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andrasteAll right, so maybe I am writing it. This is what you get for encouraging me!
Smith and Jones was only one third downloaded when I left for work, so I cannot yet join fandom in its squee. Instead, you get this *g*. I think I have probably picked the worst day this year for posting Doctor Who fanfic, but I was bored out of my tiny skull here at work and many of you seemed interested. This is not a complete story. It's not even a complete section. It's not been properly researched, let alone betaed as yet. It is, as the header says, a 'teaser trailer' for the story. Details may well change during the creative process. (Just for starters, the school doesn't have a name yet.)
Rating: For this bit PG. For the story as a whole ... er, damned if I know yet.
Characters: Everyone who ever has been or ever shall be in Doctor Who is in this story somewhere, although only a few of them are actually in this bit. However, there are enough people mentioned in passing to render character/pairing lables meaningless. Call it 'ensemble cast' and have done.
Open and Shut: Teaser
By Andraste
Of all the things Victor Turlough hated about England, school cricket was currently on top of the list. It had some serious competition from the weather, his new uniform and the way the other kids made fun of his accent, but today it was maintaining its lead all too easily.
Turlough was currently digging through the damp leaves in the copse that boardered on the field, hunting for a lost ball. He didn't see why Mr. Moffet had to send him to look for it, when it was McCrimmon who had smacked it all the way out here in the first place. But McCrimmon's team was batting, and apparently that made it Turlough's job to hunt for school property while the others went on with a new ball. He could hear them behind him, shouting in jubilation at some dramatic twist in the game. Turlough hoped it was McCrimmon going out.
It wouldn't have been easy to find the red ball among the brown leaves even if his heart had been in it. The damn thing might be anywhere. If the ground hadn't been so damp - if this was early autumn in England, Turlough dreaded to think what winter would be like - he'd have been tempted to just lie back on the grass and forget the whole thing.
When he heard the dog barking, it was a welcome distraction. Even only two weeks at school, he recognized the distinctive sound of the dark grey Scotch Terrier belonged to Mr. Holmes, one of the Physics teachers. K9 wasn't strictly allowed on school property, but Holmes only lived two streets away, and insisted that the dog followed him of its own accord. If Turlough had been the principal, he'd have demanded to know why he didn't just chain it up. But then it wasn't easy to argue with Mr. Holmes.
K9 was next to a pile of rags, digging a hole as usual. What was strange was the way he was barking, with a perculiar urgent tone. Turlough approached the dog with curiosity - anything was better than hunting for a ball for a game he hated.
Anyway, that was what he thought before he realised that the pile of white rags was actually a dead body.
***
"This is a disaster!"
Dominic Perkins made a private bet with himself. Either the first rehearsal had gone badly, or they were out of ginger snaps again. When Solomon threw the packet of assorted biscuits down on the table and launched himself into the chair opposite, the possibilities were reduced by one.
"Come on, Sol," Evelyn said mildly, stirring her tea, "they can't be any worse than last year's lot were when they started."
"Ha!" Solomon replied around a mouthful of biscuit. "This year I've had a bevvy of exchange students thoughtlessly foisted on my production. Foreman said I was supposed to 'enrich the exchange experience' for them. He's even given me an American." Solomon Davies made it sound as though that were an especially nasty species of cockroach.
"I think it's good for the students to be exposed to cultural diversity," Evelyn said with a smile. She was obviously baiting him now.
"Cultural diversity! At this rate, I'll have to stage a radical reinterpretation where Helena is a mute. Her accent is beyond belief."
Dominic, who knew that Solomon Davies originally hailed from Manchester and that his Received Pronounciation was approximately as natural as his hair colour, held his peace.
"You'll never guess what I've just heard," Robin Brennan said gleefully, slipping into the last available chair around the coffee table.
"Not only can I not guess," Solomon said, reaching for another biscuit, "I also couldn't care less."
The Drama teacher liked to pretend he was above staffroom gossip, but Dominic noticed that he never got up and walked away when the elfin Deputy Head arrived bursting with the latest. For that matter, Dominic reflected ruefully, he wasn't going anywhere either.
"I'll bite," Evelyn said. "What have you heard?"
"Gregory Holmes is only sleeping with Rowena," Robin said triumphantly. That was certainly a high-quality revelation, if true.
"Which one?" Steven Taylor, one of the Geography teachers, inquired from his seat by the window.
Rob's face fell comically. "That's the trouble. I don't know! I overhead him talking to one of them on the 'phone, but of course it's impossible to know which Rowena he was referring to."
"For all you know," Evelyn put in, "he could have been talking to another Rowena altogether. Perhaps he has a cousin by that name or something."
"If Greg was saying what I heard him say to his cousin, I'd be very concerned about the state of their family tree," Robin said with a grin.
Dominic weighed the possibilities. Rowena O'Connell was the statuesque school councellor, who had always made a point of looking down her aristocratic nose at Greg's antics. On the other hand, aloofness had concealed desire before now. Rowena Thomas was the school librarian - equally imperious when she wanted to be, but with a sense of fun the other Rowena had always seemed to lack. On the face of it, she seemed the more likely of the two. Unless, as Evelyn pointed out, there was another Rowena involved. Occam's Razor suggested that this was unlikely.
