Harmonious.
Here is a retyped and saved copy of the post I was trying to get yesterday. Enjoy. I have decided to call it the Illness I had.
Or, if you like, the Ill'I'ad.
You get it, the Illiad? I worked hard on that. I think I had that title before I had the idea for the story. Anyway. Of course I don't own Doctor Who or the Illiad. But I do have a copy of it upstairs on my bookshelf. Go me. Enjoy this crack!fic. And if you don't think it is very crack, then you need to study more Greek mythology.
&&&
He was excited. If he had a companion at that time, they wouldn’t even have to know him well enough to know that he wore high tops with everything to know that he was incredibly, over-the-top, excited. And why not? Despite being utterly alone he was still capable of enjoying his solitary existence, and so with a flourish he set his coordinates to a random place and time on Earth and listened in rapture as he moved through the Void.
When he arrived, he trusted his oldest and truest companion, the TARDIS itself, and managed to ignore the quiet alarm it was trying to give him. The least he could have done was checked the outside conditions, like atmosphere, pressure, visual feed… the seven day forecast… but in his mood he decided to ignore all of it.
‘Why do I even bother?’ the sentient TARDIS' thought despondently, and had a group of mops move towards the door, in a manner not unlike The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, except without the brooms. ‘Oh, a broom, that might come in handy,’ the TARDIS realised, and chased the stray thought, as absent-minded as her Timelord.
So it came to pass that he grabbed his long brown coat off the forked column by the ramp, grabbed his key from one of the many pockets, and pelted to the door, excitement painted in every feature and line of his body. He reached for the door, noticing belatedly that they seemed to be straining ever-so-slightly. As his hand came into contact, they burst open inwardly, a veritable wall of seawater and creatures pummeling him.
‘Yes, and a dustpan, and a new-oh!” the TARDIS noticed guiltily, and applied a negative force, pushing the water back out, watching with slight amusement as her Timelord went sweeping out of the door as well, a look of disbelief on his face. After the doors slammed shut, she sat in silence, then seemed to release a sigh. “Mops!” she ordered, then decided, for a laugh, to disappear into the Void and reappear on the beach somewhere.
This, however, did the Doctor no good. He tried in vain to move toward the TARDIS, but the light on top started flashing, and it’s outline became blurry and less solid. The absence it created a millisecond after disappearing was filled with a rush of water, and he felt himself pulled toward it, too late.
He hadn’t had much opportunity to hold his breath before being swept out the doors. He looked around, feeling his mind get a little foggy around the edges. ‘Where am I at?” he wondered and tilted his head back, trying to ascertain how far underwater he was and how long it would take him to swim to the surface.
The TARDIS appeared on a deserted sandy beach, and seemed to be trying to shake water droplets off itself. Eventually the door opened and a gout of water and fish flooded out. After purging herself, she pulled out a mental checklist. “Calypso Deep in the Ionian sea, the deepest spot in the Mediterranean at 5,267 meters, not so fun to visit after all,” she noted, the stored it away for future reference. Belatedly she pulled the file back out and noted on the end: (3.27 miles.)
Then she waited for her Timelord to come back.
He was otherwise occupied. The weight of his clothes, the pressure of the water, it was all acting against him, but he continued to feebly fight against them all. Fish darted around him furtively, and the occasional bigger silhouette farther out frightened him half to death every time he saw one.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. It had been a good twenty minutes, and his lungs and limbs ached. He wondered if he would regenerate, decided he probably would, but would drown almost immediately, then regenerate again, burning through all his remaining bodies instantaneously. Unless he came back as a gilled creature… he shook his head, trying to clear his head. He noticed, somewhat too late, that he had stopped swimming, and the larger fish shadows were getting closer. “So this is the end?” he thought as his eyes slid shut. “Well, at least I will have that mermaid for company…” his eyes snapped open. “Wait, mermaid?”
He gasped as she laid a hand on his shoulder, then tried to close his mouth. Too late, the little oxygen left in his lungs escaped, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he blacked out.
He slowly woke up, moving his head back and forth. Suddenly, with a scream, he started peddling his arms and legs, trying to swim for the surface. In his terror, he fell off the narrow bed he was laying on, landing with a thump on a hard floor. He opened his eyes, looking around, reassuring himself that he was breathing air. He patted himself down, trying to decide if he was actually still alive. Not only was he still breathing, but his clothes were dry. “I’m dry as a bone,” he said aloud, a hand thrust up under his shirt against his skin. “How long have I been unconscious that I am completely dry and still fully dressed?”
