Log in

No account? Create an account
05 June 2010 @ 10:58 am
Failure Rate: DVD Commentary  
Failure Rate:

Survival Take One

Man this is back in the day when I wrote short and spaced wonky!  I had yet to realize that rich text didn’t really love me, and that it destroyed my shit, and that simple html was the ever-lovin’ man I’d needed all along. It was also back before Katy beta’d everything-and-I-do-mean-everything. This was also when I could produce a much better original fic than I could a fanfic. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I was just lazy about fandom? A repellant attitude, if that was the case. Regardless, I think I’ve grown as a writer a LOT since this period: this is cute, but almost every sentence feels—over-balanced.

What's weird is reading over stuff you wrote, like, a year and a half ago: because you feel like your style's changed since, and there's this big desire to /save/ the story by entirely rewriting it--but then you remember like, the three versions of Wordsworth's prelude. The first one's fine. Then he rewrites it, and yes, it's better. Then a few years later he rewrites it again, and it's so much worse. And it's not like he's become a worse writer, he's just not necessarily a BETTER one either--he's a different writer than the person who wrote or who initially revised the prelude. So you almost don't want to do that to your early!work, because are you /necessarily/ the authority on this piece, anymore? If you're released it into the world and people like it as is, to what extent is it still yours to come in and pillage and fuck with and cut 2,000 words from?

Plus, if I cut 2,000 from this, there’d be no fic left.

Sometime after thwacking his nemesis over the head with a bone the Master began to regret his abrupt decision to embrace his animal instincts. I’d put a comma after bone, little!Erin, and ‘sometime’ is awk as fuck, but as first lines go it’s not a bad one. It has interest! The Cheetah should this be Cheetah People? I suppose I’ve gone with Cheetah as the group noun, while a fun crowd, lacked a lot in the way of metallic embroidery and ships capable of four-dimensional travel. They couldn’t support him in the lifestyle to which he’d become accustomed. You probably know I love English period novels. This phrase sounds a touch Regency-era, but quotations crop up in more direct ways all over the place. I’m on a Gaskell kick at the mo, but Austen creeps into a lot of these. I’m also large into Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Quotes from them get into all sorts of places, but its particularly a form question: I love big epic Russian family sagas like War and Peace. I was reading it near the end of stupid SfC. I cried, multiple times. I eat this shit up. And though its silly and self- indulgent that urge to develop a HUGE cast and play with them over time? Way strong. When the bits of Let No Man with the sisters start cropping up, blame Tolstoy. Additionally, the Doctor was an awfully heavy armful from some song… ‘you’d be an awful charmin armful,’ can’t remember the rest of the words, do de do de doooo, and without technology the Master was having a less than pleasant stroll. But this planet would serve his purposes for the time being, and he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was going to really enjoy at least one aspect of slumming it for the next few weeks.

He and the Doctor’s unconscious body had relocated with the rest of the Cheetah to Omega knew where, probably even further away from his poor lost TARDIS. I don’t know if I say it, but I love the idea that during this entire ridiculous Doctor-trapping escapade the TARDIS has just been slowly, patiently, homing in on the Master, and eventually she’ll get to him. Of course he’d program her to do that—its so pre-planned, so sensible. Such a plot-puncture, too. ‘“Oh how will we ever find the TARDIS?!” Charley gasped, swooning. This was too much, even for an Edwardian Adventuress!! “Er,” the Doctor gave her a mildly uncomfortable look, “you know the TARDIS just /comes/ to us, don’t you? If she’s left alone for a couple of days, the poor girl gets bored. Then, well, she tracks you down…” “Oh.” Charley deflated slightly. “Well. Shall we find a diner, just get the full English and wait, then?”’  She would be so cross when they were finally reunited that he’d have to install a whole new operating system just to get her to shut up about it and stop simultaneously flushing all of her toilets while he was showering. Why is there not more fic about the Master’s TARDIS? Enquiring minds want to know! Which might seem a mundane issue, but the Time Lords had long ago opted to perfect vortex manipulation, giving up on ever understanding the more subtle vagaries of plumbing. He himself had been trying to redo his spare bathroom for well over a century.

The Doctor began to stir, and the Master quickly dusted off his black suit and concentrated on perfecting the ‘charmingly smarmy’ to ‘death-by-cyanide-rictus’ ratio of his smile I imagine he looks most like the cat who dies of cyanide poisoning in ‘It happened in Boston?’. He tossed his thwacking-bone around a bit, just to occupy his hands. The Doctor coughed, wetly and unsexily, and rolled over to squint blearily at the Master.

