, she held out her little toddler hand and happily exclaimed, “Door!” as she tried to touch the calf, oblivious to the fact that the word meant nothing in that context.  Sophia couldn’t help but smile.

Instinctively, the calf moved forward so the toddler could reach her, and their first physical contact was made.  The humans broke away from their dolphins and swam on their own, inside the ring of animals, and they all tightened in on the young pair, connecting for the first time.

“Dora,” Sophia announced to their pod proudly as the newly named girl splashed happily even as she exuberantly patted her new life partner’s head.  Her first word didn’t have to have anything to do with her name, of course, (Sophia’s own had been ‘cup’, for example) but her timing was perfect enough that Sophia felt inspired.

The calf’s name was more complicated, as it had to go through a filter with Orina before it could be settled--it was the dolphin’s daughter, after all.  “Dora and Malinda.”

The whole pod repeated the names, the dolphins in their own way as well.  The dolphins dipped below the surface, then rose up as one, blasting sprays of water into the air and misting everyone in the area.  Sophia gently released Dora, and Malinda moved forward and underneath her, to hold the toddler up.  She didn’t really know how to move in such deep water well enough, let alone with a small dolphin underneath her, so it only lasted a few moments, but that was all that was needed for now.  They would have plenty of time together to learn.

Predator and Prey

Teddy leaned up against a tree, shivering in the warm air.  A few more steps, and there would be no turning back, even though he knew he had nothing to turn back to.  Still, every line of his body, every particle of his mind, screamed that he did not want to die.

That was what the invisible line before them represented: suicide.  Teddy, the man, could not sense it, but his partner in everything, his constant companion since he spoke his first word, his stag Grevin could smell it and shied away, his muscles twitching with the impulse to flee.

Teddy could understand, though, what the animal part of him could not.  Their home was gone, their family and herd slaughtered.  Finding another one would give them a future, but there was no guarantee they would be welcomed in times like this.  Times when even those of the same nation could be bringing the enemies down upon them.  He could have been followed, lead a new family to destruction.  Or worse, have done so willingly.  Teddy had heard the stories.  He was afraid to find others, even as Grevin pulled him to do so.

Anything, Grevin’s mind pleaded.  Anything but predators.  Once they smell us on their land, they will hunt us down.  That is what predators do.

But not people, Teddy tried to reason with the terror, but it would not listen.  Grevin could only understand that Teddy feared, too, and they should not be here.

As much to reassure himself as to help his animal, Teddy put his arms around Grevin’s neck and slowly crept forward.  The stag restrained himself from thrashing, as his antlers could cause serious damage to Teddy if he moved the wrong way, but he became more tense and trembled all the more the further they went.

Then, they stepped into the territory of the wolf nation.