promethia_tenk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
promethia_tenk) wrote2010-07-21 10:13 pm
promethia_tenk) wrote2010-07-21 10:13 pm
Entry tags:
FIC progress: Substitute
More bits of my crackfic AU fic in which Amy wakes up after the Big Bang to discover that the Doctor and River are her parents. First part is here, and some other sections here. These parts are all roughly in order, although I think there will be additional material in between. Less domestic cuteness in these sections and more trippy weirdness (can you tell Alice in Wonderland was my favorite book when I was a kid?) As before, any and all questions, comments, critique, and britpick is welcome. Also, I'm trying to decide if I just have no feel for Amy's voice (which is entirely possible; I've never really written her before), or if this story simply doesn't lend itself to hearing her voice, despite its being from her p.o.v. Possibly both. Thoughts?
[AN: These interstitial bits in italics flashback to "The Big Bang." There will be short sections like this in between each scene in the present. I'm not yet fully sure how aware Amy is going to be of them and/or how they will get integrated into the narrative as a whole, but they will be showing how the AU came about.]
Amy huddled against the wall with Rory and River. Just remember them, and they’ll be there. Her parents. Her parents, eaten by the crack. Time was running out, she needed to remember, somehow, now. But how to remember what had never existed? The whole room was shaking, everything that still existed was shaking, and Amy was scared. She tried to concentrate. She didn’t even have more than a dim idea of what parents were supposed to be like. She tried to imagine a concerned hand on her forehead when she was sick . . . a bedtime story . . . getting scolded, sent to her room . . . a hug, a smile, some advice . . . anything. The room shook, Amy shook, River sought out her hand with her own, and the world ended.
---------------------------------
[AN: This below will be joining with the scene where the Doctor and River pick up Amy, Rory, and the other nurse, Brian, at the hospital. There will be some more conversation before this part.]
“Did you live in Scotland before you moved here?” Brian asked.
“No, we’ve been here my whole life, why?”
“You have a Scottish accent. Your parents don’t, but you do. I figured you lived there when you were little.”
“I . . .” Amy shook her head, not knowing what to say. The car was silent.
“Look, if it’s a weird question, no one has to answer,” said Brian, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, no,” shot back Amy’s mum. “It’s not that, it’s just . . . I don’t remember why Amy picked up that accent, can you, dear?”
“A phase, wasn’t it?” Her father didn’t seem convinced. “We decided to just let it go. And those imaginary friends . . . Augustus and Tabetha. They were from Scotland.” He continued, becoming more animated as the pieces fell into place. “Charming, really. Little girl, with her imaginings . . . do you remember, Amy? We used to have tea parties with them! Out in the garden. Grew out of it eventually, of course. Children always do, but I suppose the accent stayed around . . . funny, I hadn’t thought of it for years.”
“Yeah,” said Amy, filling in space. “That’s it. Haha. Well, I feel childish now. I guess I should drop it or something . . . I don’t even realize I’m doing it.” She rubbed her forehead.
“I like your accent,” put in Rory, somewhat defensive. “It’s . . . I dunno. It’s you. I . . . you do what you want, but if you like it, you should keep it.” He rubbed her knee in support.
“Thanks,” said Amy, quietly.
--------------------------
Amy was in a strange room. Strange to her and strange in general, and yet also somehow familiar. It glowed orange. It was all slopes and angles, platforms and staircases, holes and lights. Pieces twinkled and shone at her. And standing in the middle of this room, up on a glass stage, was a strange column of glass, surrounded with . . .
Amy blinked, and she was there. Buttons and levers, bells, pulls, pedals, keyboards, taps and wires, and odd, twisty thingies she couldn’t identify. Amy circled, taking it all in. She reached out a hand and ran it, experimentally, over the bits and bobs around her, tracing the curves of some circular etchings, before settling on a promising-looking button. Amy glanced over her shoulder (looking for whom, exactly?) and pressed.
Nothing. She chose a lever, flicked it. No changes. A hot water tap. A cold. With a sense of rising urgency, she let loose on the console, pulling and prodding and turning, racing round in desperation, and still she got not response. Nothing moved or breathed in that echoing space, except her. No noise at all, now that Amy thought of it (and surely that was wrong?).
She sat down heavily in the chair beside her and was just wondering if crying would be a valid option at this point when she was interrupted by a voice:
“I don’t suppose you could tell me what I’m doing here?”
Amy’s head shot up, and she looked in shock at the little, squat man with the pointy nose and the balding head who’d appeared in the seat across from her. Almost at once she sighed in relief and broke out in a wide grin:
“Augustus! It’s you! No, I don’t know what you’re doing here. I suppose I brought you here . . . but then what am I doing here?”
“You don’t know? Oh, my. Now that is a problem. A very great problem indeed.”