“Are you ill?” Very little of all this Seven dialogue sounds anything like Seven to me. This is one of the first things I wrote with him, though, so it makes sense. I was still feeling out voices. the Doctor asked with a puzzled frown. Ah. Too many teeth, then. The Master opened his mouth to deliver cutting invective, something memorable like, “I am sick… of looking at you!” or “Only mentally!” but his wit was tragically curtailed, smothered in its cradle by the Doctor cutting in, bogarting a weird word choice for the Doctor as if comes from drug-culture, but I liked the word  the last word as usual.

“Did you— you did. You knocked me out. You knocked me out with a pony I love the word ‘pony’ for its inherent silliness and will use it in preference to ‘horse’ IRL. Come on, it’s great. ‘The cavalry charged in, riding many mighty ponies!!’  thighbone. Why, on wherever the hell we are, did you feel it necessary to desiccate I feel this is right: 1.to dry thoroughly; dry up. ; 2. to preserve (food) by removing moisture; dehydrate. It indicates that the Master has gone out and sun-dried this shit like artisanal tomatoes, all the better to whack the Doctor over the head with. Fair enough, he is a Master of the Dark Crafts as well as the Dark Arts. You should see his scrapbooks.  a pony skeleton to smash my skull in?”

“Your thick skull is fine--”

“Where did you even get a pony?!” Valid question!

“The kittlings bring back strange things!” The Master was defensive. The Cheetah, for all their faults, were some of the best hench-creatures he’d had all century Cheetahs > Orgons any. fucking. day. . “Do you know how many random homeless people they fetched before managing to get it right and find you? Mind you, I did have to sketch them a picture in the dirt of your fetching ‘questioning jumper’ ensemble and I can see how they could have become confused.” All the poor not-seven hobos. We must assume 1) they died, or 2) they were Lisa Bowerman.

He’d removed that particular eyesore while the Doctor was sleeping, leaving his best enemy in a nearly respectable dress shirt. Naked seven is a thing of my nightmares, so have a better outfit. If questioned, the Master would say wools were unsuitable to the climate, but really he just heartily loathed the article of clothing in question. The Master had left it on a tree branch somewhere in hopes some fashion victim of a bird would pick it apart to use as nest bedding. And then a predator attracted to the nest’s bright colours would hopefully eat that bird: fitting punishment for having made such egregious errors in interior decorating. And then he’ll mail that box to himself and SMASH IT WITH A HAMMER!! …why does the Master even /have/ that lever?

“The Cheetah just ate the pony?”

“Oh heavens no, Doctor, it lived a long, happy life, giving their children rides and teaching them lessons about caring for it, and for each other, before a tragic accident involving an open barn door and slippery grass cut short--- OF COURSE THEY ATE THE PONY!” See, for the sake of comedy, no one sounds like themselves. Though when I was little I read a book like this, and the pony broke its leg in a drainage grate and had to be shot.

“They might have ridden it about,” the Doctor sulked.

“They have a breeding population of proper horses, as even you must have noticed while they were running you down on them. So why would they also need the Shetland for riding purpos—look, much as I want to have an argument with you about the relative load bearing capacity of a Shetland pony, how many hands high you can estimate the animal to have been from looking at this bone, average Cheetah size demographics, African versus European swallows, and how astoundingly thick you are, have you noticed we’re on a different planet? Less desert, more deciduous?”

The Master felt this was the kind of solid rhetorical line he’d been groping for all day. Well, technically, back on the bone pile he’d been engaged in rather more literal groping, but if the Doctor’s mild concussion kept him from remembering that bit, so much the better. It would heighten the surprise of the Master’s next brilliant move! Aha. So what this sounds nothing like them—fine.  I am amused.

“No. No, I didn’t notice our scenery change. Because before I could really take in my surroundings, someone thought it was incredibly too many adverbs, little!Erin necessary to knock me out. With a pony thigh. What exactly was your plan here? Going to wake me up, taunt me a second time, maybe this python was meant to flag up the earlier almost-pythonism? give me a few more smacks and see if it takes? One of us has rather a few regenerations left. I’d say at your current ‘attempts on my life’ to ‘Doctors you have offed’ ratio you’ve got a full morning ahead of you.”

“Something like that.” The Master brought down the pony bone he’d been tossing about the whole of the conversation on the crown of the Doctor’s skull with a sharp tap. “You talk too much.” Well, to be fair, he does. The Doctor slumped forward onto the grass of their new home The Master Is Domestic crops up for humor, but really it’s kinda Sad But True. There’s a progression from SfC (which is v. located in fandom of the time/Simm!Master’s seemingly-less-invested-that-the-Doctor-ness) to Later Shit, wherein I watched Classic and went ooooh, that is not the way of things, is it? This is still really early in that process, but yeah, a change: you see it. The Master gave his impromptu club a victorious twirl. Later he thought he’d whittle it into a shank. Why is shanking always funny?! I don’t know. Some people were going on about how it’s easier to write drama than good comedy, blah blah. That’s a lie. Comedy is WAY easier. Well maybe BAD drama is easiest, then comedy, then GOOD drama of any sort, but seriously, comedy gets written so /quickly/.


The Doctor woke up again, annoyed before the fog even cleared from his vision. Clumsy sentence structure, little!Erin

“Oh come on, twice in a row is just cheap.”

“Not if you fall for it,” echoed from some other corner of the--- cave? Were they in a cave now?

The Master strode into view Erin wrote a dull introductory clause, carrying what looked to be a freshly cooked dead animal wedged on a moss-encrusted twig and set it in front of the Doctor, pulling off a bit of it for himself and shoving it on yet another green-fuzz bedecked stick. I love that the sticks /aren’t even cleanish/. Insult to injury!!

The Doctor looked at the dead animal. The Doctor looked up at the Master. The Master smiled, all creepy innocence and awkward over-sexuality, like a little girl in a pre-teen beauty pageant guys I was in these pageants, this simile is drawn from mah liiiiiife, and looked intently at the Doctor.

The dead animal* Yes, I love Terry Pratchett, why do you ask? didn’t look at anything, being deceased. It had been a very perceptive sentient muskrat not long ago, though, and would have rolled its eyes if it could have.

“There’s still bits of fur and feathers on it,” the Doctor offered sadly. Aha. Again. What hygiene!fail.

“I caught it though! For you, even! Aren’t you hungry?” The Master’s voice was awfully expectant. And let’s face it, Ainley!Master, chewer of much fine scenery, would masticate ‘hungry’ into something dripping with sexxxxxx.

In the Doctor’s mind, a few salient points of the situation suddenly arranged themselves into a pattern. It was a lot like how, if you’re a paranoid schizophrenic, prices in the supermarket arrange themselves into coded messages from the government like in a beautiful mind!, instructing you to wear tinfoil hats in order to fight aliens like in searching for bobby fischer! No, but really, I do think this comparison is effective. . In the Doctor’s experience that never worked—he’d go with wax paper over tinfoil every time. But given that he was dealing with the Master, the Doctor thought the more mental see Erin try to casually use English!slang! the line of reasoning behind his conclusions, the better.

“Let’s recap our situation briefly. You have knocked me over the head.”

“Twice!” the Master interrupted proudly, but also because he appreciated exactitude bless..

The Doctor conceded the point. “As you say, twice. And you dragged me here—by the hair, I presume?”

“Now that’s wishful thinking on your part. It would certainly all fall out. I had to use the scruff of your neck. You’re a hard man to drag, Doctor. And indeed, Seven in drag is a bit difficult to imagine…

“Back to your cave.”

“I prefer lair. You’ll love what I’m going to do with the place.”

“And you are now proceeding to provide me with, er, meat. Your kill, specifically. The collective weight of so many ‘primitivism!’ fandom cliché fics have led me here. Surely it is destiny.

“Oh come on, don’t be churlish, have a nibble Doctor—It’s like tandoori chicken if there wasn’t any chicken about and I couldn’t figure out what I could use as a spice that wouldn’t give us food poisoning. Man the Master would never admit that—plus I’m sure he could and would do the Doctor Fugu if asked nicely.  But apart from that, it bears a striking resemblance!”

“You do know what all of this looks like. I know you failed introductory anthropology THE MASTER WOULD NEVER. Such a humanities major its not true. but no one could possibly fail it this hard.”

“Yes.” The Master seemed unperturbed, and was now munching on his own unattractive meat-stick, having apparently grown bored of waiting for the Doctor to come to the appallingly obvious conclusion.

“So when, and this was just a few hours ago, mind you, your eyes went all raver-y Seven knows what a rave is? Well, of course he knows, but wow, weird that he’s bringing it up. and you said you wanted to destroy me…?”

“Patience Doctor, let a man finish his meat stick meat stick is also inherently funny sounding. Also innuendo. Rar. . I burned energy dragging you in here that I’m hoping to replenish before we get any good ‘destroying’ in.” The Master waggled his eyebrows.

There was a long pause, so pregnant it expected septuplets. Man, I do like English. I’m delighted to be writing in a language that lends itself to bad puns.

“Can’t you ever just ask me out on a normal date?” The Doctor shrieked. “The Cheetah Planet? For Rassilon’s sake, I just want to go to the Olive Garden and order Veal Parmesan or something this was a long-running joke w/ Kelley and Regan ! Instead I’m trapped for an unknown period on a planet of frankly ridiculous looking carnivores with you licking your fangs at me—goddamit Koschei! I just wanted some appetizers and white wine! Maybe a Bellini! Okay so Molly E and co and I had a FANTASTIC NIGHT of inebriation in the Green Room in Iowa City and bellinis were involved, and then I used them here, and then Ben and Collin and Jer, my roommates (or as good as) during the period were like wah, bellinis are a Eurotrash drink like in American Psycho (movie, not book), and you know what? Fuck them. Bellinis are delicious!! GO ORDER YOURSELF A BELLINI RIGHT NOW! DO YOURSELF A FLAVOR!! Why in nine hundred years have you never done the decent thing by me and bought me a Bellini?!”

“But we’re going to unleash our animal passions!” The Master gestured frantically to the meat sticks as if they were instrumental in proving his point. “Make like cats in heat! Was this like, the first sexy!cheetah!master thing on the intar-webz? Pretty sure I invented this sad trend (oh what an honor, right up there with coining goosnake, man I have given fandom /much/), but idk the comparitive of my anon meme shit and the fic.  Unleash centuries of our smoldering sexual tension, which, by the way, you’re a lot calmer about recognizing than I would have thought you’d be, I was betting on having to break out our friend the Party Rock again and just letting you sort of come to in medias res what a terribly rapey plan. Bagheera was like ‘is that what you meant, I think no’ when betaing—it is, sadly. That is what I meant. Oh! Also! This was before I knew Bagheera much at all! Even though fandom for the pairing was /so/ small for so long I’m grateful that the people we did have like bagheera and aralias were /excellent/ writers, because it definitely compelled me to stick around and wait for b_e and such to develop into the surprisingly populous, productive thing it is now.   I cooked you this quaint little meat stick, even!”

“Oh my god,” The Doctor pressed a hand to his brow, “this is worse than the time with the Magna Carta! Really nothing is worse than that time with the Magna Carta.  I wait centuries for you to figure out your fixation with me by yourself, come to terms with it, I like this—where the Doctor knows the Master is Into Him and is waiting around for him to Get It/be less of a moron. Idk that I’ve written it since.  and perhaps suggest a trip to the pub, buy me a few drinks, try for a drunken snog, attempt a smashed lay and follow it up with an ‘oh, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was just so wasted, but listen, now that you’re in my TARDIS why not just have a shower, I’ll do a fry up, and maybe you should move in, you know, just for convenience sake,’ arrangement 1) fry ups are delicious, I used to do them every weekend for my uni housemates. 2) I love this as a post-shag response But obviously you are actually this stupid. I don’t know what I see in you.” The Doctor, all vexed out, turned away, twirling his meat stick desolately.

“We’ll get out of here eventually, Doctor.” The Master put a hand on the other man’s shoulder and squeezed it consolingly, inching his hand ever so slowly towards the Doctor’s vulnerable, erogenous neck.

“You don’t even know where we are!”

“No,” the Master offered perhaps too many verbs that aren’t ‘said’ in dialogue here, “But my TARDIS has a new homing function and it’ll find me within, I should expect, a few more weeks at the outside. We shouldn’t shift planets before then. We’ll be perfectly fine, if a little more rugged than we might have liked sentence could be restated.” Well, than the Doctor would have liked. The Master had been rather looking forward to the dirty, sweaty bits of finally capturing the Doctor, but someone was being a killjoy.

