Edgar Allan Who?

[tweedymcgee]

What's that you say? You've always wanted a mashup of "Time Crash" with "The Raven"?

I'm not sure exactly how historical this is, but it had to be done. Also it is surely the fault of elviaprose, whose Three/Delgado "Highwayman" parody was made of finest win.

Once upon a TARDIS cranky, while I pondered, pale and lanky,

Over many a complicated circuit in the power core,

While I scratched my pate so flaxen, suddenly there came a klaxon,

As of someone rudely hacking through machinery 'neath the floor.

"'Tis some paradox," I muttered, "shorting out the central core;

What a wretched crashing bore."

Ah, distinctly I recall, it was in Quadrant Six-Aught Sol,
And every loud alarum shook the panels of the TARDIS floor.
Eagerly I wished for quiet; vainly I had fled the riot

Of a certain shouty maiden with a mighty battle roar.

A bold and brassy sassy maiden most impossible to ignore:
Tegan in the mood for war.

Now the doleful noisy cronking of the TARDIS loudly honking
Chilled me---filled me with annoyance I had scarcely felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my hearts, I stood repeating,

" 'Tis some tension in the time-suspension cables in the core,

Some small temporal dimension shift inside the central core.

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my humor worsened, as I sensed a fellow person,

"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is, I was working, and your presence here is irking,

And my ship is jerking like a sick berserk Haematovore,

Please inform me how you managed to get through my TARDIS door.
It's never made that noise before."

But this person, tall and babbling, clad in pinstripes, ever gabbling,

By the beige lapels he grabbed me, fixed me in a pointed stare.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But with motions swift and crazy (and gravity-defying hair)

Dared to pull some levers on the console o'er my irate glare

With insouciant savoir-faire.

Now, his presence much resented, my suspicions he cemented,

By the zealous and demented grinning countenance he wore,

"Though I can't explain it," said I, "surely then thou art a fanboy,

Ghastly, nerdy, squeeing fanboy, darkening my TARDIS door,
Or one of those LINDA people whose persistence I deplore."
Quoth the creature, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly lout to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no modern sentient being
 --
Other than in certain poems verbiage was coinéd for --
Ever yet did utter, e'en in paroxysms of dolor,
Such a word as "Nevermore."

"I think," he muttered, looking pallid, "we've crash-landed in a ballad --
Some florid Gothic horror by some troubled Earthly troubador --
Sense from passing reference sifting, wrenched from causal nexus, drifting,
TARDIS cleft to TARDIS in the Rift that nature does abhor,
Crossing time and space and genre, beaching on this verse-y shore --
By the way, I'm the Doct--or."

Then my mind was full of wonder, and my hearts began to thunder,

Greedy for some juicy spoiler from a future still in store.
I, laws of Time all disobeying, pressed for tidbits Gallifreyan:
What of Narvin? How is Leela? Who's the Council voted for?
But he with eyes deep-shadowed like a soldier of some ageless war
Said: "Never---nevermore."

Suddenly a terror seizing, gripped my hearts with fingers freezing,
Filling me with longing for a love that soured long before.
Though our union was disaster, still I yearned to clasp the Master --
Still his leering beardy visage thrilled me to my very core,
Still I pondered sadly on the great and mighty vows we swore,
Broken now for evermore.

Though my pride would not allow it, secretly I cherished how it
Lit the lamplight of my soul to see his shadow cross my door;
How his visits set me burning for the day he'd be returning,
Come to claim one final favor from his erstwhile paramour.
Surely in the eons of our neverending ceaseless war
We'd have time for one shag more.

"Doctor," said I, feeling sickly, "tell me of the Master, quickly,
Shall we ever cleave together? Doctor, tell me, I implore.
Though his evil does astound me, I yearn for velvet arms around me."
(For in one's own bosom, surely, one can sorrows full outpour.)
But his face was grim and cold like frost upon the midnight moor --
Quoth the Doctor, "Nevermore."

And still he crouches on the grating, full of sorrow and self-hating,
Ceaselessly himself berating, trainers squeaking on the floor.
And his eyes with woe are foggy like a ferret's that is soggy
And his voice is low and froggy -- croaking, croaking "Nevermore";
And my soul from that hot puddle of Time Lord emo on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!