“Is it?” said Amy, genuinely confused. “I thought this was a dream. It seems like a dream.” She squinted at her hand, turning it back and forth as if this might confirm her suspicions.
“Oh, certainly it’s a dream; no question about that.”
“So why is it a problem if I don’t know why I’m here? People always go strange places in dreams. Do they have to have a reason?”
“Not usually, no. I just thought you were better than that.” He gave her a pitying look. “Also, if you recall, I never asked you about you; I wanted to know why I was here.”
Amy pulled back, affronted. “Oi! A bit rude, don’tcha think?”
“Imaginary friend--that’s our prerogative.” He said this as if it were obvious.
Amy tilted her head in concession. “Is it very hard, being imaginary?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. But then, you’ve never had a very strong grasp on reality yourself, poor thing. Look into that, would you?” And suddenly Amy was staring at an empty seat.
------------------------
The Mini had broken down at the side of the road, a not-infrequent occurrence her father had stopped pretending to be annoyed at. He was now happily rummaging under the bonnet, sleeves rolled, hair askew, and occasionally thrusting a hand out to demand new tools from Amy.
“Spanner!” He made little gimmie motions.
“Spanner.” She handed it over, and then, picking up a screwdriver, turned it end over end, considering its lines and corners and what to say next. She surprised herself. She’d been doing that a lot lately:
“Have you ever thought of resetting the universe?”
“Frequently. Why?” Very little surprised her father, aside from ordinary social niceties.
“How would you do it?”
He emerged from the car’s innards, looking greasy and thoughtful. “Depends. Would I have a particle accelerator?”
“Maybe.” She considered. “Well, if Mum could plan a break in at CERN.”
Her father laughed. “That seems possible. Holidays are coming up. Should I be making plans?”
Amy smiled in an embarrassed way. “Really, how would you do it?”
“Well . . .” he blew his hair out of his eyes and gazed into space, “You’d have to get very lucky. It would be an accident, really, a very, very unlikely accident. And then you’d need some Silly Putty and a few gerbils . . . Amy?” He stopped and looked at her with concern. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” He stepped over to grasp her hands in his own and search her face for clues.
“I . . .” Amy stumbled over her own words. “I don’t even know. I just have this feeling that everything . . . everything is wrong, and I don’t know why. Oh my god . . . .” She pulled a hand free to rub her mouth, her cheek, her forehead. “No, I’m . . . I’m ok. I don’t know what it is. I look around and everything is perfectly normal, and I think, well, well, that was silly, and I just go on with whatever I was doing . . . . But then I have these dreams, and . . . .”
“Oh, Amy . . . .” Her father looked completely lost. And then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight and stroking the back of her head.
More here.
[AN: These interstitial bits in italics flashback to "The Big Bang." There will be short sections like this in between each scene in the present. I'm not yet fully sure how aware Amy is going to be of them and/or how they will get integrated into the narrative as a whole, but they will be showing how the AU came about.]
Amy huddled against the wall with Rory and River. Just remember them, and they’ll be there. Her parents. Her parents, eaten by the crack. Time was running out, she needed to remember, somehow, now. But how to remember what had never existed? The whole room was shaking, everything that still existed was shaking, and Amy was scared. She tried to concentrate. She didn’t even have more than a dim idea of what parents were supposed to be like. She tried to imagine a concerned hand on her forehead when she was sick . . . a bedtime story . . . getting scolded, sent to her room . . . a hug, a smile, some advice . . . anything. The room shook, Amy shook, River sought out her hand with her own, and the world ended.
---------------------------------
[AN: This below will be joining with the scene where the Doctor and River pick up Amy, Rory, and the other nurse, Brian, at the hospital. There will be some more conversation before this part.]
“Did you live in Scotland before you moved here?” Brian asked.
“No, we’ve been here my whole life, why?”
“You have a Scottish accent. Your parents don’t, but you do. I figured you lived there when you were little.”
“I . . .” Amy shook her head, not knowing what to say. The car was silent.
“Look, if it’s a weird question, no one has to answer,” said Brian, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, no,” shot back Amy’s mum. “It’s not that, it’s just . . . I don’t remember why Amy picked up that accent, can you, dear?”
“A phase, wasn’t it?” Her father didn’t seem convinced. “We decided to just let it go. And those imaginary friends . . . Augustus and Tabetha. They were from Scotland.” He continued, becoming more animated as the pieces fell into place. “Charming, really. Little girl, with her imaginings . . . do you remember, Amy? We used to have tea parties with them! Out in the garden. Grew out of it eventually, of course. Children always do, but I suppose the accent stayed around . . . funny, I hadn’t thought of it for years.”