"Well, I don't believe it," Steven said. "Why would either of them be interested in him? He's got funny eyes."
Evelyn laughed. "I think you'll find that neither of them is so shallow to be put off by that, Steven."
"I'd think they'd more put off by the fact that every knows he's as mad as a hatter," Solomon added, with no apparent appreciation of the irony of his statement.
"I think it's very unprofessional," Oliver Roland put in, stirring sugar into his tea.
"Oh really? No hanky-panky on the school grounds?"
Robin was clearly trying not to burst out laughing, and Dominic could easily see why. Everyone - well, everyone who was paying the slightest attention - knew that the other Deputy Head was having it off with one of the secretaries. Or administrative assistants, as he supposed he must call them now. Dominic couldn't quite help but wish Oliver luck, despite the wedding ring and the fact that Josephine Grant was less than half his age.
"There is such a thing as discretion," Oliver said self-importantly. Unlike Robin, he took his position of authority seriously, and this had always lead to a degree of friction between the two of them.
Dominic hid his smile by taking another mouthful of tea. Oliver obviously thought that he was sucessfully concealing his secret - but then, Dominic suspected that he'd always fancied himself a bit of a 007.
The mood was broken entirely when Tristan Moffett walked into the room. Everyone turned to look at him, apparently by instinct. As per usual, he'd come straight from the sports field in his cricket gear, but his pale skin was now pure white with shock instead of flushed with healthful excercise.
"Tristan," Evelyn said, getting up. "You look as though you've seen a ghost. Has somebody been hurt?"
"Rather worse than that, I'm afraid," Tristan said weakly. "One of the students has been killed."
***
... and that's all you're getting for now, because I am mean.
Smith and Jones was only one third downloaded when I left for work, so I cannot yet join fandom in its squee. Instead, you get this *g*. I think I have probably picked the worst day this year for posting Doctor Who fanfic, but I was bored out of my tiny skull here at work and many of you seemed interested. This is not a complete story. It's not even a complete section. It's not been properly researched, let alone betaed as yet. It is, as the header says, a 'teaser trailer' for the story. Details may well change during the creative process. (Just for starters, the school doesn't have a name yet.)
Rating: For this bit PG. For the story as a whole ... er, damned if I know yet.
Characters: Everyone who ever has been or ever shall be in Doctor Who is in this story somewhere, although only a few of them are actually in this bit. However, there are enough people mentioned in passing to render character/pairing lables meaningless. Call it 'ensemble cast' and have done.
Open and Shut: Teaser
By Andraste
Of all the things Victor Turlough hated about England, school cricket was currently on top of the list. It had some serious competition from the weather, his new uniform and the way the other kids made fun of his accent, but today it was maintaining its lead all too easily.
Turlough was currently digging through the damp leaves in the copse that boardered on the field, hunting for a lost ball. He didn't see why Mr. Moffet had to send him to look for it, when it was McCrimmon who had smacked it all the way out here in the first place. But McCrimmon's team was batting, and apparently that made it Turlough's job to hunt for school property while the others went on with a new ball. He could hear them behind him, shouting in jubilation at some dramatic twist in the game. Turlough hoped it was McCrimmon going out.
It wouldn't have been easy to find the red ball among the brown leaves even if his heart had been in it. The damn thing might be anywhere. If the ground hadn't been so damp - if this was early autumn in England, Turlough dreaded to think what winter would be like - he'd have been tempted to just lie back on the grass and forget the whole thing.
When he heard the dog barking, it was a welcome distraction. Even only two weeks at school, he recognized the distinctive sound of the dark grey Scotch Terrier belonged to Mr. Holmes, one of the Physics teachers. K9 wasn't strictly allowed on school property, but Holmes only lived two streets away, and insisted that the dog followed him of its own accord. If Turlough had been the principal, he'd have demanded to know why he didn't just chain it up. But then it wasn't easy to argue with Mr. Holmes.
K9 was next to a pile of rags, digging a hole as usual. What was strange was the way he was barking, with a perculiar urgent tone. Turlough approached the dog with curiosity - anything was better than hunting for a ball for a game he hated.
Anyway, that was what he thought before he realised that the pile of white rags was actually a dead body.
***
"This is a disaster!"
Dominic Perkins made a private bet with himself. Either the first rehearsal had gone badly, or they were out of ginger snaps again. When Solomon threw the packet of assorted biscuits down on the table and launched himself into the chair opposite, the possibilities were reduced by one.
"Come on, Sol," Evelyn said mildly, stirring her tea, "they can't be any worse than last year's lot were when they started."
"Ha!" Solomon replied around a mouthful of biscuit. "This year I've had a bevvy of exchange students thoughtlessly foisted on my production. Foreman said I was supposed to 'enrich the exchange experience' for them. He's even given me an American." Solomon Davies made it sound as though that were an especially nasty species of cockroach.
