The lights were ready, equipment set up and performers in place. As the members of Trans-Siberian Orchestra began rehearsing their show "Beethoven's Last Night" at Shea's Theatre in Buffalo, NY, no on heard the groaning of a strange engine, nor witness the sudden appearance of a blue police call box backstage. This also, of course, meant no one saw the young man step out and look around curious about his surroundings.
"Hmmmm, stage of some sort." He muttered to himself as he walked about. He paused for a moment as he heard the music.
"Late 20th century, early 21st if I had to guess." He said, a small grin gracing his angular features. He walked towards the music as he stuffed his hands in his suit pockets.
As he came around from the backstage to side-stage, the grin was replaced with a ear-to-ear smile.
"Oh bravo!" He announced not bothering to keep his voice down over the loud rock music. "Excellent use of lasers and mirrors, very tasteful. And the lights aren't over done, either, while the fog adds a touch of mystery. Oh yes brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"
"Thank you sir, but who are you and what are you doing here?" A man suddenly said behind him.
"Oh sorry," he replied reaching in his trench coat pocket. "I'm the Doctor." He answered flashing the man a slip of paper. "I'm here to do an interview."
The man looked at the paper; the Doctor noticed he had a rocker image about him, with his long shoulder length hair, aviator sunglasses and leather jacket.
He looked back at the Doctor. "That my friend is a blank piece of paper. So you want to try again?"
The Doctor looked at his "psychic paper", very rarely did it fail him; usually only truly unique people got passed its influence (Shakespeare for example). This made the Doctor very curious.
"I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name?" The Doctor said hoping to gain some knowledge that might help him right now.
"Paul O'Neill, and I'm willing to let you interview anyone you want, but not before you explain to me why you're sneaking around and showing blank pieces of paper as if it's important." He didn't look very amused, in fact, had it been anyone else they probably would've been tempted to runaway.
"Ah, yes well-." The Doctor began.
"Let me tell you something, Doctor," Paul O'Neill cut him off and spoke firmly to make his point clear. "I don't appreciate being deceived or thought a fool, nor do I want my people being treated the same way."
The Doctor was impressed with not only the respect this man demanded for himself but also for "his people" which he could only assume were the talented people on stage.
"Sir, I assure you, I meant no offense. To be honest I'm not from around here-."
"I guessed that, what part of England you from?" O'Neill interjected once again.
"Ah, well Cardiff mostly, I travel a bit." The Doctor answered without missing a beat.
"Never made it there." O'Neill commented almost sadly. "Anyway, please continue."
"What? Oh yes, well I sort of stumbled on this place and saw someone come out so I thought it was open to the public and sort of slipped in and got back here, again completely by accident." He hoped even though it wasn't totally the truth, that it would work. It seemed to, as Paul O'Neill, nodded accepting the story.
"Alright," he said. "you may stay and watch if you wish, as long as you don't interrupt or give things away on the internet. This is still pretty hush-hush with our fans."
"Understood. Out of curiosity what group is this?" The Doctor asked, looking back at the group on stage.
"This, Doctor, is the Trans-Siberian Orchestra." O'Neill said pride coloring his words.
"No! Really?" The Trans-Siberian Orchestra?" excitement evident in the Doctor's tone. "Ha HA! It is! Oh! I should have known." The Doctor turned to a smirking Paul O'Neill. "Of course! God I'm so thick sometimes!" He exclaimed smacking his head a couple times, before facing O'Neill again. "You're brilliant! I mean you take rock music to a whole new level! And your rock operas? Top banana! They last for years! I especially love your 8th album! Such music and emotion in the lyrics-."
"Whoa, my friend!" Paul held up a hand to stop the Doctor from babbling anymore. "You must have us confused with another band. I'm not sure who you're thinking of, but we have only put out 5 albums."
"Well I…." the Doctor thought quickly. What a confusing thing it was to be a Time Lord sometimes. "….was speculating. I mean the way you think and the way your music speaks to people, you'd undoubtedly sell 8 albums, easy. And the way you see the world and the way your mind works you could make music about anything, that not only will affect those you touch in your lifetime, but for the generations to come."
"I appreciate your trust in our ability to make music-."
"Can I just interrupt you for a moment?" O'Neill gestured for the Doctor to continue.
"That right here, that is what makes your music so great. You could have said 'my music' or 'my writing'. Used 'me', 'mine', 'I' or any words to that effect, but you didn't. You don't make music for yourself or to make yourself or anyone on that stage famous. You do it to reach people, to touch their lives and make a difference in the only way you know how. You see this world as one big ball of hope, love, a chance to change and music. You do charities and donate, yes, but it's the music, this very music that is the catalyst for it. Music is the best way to reach people and humans use it so well to express what your feeling or what you want and what you see. Those people on that stage, the people behind the scenes, you; you're all trying to reach this world and share the good you see in it and you're doing that; with music. And you're doing is so well."
O'Neill took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He held out his hand for the Doctor to shake.
"Thank you." Was all he could think to say at first. "I'm glad you understand and appreciate what we are trying to do."
As the Doctor shook O'Neill's hand, he had a look of genuine gratitude that mirrored O'Neill's.
"Thank you, for all you do." He replied.
"A well traveled man such as yourself has seen and been through a lot in your years. I wonder what music you create." The way O'Neill said it, made the Doctor wonder how much this man might know.
O'Neill gave the Doctor a knowing smile, that only increased the Doctor's curiosity.
Just then O'Neill's attention was drawn to the stage; a question about the staging. O'Neill held up a finger, motioning he'd be there in a moment. He turned back and was surprised to see no one there. In the distance he thought he heard some kind of noise, like the groaning of a machine.
Could that be used in a song? He thought, but then shook it off.
As he walked on stage, O'Neill couldn't help but think: 8 albums huh? Maybe.