“Yeah,” said Amy, filling in space. “That’s it. Haha. Well, I feel childish now. I guess I should drop it or something . . . I don’t even realize I’m doing it.” She rubbed her forehead.
“I like your accent,” put in Rory, somewhat defensive. “It’s . . . I dunno. It’s you. I . . . you do what you want, but if you like it, you should keep it.” He rubbed her knee in support.
“Thanks,” said Amy, quietly.
--------------------------
Amy was in a strange room. Strange to her and strange in general, and yet also somehow familiar. It glowed orange. It was all slopes and angles, platforms and staircases, holes and lights. Pieces twinkled and shone at her. And standing in the middle of this room, up on a glass stage, was a strange column of glass, surrounded with . . .
Amy blinked, and she was there. Buttons and levers, bells, pulls, pedals, keyboards, taps and wires, and odd, twisty thingies she couldn’t identify. Amy circled, taking it all in. She reached out a hand and ran it, experimentally, over the bits and bobs around her, tracing the curves of some circular etchings, before settling on a promising-looking button. Amy glanced over her shoulder (looking for whom, exactly?) and pressed.
Nothing. She chose a lever, flicked it. No changes. A hot water tap. A cold. With a sense of rising urgency, she let loose on the console, pulling and prodding and turning, racing round in desperation, and still she got not response. Nothing moved or breathed in that echoing space, except her. No noise at all, now that Amy thought of it (and surely that was wrong?).
She sat down heavily in the chair beside her and was just wondering if crying would be a valid option at this point when she was interrupted by a voice:
“I don’t suppose you could tell me what I’m doing here?”
Amy’s head shot up, and she looked in shock at the little, squat man with the pointy nose and the balding head who’d appeared in the seat across from her. Almost at once she sighed in relief and broke out in a wide grin:
“Augustus! It’s you! No, I don’t know what you’re doing here. I suppose I brought you here . . . but then what am I doing here?”
“You don’t know? Oh, my. Now that is a problem. A very great problem indeed.”
“Is it?” said Amy, genuinely confused. “I thought this was a dream. It seems like a dream.” She squinted at her hand, turning it back and forth as if this might confirm her suspicions.
“Oh, certainly it’s a dream; no question about that.”
“So why is it a problem if I don’t know why I’m here? People always go strange places in dreams. Do they have to have a reason?”
“Not usually, no. I just thought you were better than that.” He gave her a pitying look. “Also, if you recall, I never asked you about you; I wanted to know why I was here.”
Amy pulled back, affronted. “Oi! A bit rude, don’tcha think?”
“Imaginary friend--that’s our prerogative.” He said this as if it were obvious.
Amy tilted her head in concession. “Is it very hard, being imaginary?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. But then, you’ve never had a very strong grasp on reality yourself, poor thing. Look into that, would you?” And suddenly Amy was staring at an empty seat.
------------------------
The Mini had broken down at the side of the road, a not-infrequent occurrence her father had stopped pretending to be annoyed at. He was now happily rummaging under the bonnet, sleeves rolled, hair askew, and occasionally thrusting a hand out to demand new tools from Amy.
“Spanner!” He made little gimmie motions.
“Spanner.” She handed it over, and then, picking up a screwdriver, turned it end over end, considering its lines and corners and what to say next. She surprised herself. She’d been doing that a lot lately:
“Have you ever thought of resetting the universe?”
“Frequently. Why?” Very little surprised her father, aside from ordinary social niceties.
“How would you do it?”
He emerged from the car’s innards, looking greasy and thoughtful. “Depends. Would I have a particle accelerator?”
“Maybe.” She considered. “Well, if Mum could plan a break in at CERN.”
Her father laughed. “That seems possible. Holidays are coming up. Should I be making plans?”
Amy smiled in an embarrassed way. “Really, how would you do it?”
“Well . . .” he blew his hair out of his eyes and gazed into space, “You’d have to get very lucky. It would be an accident, really, a very, very unlikely accident. And then you’d need some Silly Putty and a few gerbils . . . Amy?” He stopped and looked at her with concern. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” He stepped over to grasp her hands in his own and search her face for clues.
“I . . .” Amy stumbled over her own words. “I don’t even know. I just have this feeling that everything . . . everything is wrong, and I don’t know why. Oh my god . . . .” She pulled a hand free to rub her mouth, her cheek, her forehead. “No, I’m . . . I’m ok. I don’t know what it is. I look around and everything is perfectly normal, and I think, well, well, that was silly, and I just go on with whatever I was doing . . . . But then I have these dreams, and . . . .”
“Oh, Amy . . . .” Her father looked completely lost. And then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight and stroking the back of her head.
More here.
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Brilliant anyway~! Hugs <3
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*cough, cough* "Remind me again why we use a cleaner with so much bleach? I'm dying over here."
"Because, sweetie pie, for some reason our mildew doesn't just look funky and smell bad; it glows in the dark and visibly moves. You wouldn't have anything to do with that, now would you?"
"I resent the implication, and yes, probably."
"Why am I even scrubbing this? I'm not the one who likes baths. Here! And you'll need these too!"
"Oooof! Wha--? Hey!"
"I'll just clean something more resonable . . . like the mirror, thank you very much. And you can wrestle with that monstrosity, whatever it is."
"You know, one day we're going to find out this mildew cures cancer or something, and then you're going to regret being so cross over it."
"Keep telling yourself that, dear."
*hugs*
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“Frequently. Why?” Very little surprised her father, aside from ordinary social niceties.
<3 <3 <3
This set was interesting in the way she's so clearly able-to-remember-but-not-quite. The really sad thing is, the way you've written this, I'm not 100% sure I don't want Amy to forget everything and for them to live happily ever after as a family, but I do, because I want her to have her family back. Which makes it that much more awesome!
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The really sad thing is, the way you've written this, I'm not 100% sure I don't want Amy to forget everything and for them to live happily ever after as a family, but I do, because I want her to have her family back.
Excellent; that is exactly what I'm going for. I love when those kinds of things work out.
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“Frequently. Why?” Very little surprised her father, aside from ordinary social niceties.
*laughs* Still loving this. (It's 7am, that's all I can manage, sorry!)
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I think I see what you're saying about Amy's voice, it's not stand-out-distinctively her, but I wonder if that's *because* it's her POV. You don't generally react to the things you say yourself so we get to see a lot more distinctiveness from the other characters where they are different from her, sort of thing.
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It gives me irrational glee every time she refers to 'her father' and then we're looking at Eleven.
I know, right? Although it has been causing me some difficulties. Like, last night I watched "Flesh and Stone" for the first time since the finale, and the seduction scene at the end is now SO MASSIVELY WRONG it hurts (I loved that scene; I thought it was hysterical. Sadness.) Also, I can no longer read Amy/Eleven or Amy/River. Not that I read them much before, but . . .
And Augustus then sounds like the Dream Lord, which is a different sort of o_0.
I realized that was happening about halfway through and decided to just go with it. Their physical descriptions are almost exactly the same, and I guess fantasy character rudeness is just fantasy character rudeness no matter whose mouth it's coming out of. It does add that extra layer of weirdness and wrongness.
it's not stand-out-distinctively her, but I wonder if that's *because* it's her POV.
Yeah, that's about what I'm thinking too. Still, I might try to do some dialogue fics for her and Rory like I did for River and Eleven, just to see if I can nail them down a bit more.
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You have NO IDEA how happy that makes me. Thank you.
You also remind me of the reasons why I like Amy (and it took me till The Pandorica Opens to warm to her), insofar as you show her imagination, her vulnerability and her innocence.
Oh, good. I loved her from the get go, but I feel like we lost sight of her some in the middle. I think she works well in a more fantastical setting.
(Just an ickle more married-couple-awesomeness from Doc and Riv next time pwetty pweeeasse?)
Yeah, didn't mean for there to be no Eleven/River in this update, that's just how things shook out. That's why I wrote a bonus bathroom cleaning scene in the comments, because a day without Doctor/River banter is like a day without sunshine ;-)
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Oh, good. I loved her from the get go, but I feel like we lost sight of her some in the middle. I think she works well in a more fantastical setting.
I agree. Her 'life doesn't quite make sense' and that's the best part about her, which you tap into here. I love how you turned everything from last series on its head and made her father into the imaginary friend. It fits with how 'things are never entirely forgotten' lol. Yes, this really could work in series 6 -- send it to the Moff!
That's why I wrote a bonus bathroom cleaning scene in the comments, because a day without Doctor/River banter is like a day without sunshine ;-)
I swear River/Doctor is the reason I'm single at the moment! I want that type of relationship (so kinda dumped the very sweet but boring bloke who took me for a nice meal after the DW finale ... everything he said and did just paled in comparison to that last little scene when the Doc almost proposed at the end lol!)
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I worry that I'm essentially going to end up recycling too many of the ideas the show's already been over, albeit in inverted form. And then I'm like "shut up, brain, and just write it."
Yes, this really could work in series 6 -- send it to the Moff!
You're very kind.
everything he said and did just paled in comparison to that last little scene when the Doc almost proposed at the end lol!
Poor guy. That's a hard standard to live up to! I do understand, though.
True story: a couple years ago I had the brilliant thought that I should perhaps marry someone quite outgoing, who liked to spend lots of time with other people, so he could run off with them and leave me to do my own thing for long stretches and it could just be an understanding that we had. I'm quite pleased to not be the only one this has occurred to.