Co-Author's Note (I always wanted to write that):
Hi, TraditionalGaily speaking.
So as you can see DoctorDalek and I joined forces once again for a little Doctor Who themed Christmas fun.
This year our old friend DarkSideoftheLoon decided to take part in this ridiculousness (a welcoming applause for DarkSideoftheLoon).
It's going to be an ambivanlent mixture of humors episodes and fluffy flashbacks. Oh and a dash of refernces and insults of course.
By the way, references and characters we borrowed are listed in the final chapter.
Picture space. Deep space.
A dark scarcely star sprinkled void somewhere far off, with those colourful nebulas forming strange patterns.
And yet the attention gets drawn to the railroad tracks carefully lain out, the metal blackened by soot and stardust glistening in the lights of stars dying millions of light years away.
There is the mechanical panting of a train drawing nearer; sparks are flying where its colossal wheels are forced to follow the straight tracks.
And as the chuffing monstrosity advances, the headlights running mercilessly towards the onlooker, there is a man leaning out of the driver's cabin shouting above the noise…
"Oi, watch it mate…"
It had already been too late.
The engine driver winced at the uncomfortable sound of yet another narrator being squashed by the paradox train running over him.
He shook his head.
"What a waste of resources."
His assistant picked up the tube and held his nose while speaking in the long tradition of all engine drivers or conductors doing so.
"Little reminder, right," he mewled, "Ya know 's allright to bring your own narration an' stuff, but please make sure to keep 'em with you all the time. The view of the advancing Paradox train is too tempting for them, ya know, even the best trained narrator will temp'rarily forge' all abou' it."
The paradox train.
Screeching and chuffing through space, this majestic oily soot-covered tableau of a train is on one hell of a schedule. Running on the thin line that separates reality from fiction, aborted attempts from plot enriched sagas, and novels from their fanfiction simulacra.
Where will it go?
Nobody knows.
Will the passengers inadvertently trapped inside its metal cage ever escape the paradox monstrosity?
Time will tell.
All that's certain is, that the paradox train will continue its strange voyage, no matter how deep and abominable the recesses of fanfiction might be.
No joke's too low, no romance is too sticky and sweet, no backstory too tragic to keep the train from passing.
A rumoured enigma, a mystery shrouded in secrets.
And an easy way to catch a free ride.
The Doctor looked out of the window.
He was running late.
He had been far out in some distant galaxy, being charged for false parking when the alarm inside the TARDIS had gone off.
It was all too embarrassing.
He had almost forgotten about the Christmas Invasion.
It was December the 1st already which meant only twenty four more days until he would be expected in London. A new alien threat would try to conquer the earth, he would arrive late, for effect that was, defeat the generic foe with some techno babble and Time Lord gimmick and then they could have a jolly good laugh and he would be heading out into space minding his own business before dawn again.
And in order to get there in time, he had taken the Paradox Train, which was strictly forbidden, come to think of it, since this strange vehicle was tempering with reality itself and should therefore be avoided at any cost.
Which was why Time Lords used to take it quite frequently. Orders were treated as guidelines and prohibitions some sort of polite plea. Laws were meant to be broken, you know. Well, except for that one time…this weird experiment of Koschei…well, actually they had not been allowed to talk about it ever again and their tutor had threatened to jump from the Academy's roof if Koschei was to hand in his report and that considering how much he had liked his regeneration.
True, during this brief episode of the Doctor's life laws were bent. An image you wouldn't easily forget, mind you…
The Doctor was quite enjoying the ride.
For once he wouldn't do the steering.
And nothing to worry about.
He could lean back in his seat, appreciate the lovely view and nothing…
"Good moaning."
The Doctor looked up at the stern face with the little moustache which belonged to a conductor.
"I did not intend to onterupt you, but moo I see your tocket?"
The Doctor blinked in puzzlement.
Wasn't the TARDIS supposed to translate any alien languages for him? Perhaps because she had been stored in the luggage department, no that wouldn't keep her from doing so.
He cleared his throat.
"You want to see my what?"
"Your tocket," the strangely dressed conductor continued, "the little pace of pooper you should always corry on a troon."
This explanation did not have the desired effect as the Doctor was now questioning his hearing and sanity.
An elderly men, who until now had hidden his face behind a newspaper every time the Doctor had looked in his direction was now leaning closer to him.
"He means ticket," he whispered.
"Oh, my ticket, yes of course…" the Doctor started patting his pockets until he had found his psychic paper.
The conductor cast a brief glance at it.
He rolled his eyes as he continued his walk.
"Oh, another Tim Lewd."
The Doctor stared from his psychic paper to the disappearing tall figure dressed like a policemen. A French policemen, it hit him. From the 1930s perhaps.
"Excuse me…"
The old men with the white hat and the peculiar question mark pattern vest tried to vanish behind his newspaper again.
"Yes?" he tried wearily without looking up.
"Excuse me, but in what kind of language did the conductor just speak?" the Doctor asked bluntly.
"English," the little man continued slumping in his seat as to escape the Doctor's glance, "English with a fake French accent…"
"Oi, professor…"
There was a girl sitting next to the strange passenger.
"You nudged me in the ribs…"
"Shut up, Ace," the old man whispered and added, "and don't look in his direction," as his companion was about to sit up straight.
"Why not, professor," she enquired further after a furtive glance, "he sure is a looker…"
The man was about to protest, when he straightened up in his seat, a pleased expression appearing on his face.
"Well, you know, Ace…"
He leaned closer and whispered something into his companion's ear.
"So he's one of them…" Ace exclaimed.
Right now the Doctor longed for a newspaper he could hide behind, himself.
All this strange whispering.
And the weird pair was looking at him in such a peculiar way.
But his mind was taken off the troubling passengers as a soothing melody played via the speakers prefiguring a short announcement.
"Attention, pissengers."
It was obviously the voice of the conductor, though he was holding his nose while speaking.
"In a few minutes, we will reach a Flushbuck tonnel. Please remun in your sots. I repeat a Flushbuck tonnel is aprooching. "
"What?" the Doctor mouthed.
But before he could have turned to the old man and his strange eighties' companion, his thoughts were drowned out by a ringing sound boring into his skull.