This is for my good old Figment followers (okay, most of you are young – please don’t take that the wrong way 😛 ). Please leave your requests in the comments below!
When my dear friend and co-founder of the Figgies in the TARDIS Hannah accidentally deleted the story that started it all from Figment (with no backup copy BOOHOOHOOHOOO!!!) I decided to do what so many fans have done with classic canon Doctor Who for decades: reconstruct this priceless gem of fanonical literature, but with a twist. While Zee took it upon herself to rewrite that first novel plus three others, I decided to do the same with a screenplay.
Alas, there are discrepancies between my work and Zee’s, and there are definitely discrepancies between my work and the very original, but the following is a small segment of my labor of love, a homage to the Figgies in the TARDIS group.
Now, enough with my melodramaticness. On with the screenplay!
Figgies in the TARDIS
adapted for the stage and screen by
Based on Figgies in the TARDIS
by Hannah B.
BBC’s Doctor Who Continue reading “Figgies on a TARDIS: the Screenplay”
A two-part fanfiction of HeR Interactive’s adaption of the classic Nancy Drew book, The Secret of the Old Clock. Unlike prior ND fanfics I’ve written, this one features a crossover guest from my favorite telly show: Doctor Who!
Most of HeR’s games take place in the 21st century, but to celebrate the first Nancy Drew book to ever be released, they decide to go with a retro, classic Nancy story which took place in her native 1930s. How does one reconcile that with the fact that it’s suppose to be the same Nancy as always? Simple: it’s gotta be time travel.
(by Allison Rose)
River Heights, Present Day
“Oh, those were the good old days,” Emily Crandall said with a wan smile as she flipped through the pages of her favorite old photo album. “Life was so much simpler then. There were none of those weird, modern gadgets you young people find so much amusement from!” Continue reading “NancyWho: “Titusville””
This story is the prequel to “The Truth about Hamsters,” which I wrote for a school assignment where I was supposed to write a myth or folk tale. My teacher loved it!
How the Humans Domesticated the Hamsters
(by Allison Rose)
I’m really tired about all of those silly stories about how leopards got their spots, chipmunks got their stripes, etc. etc. It’s almost like the writers have forgotten about those weird, furrless bipedal beings that are scientifically referred to as “humans.” This story is to remedy this problem.
Once upon a time, there was an adolescent human female named Mogh. Mogh’s family lived in a cave, as, according to subsequently discovered cave paintings, her species had been doing for quite some time. As was common among the cave-dwelling tribes, Mogh’s family hunted the four-legged creatures for their various resources. One full-grown quagga could provide not only leggings and moccasins for at least three young ones; its meat would feed them for a full week. Nothing was wasted, but when a herd died out, Mogh’s family would migrate to a new cave and seek food and shelter there. Continue reading ““How the Humans Domesticated the Hamsters””
On a whim, I wrote this the day after the BBC aired this year’s Doctor Who Xmas special.
I’ve never seen or read The Life of Pi, but from what I’d seen of the Academy Awards a few years back, I had a feeling I knew exactly how the story’s protagonist felt when he discovered he wasn’t alone in that lifeboat.
As a low, rumbling growl sounded from the only other terrestrial mammal present, five thoughts coursed through my head in rapid, lightning-fast succession:
1) I should’ve gone with the others when Jack offered to drive them to the mall. (Seriously, you’ve access to anywhere and anytime in the world, and you have to go to the mall?!) Maybe then I wouldn’t be here.
2) Sharks like blood. If I hadn’t stayed behind, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten that paper cut. Or was that a fixed event in time anyhow?
3) Tyler shouldn’t have fixed the Chameleon Circuit. The wooden rowboat look doesn’t suit the TARDIS.
4) Why did I let the Little Master put that deodorant bottle in the oven? I could’ve sworn it said ‘AXE’, but it could very well have said ‘ACE’….
5) Well, the Doctor’s definitely a ginger now. A large, quadrupedal, striped, carnivorous ginger at that. And this time around, he definitely isn’t craving apples.
How did that guy from The Life of Pi survive?
Written for my dear online friend, Celestine Foreman. We sometimes wonder if she’s really Susan Foreman, Doctor Who’s granddaughter, fob-watched.
(by Allison in the TARDIS)
Professor River Song watched as her granddaughter – er, step granddaughter – moved her hands through the jumble of controls in the TARDIS’s dashboard. Sweetie had taught her all those years ago … before he’d known about the brakes.
“Oh, this isn’t fair!” Susan, who now called herself Celestine, wailed. “These controls have been rearranged since I last used them!” She kicked futilely at the TARDIS in her frustration. “And I named you, TARDIS!”
River chuckled. “He doesn’t call her that anymore, sweetheart.”
Celestine looked momentarily hurt. “What does he call her?”
River told her. Celestine blushed.
“I bet that’s why she doesn’t like him anymore, always bursting fuses and gaskets like that….” Celestine began petting the control board endearingly, her mood completely different. “Poor, poor TARDIS.”
The Doctor was stretched out in a hammock that they’d tied between two railings for him, fast asleep. River wanted to show Celestine the ropes without his interference. A bit of Romulan ale in his afternoon tea did just the trick.
“Now, Celestine,” River began, clearing her throat and smoothing down her mop of curls, “it’s time I show you how to control this thing … properly.”
Celestine’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?” she asked, perplexed.
“Well, I suppose we ought to start with the brakes….”
Picard hates children. >:)
Picard and Wesley
(by Allison Rose)
“But Jean-Luc,” Dr. Beverly Crusher persisted, “it’s important that the two of you bond!”
As he took long strides down one of the Enterprise’s lengthy corridors, Captain Jean-Luc Picard tried to pay Beverly no heed. Perhaps the Borg were right, though. Resistance was proving to be incredibly futile. “I won’t do it, Beverly,” he called over his shoulder. “I won’t spend the day with Wesley!”
“Would you rather spend the day with my little boy, Picard?” a flamboyant voice asked.
Picard managed to skid to a screeching stop before he smashed into Q. Was he and Beverly in cahoots? Continue reading ““Picard and Wesley””