Fic: Operation Awesome
FIC: Operation Awesome 5/6
TITLE: Operation Awesome, 5/6
Rating: PG
Main characters: entire casts of SJA & Torchwood, the Doctor, Martha, Donna; cameos by other new and old school characters
Spoilers: SJA-S1; TW-S2; DW-S3, Journey's End
All characters licensed by the BBC. This is not an authorized tie-in.
Who_Daily; T3; Sonic: a href="http://neadods.livejournal.com/724791.html#cutid1">Operation Awesome 2/5 by lj user="neadods"> (casts of all shows | PG | Spoilers: SJA-S1; TW-S2; DW-S3 through Journey's End)
Chapter 1: The Gathering
Chapter 2: The Operation Begins
Chapter 3: First Steps
Chapter 4: The Fateful Fete
Chapter 5: Scenes From a Salvation
Donna had intended to go over and give her boss a very loud piece of her mind, letting all the rich and influential people know just what kind of a backstabbing, slave-driving wanker he really was. But on her route there, she was stopped by a slightly drunken man in a very expensive suit who poured a pile of chips into her hands and told her to "choose something nice for the lady." The "lady" in question - a child barely out of her teens and barely in that dress - clutched his arm and giggled and simpered at him.
Donna, who had been forced to be nice to plenty of people she despised in her temp work, recognized the brittle undertone to the forced gaiety. Oh God, he was one of those people Nothing around him, not even the people he was with, were anything more than objects to be bought and discarded.
She hated people like that, more than anything else in the universe. More than hypocrites like her boss. More than cowards like her ex-fiance. More than… what the heck was a dalek, and why had she just thought that nonsense word?
"Don't just stand there, girlie, go on!" He waved in the general direction of the prize table. "We've done enough for charity tonight, haven't we, dear?" His escort nodded and giggled again on cue.
And something in Donna snapped.
"No, you haven't!" she told him, in a voice that carried well over the chatter and music. "You haven't done anything for charity tonight! YOU'RE just here to see and be seen, and now you're going to bugger off to some restaurant or nightclub and pay twice as much just to have more fun." She waved the fistful of chips under his nose. "The only reason you've given is so you can get something back. Press coverage and prizes, that's all you care about."
The room had gone so silent she could hear her heart hammering in her chest, but she was on a roll now and couldn't shut up if she wanted to. "You don't care about people starving, or species dying, or the price of petrol, because you are so sure that you can buy your way out of any problem. So what if the water is poison? You drink champagne! So what if the air is filthy? You'll just buy filters! Who cares if other people die, as long as there are enough left to work for you?"
He turned purple, then white. Next to him the girl was still, eyes and mouth wide.
"Who are you?" he hissed.
Wild with fear and fury, Donna squalled, "I’m Donna Noble and if you really cared about anything, you'd give without asking for something in return!"
She was dead. Being blackballed by the temp agencies? Nothing on what this guy was going to do to her. She could see it in his eyes. But before he could pronounce sentence, he was interrupted by…
Was that applause?
Donna turned. It was applause, real applause, not that nasty, sarcastic slow clapping. Some skinny little weed - who let him in wearing black tie and trainers? He looked like a kid playing fancy dress - was standing next to the roulette wheel looking fit to burst from pride. "She's right," he said, and there was something compelling about the way he talked, about the way he was staring down the man in front of her.
Gramps came to stand next to him, clapping hard, cheering, "You tell him, sweetheart!"
Ianto was clapping now too; oh God, she couldn't believe this, it was like a movie, everyone was staring and everyone was applauding and Stephanie was jumping up and down and Robert was clapping over his head like he was at a concert, and the guy in front of her, the big, expensive, nasty guy was deflating like a burst balloon.
Triumphant, Donna stuck her hand out, the one that wasn't already holding his forgotten chips. "Two drinks. Donate the price of two drinks. You'll never notice the difference, but the world will."
And he did! He tamely put a 20-pound note in her hand and turned away, but before he went, she handed over his chips and went back into smiling hostess mode. "Thank you so much for coming to our party. Do please enjoy the rest of your evening."
He stared at the chips like he had never seen them before, and Donna had pity on him. "Oi, Julie!" she called over her shoulder. "Something nice from Table C."
Julie, who had been overseeing prizes all night, dithered for a moment over the items on the most expensive table, then brought over a Harrods box. "Cashmere for the lady," she said with a quick curtsey, then fled back to her table.
Without ever looking away from Donna, the man gave it to his escort and left.
While Donna was wondering just what to do now, Ianto dragged over one of the little tables, topping it with what looked like a hastily rinsed and dried punchbowl. "I could stand one less take-away this week," he said in that musical accent, dropping in a few pounds. One of them stuck to a still-damp side.
And suddenly, there was a queue. As people passed to redeem their chips, they detoured by the impromptu donation station and told Donna what triviality they were giving up. It was the world's most boring conversation, but every time she had the urge to scream "I DON'T CARE!" she'd look at the rapidly-filling bowl and find the strength to keep smiling.
***
The next morning, Donna wasn't even sure if she ought to bother to go to work. On the other hand, she and Stephanie had counted three thousand slightly wet and faintly sticky pounds out of the bowl alone, so she could at least bang the door on her way out and remind them that they'd thrown away their best fundraiser ever.
When she got in, the air was full of bubbles. That had been her idea too; biodegradable, environmentally correct bubbles instead of the waste of balloons at celebrations.
Stephanie barreled out of the group, grabbing Donna for a big squeeze. "Oh, my God! Donna! We stayed late to double-check the numbers! FIFTEEN THOUSAND POUNDS! Fifteen! Our biggest event ever only got us nine thousand!"
"That's great! Didn't I say… I…" Donna gulped down the rest of her sentence. Robert was standing by her desk, holding a file. Even if they didn't fire her - and admittedly, that reception suggested they wouldn't - it still didn't mean they were going to give her what she wanted.
Walking over was like wading through setting cement. Robert gave her the file folder, and for a while Donna just stared at it, too frightened to open it.
"I wanted to be office manager," she finally whispered.
"I know," Robert said.
"Are you firing me?"
Robert rolled his eyes. "Damnit, Donna, just read the letter!"
Opening that folder was one of the hardest things she had ever done. Dear Miss Noble… blah, blah, blah… since you have come here… etc., etc.,… discussion of your efforts… aware of your wish to become office manager, however… Board unanimously agrees… only one possible course of action after your performance of the previous evening…
"You need to sign it."
"I know," Donna said, although she was shaking so hard she could barely pick up the pen. Even though the slot only needed her signature, she traced the words next to it just to be sure they were really there.
"I, Donna Noble, accept the position of Head of London Public Relations…"
"We still need an office manager," Robert said softly. "But we're not wasting you on orders for notepads and filing. Not after last night. That little rant of yours not only doubled our usual success rate, it tripled the amount of press coverage we received. So who do you think should become the new office manager?"
"Find…" Donna's voice sounded strange, and she wasn't sure if she was wiping bubble stuff or tears off her face. "Find a temp, and I'll train her up for the permanent job."
***
< ijbythebay: So, how was your first official fundraiser? >
< RedQueen75: It was a disaster! I thought it was going to be so nice… have a children's fair and pitch to parents how they need to clean up the world to give to them. Something normal after the way I started. >
< ijbythebay: What went wrong? Some sprog fall and scrape its knee? >
< RedQueen75: I don't *know*! Everything went well and everyone seemed happy, but we only pulled in a measly 5,000 and only one paper covered it. For half an inch on page 15, next to an advert for hemorrhoid cream! >
< ijbythebay: There's your answer. If you want to stand out from the crowd, you have to be a pain in the arse. >
…
< RedQueen75: Well, I know how to do that! >
***
From an article from the Times, March 18. Byline, Sarah Jane Smith
The Centre for a Sustainable World held another one of its infamous fundraisers last night. Under the stewardship of Miss Donna Noble, the Centre has become notable for the gimmicks that draw attention to various environmental and social causes. Despite the previous much-advertised "Christmas Feast" turning out to be mostly-empty plates to draw attention to Ethiopian famine victims and the Centre's work in sustainable crops, tickets for last night's event sold out within 10 minutes.
Or perhaps the quick sales were due to Miss Noble's reputation. Everyone who is anyone wants to be able to tell the first-hand story of her latest outrageous stunt!
***
"Miss? Miss Noble?"
"Yes?"
"There's something wrong with my..."
"Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Oi! You! Some more dry white wine over here! Ta!"
"No, no, not the wine. The wine is fine."
"Something wrong on your plate then? After Christmas I promised a real feast, and I keep my promises! Let's see, over there are authentic Indian dishes - try the seafood curry, it's lovely - and those are American Buffalo chicken wings over here, and in the corner is Oriental spicy noodles - those are vegetarian, and so are the watercress and smoked gouda sandwiches, very tasty - and of course there are nuts and crisps and pretzels everywhere. The waiters have strict orders to top those bowls up every half hour. Nobody goes hungry tonight!"
"No, no, it's… look, I've gone to all the water fountains, but they seem to be shut off. And when I asked the bartender for water, he gave me - Smell this! I don't know how, but this water's gone off!"
"Oh, no, not at all. That's what water smells like when it's been chemically purified using standard methods. I promise you that every bottle here has been certified as fitting all safety standards."
"But it's cloudy and smells foul!"
"You should smell the smoke from the factories that do the job! But the Centre scientists have invented a new form of water purification. It's made from sustainable materials, doesn't cause pollution in its manufacture, and is stable for export around the world. It's a tablet like this, see? You crumble it up and let it dissolve, and look! See how the water's clearing up? It smells better too."
"Yes it… may I have my glass back?"
"We could revolutionize water purification. Hikers could carry the tablets with them. We're working on a form that will allow us to purify entire lakes. There are whole villages without safe drinking water, you know."
"That's very… I want my…"
"And with your support we could - "
"I'll donate an entire ruddy case, woman, just give me the water! I'm thirsty!"
"The Centre thanks you for your support. Do try the Texas six-alarm chili."
***
When Donna stuffed a playground full of six months' worth of plastic grocery bags (London output only) and ran the photo in the newspapers, she got the Centre a licensing deal with a hemp clothing and tote manufacturer.
When an anti-modified food group challenged the Centre's disease- and drought-resistant crops, rather than only striking back with scientific studies, she also got the Centre's produce onto a cooking show and dared the protesters to have a taste test… which they lost.
When Donna had the Centre sponsor a new race - the "Two-Mile Walk for Clean Water" - and made everyone in it carry a day's supply of water to illustrate the need for new ways of liquid storage in villages without plumbing, the Guardian called her "The Dominatrix of Donations."
She liked the title so much she changed her business cards.
She had to change them again six months later, when she was promoted to the Board of the Centre as Head, Marketing and Public Relations. But she kept the Dominatrix title.
Chapter 6: All Things End
TITLE: Operation Awesome, 5/6
Rating: PG
Main characters: entire casts of SJA & Torchwood, the Doctor, Martha, Donna; cameos by other new and old school characters
Spoilers: SJA-S1; TW-S2; DW-S3, Journey's End
All characters licensed by the BBC. This is not an authorized tie-in.
Who_Daily; T3; Sonic: a href="http://neadods.livejournal.com/724791.html#cutid1">Operation Awesome 2/5 by lj user="neadods"> (casts of all shows | PG | Spoilers: SJA-S1; TW-S2; DW-S3 through Journey's End)
Chapter 1: The Gathering
Chapter 2: The Operation Begins
Chapter 3: First Steps
Chapter 4: The Fateful Fete
Chapter 5: Scenes From a Salvation
Donna had intended to go over and give her boss a very loud piece of her mind, letting all the rich and influential people know just what kind of a backstabbing, slave-driving wanker he really was. But on her route there, she was stopped by a slightly drunken man in a very expensive suit who poured a pile of chips into her hands and told her to "choose something nice for the lady." The "lady" in question - a child barely out of her teens and barely in that dress - clutched his arm and giggled and simpered at him.
Donna, who had been forced to be nice to plenty of people she despised in her temp work, recognized the brittle undertone to the forced gaiety. Oh God, he was one of those people Nothing around him, not even the people he was with, were anything more than objects to be bought and discarded.
She hated people like that, more than anything else in the universe. More than hypocrites like her boss. More than cowards like her ex-fiance. More than… what the heck was a dalek, and why had she just thought that nonsense word?
"Don't just stand there, girlie, go on!" He waved in the general direction of the prize table. "We've done enough for charity tonight, haven't we, dear?" His escort nodded and giggled again on cue.
And something in Donna snapped.
"No, you haven't!" she told him, in a voice that carried well over the chatter and music. "You haven't done anything for charity tonight! YOU'RE just here to see and be seen, and now you're going to bugger off to some restaurant or nightclub and pay twice as much just to have more fun." She waved the fistful of chips under his nose. "The only reason you've given is so you can get something back. Press coverage and prizes, that's all you care about."
The room had gone so silent she could hear her heart hammering in her chest, but she was on a roll now and couldn't shut up if she wanted to. "You don't care about people starving, or species dying, or the price of petrol, because you are so sure that you can buy your way out of any problem. So what if the water is poison? You drink champagne! So what if the air is filthy? You'll just buy filters! Who cares if other people die, as long as there are enough left to work for you?"
He turned purple, then white. Next to him the girl was still, eyes and mouth wide.
"Who are you?" he hissed.
Wild with fear and fury, Donna squalled, "I’m Donna Noble and if you really cared about anything, you'd give without asking for something in return!"
She was dead. Being blackballed by the temp agencies? Nothing on what this guy was going to do to her. She could see it in his eyes. But before he could pronounce sentence, he was interrupted by…
Was that applause?
Donna turned. It was applause, real applause, not that nasty, sarcastic slow clapping. Some skinny little weed - who let him in wearing black tie and trainers? He looked like a kid playing fancy dress - was standing next to the roulette wheel looking fit to burst from pride. "She's right," he said, and there was something compelling about the way he talked, about the way he was staring down the man in front of her.
Gramps came to stand next to him, clapping hard, cheering, "You tell him, sweetheart!"
Ianto was clapping now too; oh God, she couldn't believe this, it was like a movie, everyone was staring and everyone was applauding and Stephanie was jumping up and down and Robert was clapping over his head like he was at a concert, and the guy in front of her, the big, expensive, nasty guy was deflating like a burst balloon.
Triumphant, Donna stuck her hand out, the one that wasn't already holding his forgotten chips. "Two drinks. Donate the price of two drinks. You'll never notice the difference, but the world will."
And he did! He tamely put a 20-pound note in her hand and turned away, but before he went, she handed over his chips and went back into smiling hostess mode. "Thank you so much for coming to our party. Do please enjoy the rest of your evening."
He stared at the chips like he had never seen them before, and Donna had pity on him. "Oi, Julie!" she called over her shoulder. "Something nice from Table C."
Julie, who had been overseeing prizes all night, dithered for a moment over the items on the most expensive table, then brought over a Harrods box. "Cashmere for the lady," she said with a quick curtsey, then fled back to her table.
Without ever looking away from Donna, the man gave it to his escort and left.
While Donna was wondering just what to do now, Ianto dragged over one of the little tables, topping it with what looked like a hastily rinsed and dried punchbowl. "I could stand one less take-away this week," he said in that musical accent, dropping in a few pounds. One of them stuck to a still-damp side.
And suddenly, there was a queue. As people passed to redeem their chips, they detoured by the impromptu donation station and told Donna what triviality they were giving up. It was the world's most boring conversation, but every time she had the urge to scream "I DON'T CARE!" she'd look at the rapidly-filling bowl and find the strength to keep smiling.
***
The next morning, Donna wasn't even sure if she ought to bother to go to work. On the other hand, she and Stephanie had counted three thousand slightly wet and faintly sticky pounds out of the bowl alone, so she could at least bang the door on her way out and remind them that they'd thrown away their best fundraiser ever.
When she got in, the air was full of bubbles. That had been her idea too; biodegradable, environmentally correct bubbles instead of the waste of balloons at celebrations.
Stephanie barreled out of the group, grabbing Donna for a big squeeze. "Oh, my God! Donna! We stayed late to double-check the numbers! FIFTEEN THOUSAND POUNDS! Fifteen! Our biggest event ever only got us nine thousand!"
"That's great! Didn't I say… I…" Donna gulped down the rest of her sentence. Robert was standing by her desk, holding a file. Even if they didn't fire her - and admittedly, that reception suggested they wouldn't - it still didn't mean they were going to give her what she wanted.
Walking over was like wading through setting cement. Robert gave her the file folder, and for a while Donna just stared at it, too frightened to open it.
"I wanted to be office manager," she finally whispered.
"I know," Robert said.
"Are you firing me?"
Robert rolled his eyes. "Damnit, Donna, just read the letter!"
Opening that folder was one of the hardest things she had ever done. Dear Miss Noble… blah, blah, blah… since you have come here… etc., etc.,… discussion of your efforts… aware of your wish to become office manager, however… Board unanimously agrees… only one possible course of action after your performance of the previous evening…
"You need to sign it."
"I know," Donna said, although she was shaking so hard she could barely pick up the pen. Even though the slot only needed her signature, she traced the words next to it just to be sure they were really there.
