rude_not_ginger | Christmas Open Thread

•deck•the•halls•

• THE DOCTOR LEARNS THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS •

~•~

Christmas Eve. 2009.

The Doctor loved Christmas! Back when he was a wee Time Lord, the first place he ever landed was London on Christmas Eve. He promised himself he'd never miss another Christmas ever, but that promise went into the same pile as "Lose weight" and "Regenerate a better hairline" and "Stop leaving companions in other universes". But the Doctor had never quite gotten the hang of New Years'. (He once spent several hours commiserating on the similarity between the confusing nature of New Years and Thursdays with one Arthur Dent, who will sadly not be appearing in this piece of narrative. -editor)

But! Through all his travels in space and time, he still hadn't quite figured out what Christmas was for exactly. Except as a yearly excuse for turkey, too much wine, and plum pudding (all of which the Doctor approved of). This year, though, as he strode the streets on this wonderful Christmas Eve, the Doctor decided he would figure out exactly what Christmas was all about.

This may or may not have included use of a intergalactic manipulative detector and a full pack of radio stellar isotopian crystals. Oh, and a cup of hot chocolate. In a festively-coloured cup.

There was a lovely light snow, and the Doctor grinned madly at the stars. Christmas. This year, he was going to figure out what it was all about.

~•~

OOC: Open thread, feel free to tag in as if your character is a passerby or as if your character is a long-standing companion! I'll be working on this thread up until the New Year, most likely! Everyone from any verse (or no verse!) is welcome, just let me know if you'd prefer it from a community or specific universe! And, for this thread, threadhopping is totally welcome!

Happy Holidays, everyone! &hearts

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Doctor, having gone back to the TARDIS for a few more energy crystals for his device, hadn't expected a knock on the door. Generally, knocks only occurred in the 1950s, when he forgot to put up the 'Out of Order' sign on the door. This? This was odd.

How many knocks was that? Panic hit the Doctor in the stomach. Four? Was it time? No, no, it sounded like three. Followed by a laugh.

Very odd.

Warily, he stepped towards the TARDIS door and slowly opened it. The man before him looked...odd. He was tall and thin, with a white beard, red trousers, and a green velvet jacket, with a black hat tilted over one eye. It was like time had bundled him together into one person. It was odd.

"Hello."

"The greetings of the season be upon you, Doctor," he says, a thunderous basso profundo rumble deep with cheer.

Or, rather, he says something equivalent in what certain peoples -- arrogant enough to forget there was a time when their world was not a single language society, a time before there was only Outsiders and the Citadel -- would call Old High Gallifreyan. It is the language all their stories began in, and though it was near-forgotten long before the planet itself burned away, stories are neither created nor destroyed: they merely change their form.

Some of them turn up on your doorstep, dimple merrily and wink at you when they say, "I'm Father Christmas."

The Doctor recognized the language without question, and he would've understood it without the TARDIS translators automatically slipping it into his more modern Gallifreyan (well, Gallifrenglish. Too long traveling with humans!) His shoulders straightened, and he felt a stab of regret and nostalgia. He never heard his home language, not since the Master died. His language was dead, but hearing it spoken made it alive.

"Well, I can---" He tilted his head. "I can sort of see that, yep."

He was definitely dreaming. Time Lords didn't often dream, but the Doctor's human ancestry made the occasional odd dump of memories into something dream-worthy. And, well, as far as dreams went, this wasn't so bad. He grinned madly at the man.

"Merry Christmas!"

"No, that's my wife; I'm Father Christmas." He grins broadly, chuckling. "Oh, dear, that pun works much better in English, doesn't it? Well, no matter! A very merry Christmas to you too, my dear fellow, and to this delightful craft of yours."

There's a jingle of bells and the sound of something -- some things -- pawing the ground from behind him, there's more space than there has any right to be, there's snow deep around them, fresh white sliding under Christmas's feet and teasing up to the edge of the TARDIS's open door.

"But I'm afraid, I do have to ask," because it's a story, and stories have rules, "have you been a good boy this year?"

The Doctor can't help himself, of course. Even with the language differences, it is a funny pun. He grins madly. What a dream. Father Christmas, knocking on his door.

Certainly better than the dream about the banana chasing him around the halls of the Academy while he was late for physics.

"Ooooh, I think I've done all right," the Doctor said, hopping out of the TARDIS and shutting the door. For a dream, it was also surprisingly tactile. The snow was soft and cold and soaked through his trainers immediately.

"Made a few mistakes, but I've been working to fix them." A few major mistakes. He thought about Adelaide, about that November back on Mars. So many mistakes he had to learn from.

"That you have," Christmas agrees, thought what, precisely, he is agreeing to is anyone's guess.

Besides, he's already taken a step back and swung out an arm to wave majestically at his own vehicle. It's certainly wood, hand-fashioned with art, with love, with care; something of a sleigh, a sled, a carriage, perhaps. In the harnesses, antlered wolves (or, no, thick furred reindeer with paws, or) shift restlessly. The bells, silver, gold, brass, jangle and tinkle musically.

"I thought you might like to be someone else's companion for once. I have," and here there's a self-deprecating chuckle, "one or two deliveries to make."

Oh, this was the best Christmas dream ever.

"Oh, yes, please!"

The only way this could've been better was if he dreamed up Jenny or Susan to come along with him.

Edited 2009-12-19 23:45 (UTC)

With a hearty laugh, Christmas waves the Doctor onto the seat, taking his own place at the reins. A first crack of them gets his draft animals into a line.

"You should probably hold on for this bit," Christmas confides with a wink. "They're quite steady once they're up, but they do need a bit of a run at it. Yip yip!"

That last to the animals, not the Doctor, over another crack of the reins that makes them all take first strain on their harnesses. There's a sudden pressure, something of a crackle, and a rush, of things properly aligned, of an engine cycled up to starting speed, just waiting for the clutch.

"Ho ho ho and away we go!"

The funny thing about Christmas (or any of the other gift-giving, there-isn't-much-light-in-the-world-so-let's-have-a-festival-of-lights holiday) was that when you wished for things, sometimes, just sometimes, your wish was granted.

The other funny thing about Christmas (etc. etc.) was that usually your wishes arrived in one of Santa's (or another appointed gift giver's) bag (or gift-giving carrier of choice).

So when the Doctor wished for Jenny to be there to come along, well. There she was! In a great, big red velvet bag trimmed with white fur (or artificial fur). Unfortunately, Jenny didn't much like being contained in a bag, no matter how big (bigger on the inside!) it was. She struggled for a moment, then popped her head out.

"Dad?" And another man. Dressed in red. And green. And white. Huh. "Who's this?"

"Jenny!"

The Doctor beamed, then turned and gave his daughter a huge hug. What a fantastic dream! He needed to start randomly wishing for things to happen more often!

"Jenny, this is Father Christmas. An old Earth legend, come to life by the power of my subconscious. Brings presents to all the good little boys and girls of the planet. Well, depending on your mythology, of course. Sometimes brings whips to bad children, or cobbles together chopped-up children. Generally just protects Christmas."

And, to the legend himself, the Doctor introduced. "This is Jenny! My daughter. She's been very good this year." Pause. "Haven't you, Jenny?"

Christmas Open Thread

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject