"There she is!" you're probably thinking. "About time, too!"

Yes, I know; I'm an awful person for not updating in weeks/months/years/however long it's been. But here's my honest opinion on the whole matter (just bear with me, readers).

I like to write. And even more than writing, I like making up the ideas for stuff I'm writing, did write, am going to write in the sequel (even though I haven't started the first story yet). I make up the dialogue, introduce the main characters (as well as any OCs of mine), set up the main theme, produce the main conflict, ect. Smaller details come out when I'm writing.

HOWEVER…I have a slight problem. I finish making up the story, and jump immediately to the next one. Without really stopping to finish the one before it. So I decided upon a plan; I would write the whole story, and THEN I would post it as a complete story. I may post the chapters at once, or one a day, depending on the length of the story and how much I want to post the next one.

So…there you guys go. That's how I'll be going from now on; posting complete stories, and then letting some time pass while I write the next one. This doesn't pertain to my series of Doctor Who one-shots Bringing the Cool (and the Sandshoes and the Fantastic, Apparently), because that's a one-shot fic that I'm updating sporadically.

Anywho, enough of my rants. Let's get on with the story!

God bless and have a great day (or night)!

-ThePro-LifeCatholic


A blue vest was slipped over a black dress with a white apron. Spotless white gloves were pulled onto recently washed hands (they still smelled like the lavender-pear soap). Brown hair fell down, abruptly ending just beneath the shoulders. The young woman (hardly more than a girl) pulled a handheld mirror out of her pocket, deftly applying lipstick and mascara. Back went the mirror; the girl completed her work with a blue hat (it was the same shade of blue as the vest). Satisfied with her appearance, she glanced around the empty hallway, drumming gloved fingers on the wooden desktop in front of her.

"Why does working in a hotel have to be so boring!" she sighed to no one. "Seriously, front-desk-check-in duty has to be the worst, most boring job of them all," she muttered. Suddenly she straightened, sniffing the air. Then her brown eyes nearly popped and she turned in the direction of the kitchen.

"My soufflé!" she gasped. She glanced around, willing some other worker to appear. This usually didn't work, but today was a lucky day for her. The front door opened, and one of the cleaning girls, Mave, walked in, lugging some cumbersome grocery-bags behind her.

"Mave!" the brown-eyed girl leaped over the well-polished desktop. "I need you to take over the front desk for me. I know it's my shift but I can take the groceries to the kitchen and I-"

"You don't even need to finish, Oswald." The other girl reached out, taking hold of the hat and vest and beginning to put them on. "You've left a soufflé in the oven too long again, haven't you?"

"You're the best, Mave!" Oswald called, grabbing the bags and starting off at a quick trot. She flew past the rooms, the burning smell tickling her nose and getting stronger with every second. She burst into the kitchen, the swinging doors banging against the wall. Several girls and one boy huddled around the oven, watching black smoke seep through the door.

"Coming through!" Oswald stuffed her hands into mitts and opened the oven. Reaching forward, she snatched the pan and its black contents and ran to the exit door (placed on the other end of the kitchen, leading out to the back of the hotel building). Flinging it open wide, she flung the burnt dessert forward…and watched with horror as it splatted against a man's suit.

"Sorry!" she yelled, before slamming the door and leaning against it, panting. One of the girls was shooting a white spray into the oven. The smoke cleared, and the burnt smell was replaced with a fresh scent of apple and honey. Every occupant of the kitchen was currently staring at Oswald.

"Well," one of the older girls placed her hands on her hips. Her gold hair was pinned up, her green eyes flashing with contempt. "Thanks for that, Oswald. Now we have to clear up your mess. I would ask you to do it yourself, but don't you have front-desk duty right now?"

Oswald would've loved to snap something witty, to shut the other girl up, but all she could do was flash her a killer look and race from the kitchen. Mave breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Oswald round the corner.

"I thought the Taskmaster was going to catch you," she sighed, handing over the vest and hat.

"Nah; I'm too clever," Oswald grinned, trying to regain a calm composure. "Thanks again, Mave."

The other girl simply nodded before rushing off to a new task. Oswald sighed, brushing through her hair with her fingers. Just then, the front door opened, and two figures, a man and a black woman, approached the desk.

"Two rooms, please," the man said, pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket with a flourish. "I think you'll find that we have reservations."

Oswald took the paper and looked it over. Sure enough, two first-class rooms for a Mr. Smith and Ms. Jones.

"Alrighty, then," she turned around and bent under the desk. "Here you go; your room key-cards. And I'll send someone to get your luggage and bring it to your rooms…" she trailed off, staring at the gentleman. She had never seen him before, but there was no denying the fact that his blue suit had a large mark on it, similar to a grease stain. He followed her gaze and grinned.

"Oh, that. I had an unfortunate encounter with a very well-done delight," he reached down, grabbing his bag and the bag of the girl's. "Now, Ms. Jones, shall I escort you to your room?" The girl laughed.

"Of course, Mr. Smith."

The two started off, in the direction of the elevator. Oswald strained to look after them. There was something about them, especially the man, that intrigued her.

"Dinner's at 5!" she yelled at the last moment. The man turned back.

"Thank you, miss…"

"Oswald. Oswald Oswin."

"Oswald," he grinned and winked. "See you around, Oswald."

Then they stepped into the elevator and were gone. Oswald's smile died with sudden realization.

"He knows it's me," she murmured to the empty room. She was doomed.


Yep! Clara's gonna be in this one (or should I say, "Oswald"). I made up this story with the help of my younger sister (she's helped me with some of the other stories, if you want to check up on my account). Also, there are going to be a lot of OCs, but they're all minor characters. And yes; there are going to be a bunch of made up planets and systems (OK; actually, more like four, which isn't a whole lot at all).

Hope you guys enjoyed!