"I, Donna Noble, accept the position of Head of London Public Relations…"
"We still need an office manager," Robert said softly. "But we're not wasting you on orders for notepads and filing. Not after last night. That little rant of yours not only doubled our usual success rate, it tripled the amount of press coverage we received. So who do you think should become the new office manager?"
"Find…" Donna's voice sounded strange, and she wasn't sure if she was wiping bubble stuff or tears off her face. "Find a temp, and I'll train her up for the permanent job."
***
< ijbythebay: So, how was your first official fundraiser? >
< RedQueen75: It was a disaster! I thought it was going to be so nice… have a children's fair and pitch to parents how they need to clean up the world to give to them. Something normal after the way I started. >
< ijbythebay: What went wrong? Some sprog fall and scrape its knee? >
< RedQueen75: I don't *know*! Everything went well and everyone seemed happy, but we only pulled in a measly 5,000 and only one paper covered it. For half an inch on page 15, next to an advert for hemorrhoid cream! >
< ijbythebay: There's your answer. If you want to stand out from the crowd, you have to be a pain in the arse. >
…
< RedQueen75: Well, I know how to do that! >
***
From an article from the Times, March 18. Byline, Sarah Jane Smith
The Centre for a Sustainable World held another one of its infamous fundraisers last night. Under the stewardship of Miss Donna Noble, the Centre has become notable for the gimmicks that draw attention to various environmental and social causes. Despite the previous much-advertised "Christmas Feast" turning out to be mostly-empty plates to draw attention to Ethiopian famine victims and the Centre's work in sustainable crops, tickets for last night's event sold out within 10 minutes.
Or perhaps the quick sales were due to Miss Noble's reputation. Everyone who is anyone wants to be able to tell the first-hand story of her latest outrageous stunt!
***
"Miss? Miss Noble?"
"Yes?"
"There's something wrong with my..."
"Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Oi! You! Some more dry white wine over here! Ta!"
"No, no, not the wine. The wine is fine."
"Something wrong on your plate then? After Christmas I promised a real feast, and I keep my promises! Let's see, over there are authentic Indian dishes - try the seafood curry, it's lovely - and those are American Buffalo chicken wings over here, and in the corner is Oriental spicy noodles - those are vegetarian, and so are the watercress and smoked gouda sandwiches, very tasty - and of course there are nuts and crisps and pretzels everywhere. The waiters have strict orders to top those bowls up every half hour. Nobody goes hungry tonight!"
"No, no, it's… look, I've gone to all the water fountains, but they seem to be shut off. And when I asked the bartender for water, he gave me - Smell this! I don't know how, but this water's gone off!"
"Oh, no, not at all. That's what water smells like when it's been chemically purified using standard methods. I promise you that every bottle here has been certified as fitting all safety standards."
"But it's cloudy and smells foul!"
"You should smell the smoke from the factories that do the job! But the Centre scientists have invented a new form of water purification. It's made from sustainable materials, doesn't cause pollution in its manufacture, and is stable for export around the world. It's a tablet like this, see? You crumble it up and let it dissolve, and look! See how the water's clearing up? It smells better too."
"Yes it… may I have my glass back?"
"We could revolutionize water purification. Hikers could carry the tablets with them. We're working on a form that will allow us to purify entire lakes. There are whole villages without safe drinking water, you know."
"That's very… I want my…"
"And with your support we could - "
"I'll donate an entire ruddy case, woman, just give me the water! I'm thirsty!"
"The Centre thanks you for your support. Do try the Texas six-alarm chili."
***
When Donna stuffed a playground full of six months' worth of plastic grocery bags (London output only) and ran the photo in the newspapers, she got the Centre a licensing deal with a hemp clothing and tote manufacturer.
When an anti-modified food group challenged the Centre's disease- and drought-resistant crops, rather than only striking back with scientific studies, she also got the Centre's produce onto a cooking show and dared the protesters to have a taste test… which they lost.
When Donna had the Centre sponsor a new race - the "Two-Mile Walk for Clean Water" - and made everyone in it carry a day's supply of water to illustrate the need for new ways of liquid storage in villages without plumbing, the Guardian called her "The Dominatrix of Donations."
She liked the title so much she changed her business cards.
She had to change them again six months later, when she was promoted to the Board of the Centre as Head, Marketing and Public Relations. But she kept the Dominatrix title.
Chapter 6: All Things End