"I think it's good for the students to be exposed to cultural diversity," Evelyn said with a smile. She was obviously baiting him now.
"Cultural diversity! At this rate, I'll have to stage a radical reinterpretation where Helena is a mute. Her accent is beyond belief."
Dominic, who knew that Solomon Davies originally hailed from Manchester and that his Received Pronounciation was approximately as natural as his hair colour, held his peace.
"You'll never guess what I've just heard," Robin Brennan said gleefully, slipping into the last available chair around the coffee table.
"Not only can I not guess," Solomon said, reaching for another biscuit, "I also couldn't care less."
The Drama teacher liked to pretend he was above staffroom gossip, but Dominic noticed that he never got up and walked away when the elfin Deputy Head arrived bursting with the latest. For that matter, Dominic reflected ruefully, he wasn't going anywhere either.
"I'll bite," Evelyn said. "What have you heard?"
"Gregory Holmes is only sleeping with Rowena," Robin said triumphantly. That was certainly a high-quality revelation, if true.
"Which one?" Steven Taylor, one of the Geography teachers, inquired from his seat by the window.
Rob's face fell comically. "That's the trouble. I don't know! I overhead him talking to one of them on the 'phone, but of course it's impossible to know which Rowena he was referring to."
"For all you know," Evelyn put in, "he could have been talking to another Rowena altogether. Perhaps he has a cousin by that name or something."
"If Greg was saying what I heard him say to his cousin, I'd be very concerned about the state of their family tree," Robin said with a grin.
Dominic weighed the possibilities. Rowena O'Connell was the statuesque school councellor, who had always made a point of looking down her aristocratic nose at Greg's antics. On the other hand, aloofness had concealed desire before now. Rowena Thomas was the school librarian - equally imperious when she wanted to be, but with a sense of fun the other Rowena had always seemed to lack. On the face of it, she seemed the more likely of the two. Unless, as Evelyn pointed out, there was another Rowena involved. Occam's Razor suggested that this was unlikely.
"Well, I don't believe it," Steven said. "Why would either of them be interested in him? He's got funny eyes."
Evelyn laughed. "I think you'll find that neither of them is so shallow to be put off by that, Steven."
"I'd think they'd more put off by the fact that every knows he's as mad as a hatter," Solomon added, with no apparent appreciation of the irony of his statement.
"I think it's very unprofessional," Oliver Roland put in, stirring sugar into his tea.
"Oh really? No hanky-panky on the school grounds?"
Robin was clearly trying not to burst out laughing, and Dominic could easily see why. Everyone - well, everyone who was paying the slightest attention - knew that the other Deputy Head was having it off with one of the secretaries. Or administrative assistants, as he supposed he must call them now. Dominic couldn't quite help but wish Oliver luck, despite the wedding ring and the fact that Josephine Grant was less than half his age.
"There is such a thing as discretion," Oliver said self-importantly. Unlike Robin, he took his position of authority seriously, and this had always lead to a degree of friction between the two of them.
Dominic hid his smile by taking another mouthful of tea. Oliver obviously thought that he was sucessfully concealing his secret - but then, Dominic suspected that he'd always fancied himself a bit of a 007.
The mood was broken entirely when Tristan Moffett walked into the room. Everyone turned to look at him, apparently by instinct. As per usual, he'd come straight from the sports field in his cricket gear, but his pale skin was now pure white with shock instead of flushed with healthful excercise.
"Tristan," Evelyn said, getting up. "You look as though you've seen a ghost. Has somebody been hurt?"
"Rather worse than that, I'm afraid," Tristan said weakly. "One of the students has been killed."
***
... and that's all you're getting for now, because I am mean.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-01 12:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 01:19 am (UTC)See, I am glad you're enjoying it so far, because you strike me as the perfect person to harass with stupid questions *g*. Like: it's the middle of September in the south of England, are there damp autumn leaves all over the ground? Are school boys still playing cricket?
(I mean
FiveTristan would happily make them play cricket in the snow if he could, but if the season is technically over already, it's another thing for Turlough to grumble about.)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 05:18 pm (UTC)Cricket season would be the summer term, really; September is the start of the autumn term, which at my school meant hockey and netball instead of tennis and rounders. I suspect that most boy schools would be playing football and rugby, and perhaps hockey, in September. The difficulty is that no one would be maintaining the pitch, and it would probably have been remarked for the winter sports, all of which would affect the outfield, not to mention that the wicket itself wouldn't be mown flat, so generally playing would be a bit of a mess. The nets might still be up though, I suppose?
Damp autumn leaves are possible, although September is perhaps a little early... I think probably most of the leaves would still be on the trees, although you'd have some leaf-fall.
I think what you have here is within the bounds of probability, though. Also, crazy sports teachers can do anything *g*.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-01 06:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 01:21 am (UTC)Why must everyone encourage me to write crack?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-01 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 01:23 am (UTC)You know, I'm curious as to just how blindingly obvious that is at this point ...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 07:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-01 11:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 01:24 am (UTC)Thank you *g*.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-02 08:38 pm (UTC)