“Oh,” the Doctor huffed “I can’t stay mad at you.” CLEARLY HE CAN, NOW I HAVE SEEN THREE ERA

“Yes you can,” the Master corrected, shocked, “Frequently for centuries, about the stupidest things, like anyone even misses Logopolis! The Math Planet!--” my way of cooing Logopolis! The Maaaaath Planet! like a prize honeymoon destination always amused Danny K, another housemate of the time He hated pronouncing exclamation marks, but as that had been the planet's proper name before he'd decimated it he might as well get the nomenclature right-- he kind of owed it that. Of my fics, this one is probably the most like me talking. Which is why it sounds so off.

“I can’t stay mad at you when we could be having long overdue, therapeutic sex,” the Doctor amended.

“Oh, well then.” The Master tossed the meatstuffs I used this word on a bemusing note to the waiter at a pie house in Evanston, Illinois, and the people I was with liked it, and it has been in my vocab ever since. I think we asked the man to meet us in the park for eldritch ceremonies, as he has been a bold purveyor of pies and various meatstuffs. We made a tiny man out of mashed potatoes, and he held the note (and the tip). Too bad that boyfriend turned out to be such a bitch, his friends were highly entertaining.  aside and proceeded to put their cave to good use, the patient hand resting at the base of the Doctor’s neck oh Time Lord Neck Kink. Welcome to my canon. Please stay—I have put out some tiny sandwiches for you!! becoming rapidly more interested in the joys of undelayed gratification. “Let’s find out if the Cheetah Virus can be sexually transmitted.” Aha. Now imagine Who Does Rent the Musical.

“Eugh,” the Doctor groaned, half in exasperation, half in enjoyment as the Master did something more inspired than any twelve of his Doctor-baiting schemes together to the Doctor’s torso. “Fucking Cheetah planet. a rallying cry with Regan, Kel and I at the time, I think”***


*Which had been a sentient flying muskrat-type creature named Bernaz. Unbeknownst to the Time Lords, he had been up for a promotion at work and in a very good place in his relationship with his girlfriend, Shernaz, before his life was tragically cut short by a black-garbed man coming at him with a rock**. At any rate he’d been too young and full of life to be reduced to a poorly conceived courtship offering, and all this really was a pity. NOT EVERYTHING ENDS WELL GUYS—HARK! SOME TRAGEDY!! WHAT OF SHERNAZ?! PERHAPS SHE IS PREGNANT! HER CHILD FATHERLESS! ALL FOR THE MEATSTUFFS!! WAS IT WORTH IT?! THE MASTER DIDN’T EVEN /FINISH/ HIS!!

**in the desperate, flailing attempts to ‘make it die’ of the type of man who’d never before so much as seen raw chicken Later I decided that the Master was a good cook, but this is still funny. Once Kel and I were watching food network and she was all THANKSGIVING SUCKS THAT TURKEY DOESN’T EVEN LOOK GOOD I DONWANNA EAT IT and I was like… Kelley that’s… that’s RAW turkey. And she was all ….oh. Me: You’ve /never seen raw poultry/… Kelley: shut up! Oh the laughs. Anyway, I bet most TLs never HAVE, ultimate techy city kids that they are.

***If there were a sequel to this it would be titled Ace Has Two Daddies. So thank god there never will be.  Oh come on, little!Erin, you’d write/read that.

aralias: shakespeare has written something greataralias on June 5th, 2010 12:13 pm (UTC)


it was a good commentary, bb. thanks for writing it. i really really like this fic. like, a lot. so, if you wanted to write more in this silly style, i would be for it. i did kind of know many of the things that you've written here, but it's interesting that you seem to have internalised me, to some extent, and what you do here in some parts is beta yourself. well, nadja already did, but you beta the way i beta. ISNT THAT NICE?!


anyway. thanks.
x_losx_los on June 6th, 2010 12:16 am (UTC)
Haybe! Which is like hey, and like baby, but /not/!! Idk, I don't really have anything legit to say here. Other than I think this style's a bit... not right for this fandom, and don't really have any ideas for stuff that needs doing in it.

I still think I beta like I workshop. :p

No prob. <3
ushas42: sevenushas42 on June 5th, 2010 03:53 pm (UTC)
The Master Is Domestic crops up for humor, but really it’s kinda Sad But True.

I really do need to do that Ainley!Master as Mr. Mom macro sometime soon.

Seven knows what a rave is? Well, of course he knows, but wow, weird that he’s bringing it up.

As with the use of Bogart, I'm gonna conclude that he's been hanging around with Ace for too long.
x_los: Brig is just a dubious person.x_los on June 6th, 2010 12:17 am (UTC)
I'd love it. And would be terribly amused by Seven''s Failed Attempts to Use Ace's Slang And Be Cool with the Kids.
withjadedeyes on June 5th, 2010 04:52 pm (UTC)
I love this. The commentary makes it so much funnier, even though I think it would also have been really good without it (despite what you think about your earlier writing) And: Please, please, please won't you write Ace Has Two Daddies?! I have the feeling that it wouldn't be anywhere near as bad as the title implies.
x_los: Like Buttah.x_los on June 6th, 2010 12:18 am (UTC)
I think /someone/ should write it, for sure, but probably someone with a stronger connection to Seven than I've got, sadly.
Zzaftiq on June 5th, 2010 05:14 pm (UTC)
I think the footnotes are what made me fall in love with Terry Pratchett. I love them. They appeal to the snobby scholar within. And they're funny. Poor Bernaz! His is such a tragic tale.

Also love Seven whining about wanting to go to Olive Garden makes me die laughing. That's where an ex would always take me. I got a little sick of endless bowls of minestrone.

And consider this another vote for Ace Has Two Daddies. Someone needs to, I can't believe anyone hasn't yet. It's like Zero's Three/Delgado!Master + Jo icon, which would also be fun.
x_los: Japanese Prettyx_los on June 6th, 2010 12:24 am (UTC)
I really want the AU that icon suggests, you have no idea. For serious, I'd read the shit out of it.

Oh god, fucking Olive Garden. So generic. My dad and I once had to crash the office secretaries' lunch at Olive Garden w/ Breaking News and made disparaging comments re: The Garden and Jo the Paralegal glared at us all 'I. like. the olive. garden.' and we... bravely ran away. Skulked out and made fun of it in our much more interesting greek diner dive of choice. Chain restaurants: not romantic. Not interesting. Not a date-site, fo sho.
Zzaftiq on June 6th, 2010 12:47 am (UTC)
It has the potential to be the BEST story ever. I mean, Three and d!Master are already an old married couple...all they need is a kid to squabble over/with. And Jo would be such a daddies' girl.

Olive Garden for date night, Outback for my birthday (when shit gets REAL fanceh!). I can't remember what I saw in him, no matter how hard I try. I'm pretty sure I saw nothing and just went along with it out of boredom.
innocentsmith on June 5th, 2010 10:31 pm (UTC)
Yay, commentary! And it is hilarious.

but seriously, comedy gets written so /quickly/.

Maybe for you, lady. *sulks*

The Master smiled, all creepy innocence and awkward over-sexuality, like a little girl in a pre-teen beauty pageant guys I was in these pageants, this simile is drawn from mah liiiiiife

OMG, srsly? Well, at least the experience led to a really awesome simile.

In conclusion, I love the line about Bellinis FOREVER. Whenever I find myself reading some really overwrought D/M (usually it's Ten/Simm - I'm sure you're shocked) I start muttering, "Why in nine hundred years have you never done the decent thing...?" IRL.
x_los: Daleks Venerate Shakespeare.x_los on June 6th, 2010 10:16 am (UTC)
It generally requires less plotting than 'fuck, fuck, a chapter of a thing, omg where did I even put the Macguffin, what is going on with X character auuuuuugh,' I guess? Less time spent curled up into a ball going O_O.

Yep. Child modeling. My life will be dedicated to tracking down and burning the proof.


innocentsmith on June 6th, 2010 10:37 am (UTC)
Yes, but that's not so much an issue of drama vs. comedy as plottiness vs. non-plotiness (I feel there should be a proper writerly adjective* for this concept, but I've had an entire bottle of wine and it's 3:39 am), surely? I mean, think Wodehouse. How many plot points did he have to keep track of at any given moment?

It is an understandable ambition. Yikes.

IKR? But srsly, the Doctor will be all strung up in restraints and panting and yet somehow apologetic, and Simm!Master will be gloating over the death of whatever companion and talking about how the Doctor deserves it, really, and somewhere half a second before my internal Fanwriter Self-Hatred alarm starts buzzing, I hear, "Goddamit Koschei! I just wanted some appetizers and white wine!"

* EDIT: or even a noun. See previous remarks re: wine.

Edited at 2010-06-06 10:42 am (UTC)