“Oh, for about two days,” a musical female voice said from somewhere out of his eye shot. He jumped to his feet, yelping, and looked around crazily. She seemed to appear out of the wall, the very image from ancient Greek art. “I am sorry to disturb you, Lord, but I was told to watch you until you awoke, and then escort you directly to the wedding. Are you feeling recovered?”
He tried to act like he knew what she was talking about. “Yes, of course I am. On to the… wedding.”
She examined him. “Would my lord wish to change his clothes into something more informal?”
He examined his suit, chic-geek and clean, if a little ruffled. “More informal than this? I am wearing my PJ Flyers, how more informal would you like for me to get?”
She bowed her head. “As you wish, my lord.” She held her arm out to him. “My name is Lysianassa, by the way. Shall we proceed?” he gladly accepted and held her arm, trying to figure out what important event in history he was crashing.
“Lysianassa, the last thing I remember was being in the water. Was it you who saved me?”
She giggled. “Yes, my lord. I asked around, and nobody knew for certain what patron god you were, but obviously, we agreed, it was not of swimming, being rational, or punctual. We did decide that maybe you represented bad luck, but… she wasn’t invited.”
He thought hard. “I’m a god?”
She looked up at him. “Well, we saw your temple appear and then disappear. Was it not a holy place where you live, my lord?”
He decided there were bigger mysteries to figure out in life than how this mix-up had occurred. “Well, of course, it is my sanctuary. I move around a lot. Can’t handle the property taxes in Rome, it is horrible there.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Rome, my lord?”
He backpedaled. “Did I say Rome? I meant Athens.”
“Ah, Athens… yes, I hear it is quite expensive there. Man is always making life too complicated for their own good.” They climbed some steps, revealing a large arched doorway opening up into a huge opulent space that appeared to come straight out of The Little Mermaid. “Oh, wow,” he said, truly overawed. “What is this place?”
“This is the parking garage, lord.”
His eyes adjusted, the rose-tinted filters over his mind’s eye falling away. He noticed the massive chariots covered in rare metals and jewels, exotic and mythical animals pawing at piles of hay or bloody meat, and slaves running back and forth, keeping them fed. “Oh, right,” he huffed, embarrassed. “I’m only a little back-water deity, clearly all I can afford is that little box you saw.”
She giggled again. “It is okay, my lord. I have cousins, the Dryads, who have a single oak tree apiece. They have often complained to my sisters and I about the room we have.”
They had crossed the space to stand a the foot of another set of steps, this one designed on a godlike scale. “I am afraid to tell you, my lord,” she said sadly, “That you slept through the wedding itself. But at a little over two days, the reception itself is barely started. It is at the top of these stairs.”
He looked at her, startled. “Won’t you be coming too?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, I will be there soon, my lord. I would hardly miss my own sister’s reception.” She pointed at a good looking man a few feet away. “I, however, have someone else I must accompany, if you do not mind, my lord.”
He sensed the budding romance between the nymph and the brawny hero. “No, I do not mind, Lysianassa. I am a lonely god, after all.”He waved at the pair. “Go ahead, I’ll follow you up.” The lovers looked at each other, giggling, then raced up the stairs, leaving him stunned at the bottom.
“I really am getting too old for this kind of thing,” he said as he trudged up the broad marble steps.
When he finally reached the top, a man stood waiting for him. “Ah, my lord!” he said exuberantly. “I am afraid Lysianassa did not tell me what your name was. I need to now before I can announce you.” He indicated his trumpet in his hand for emphasis.
“I’m… the Doctor…” he wheezed, feeling very out of shape.
The man grinned and blasted on the instrument. “The minor god of disappearing temples and hermits, The Doctor!” The assembled group of humans, gods, and demigods looked up, examining the small man standing by the herald, then returned to their food and wine, uninterested.
“Why did you say I was the god of hermits?” the Doctor sputtered, annoyed.
“Well, that is what she told me, that you were a lonely god,” the man defended.
“Yeah, but… ah… never mind. I need some wine.” He stumbled off to the bar, hoping it was open.
“Nectar, Doctor?” a young man asked, smiling as he held a gold cup up to him. He nodded and drank it down greedily, trying to abate his powerful thirst. His eye landed on a poster behind the barkeeps head, making him spray his drink all over.
It read in large Cyrillic letters “Today, the wedding of Peleus son of Aeacus, to Thetis, the Nereid. Tomorrow, Hades 212438th annual poker tournament. “ He set his glass done, face white. “The Peleus and Thetis?” he asked, shocked.
“Why, yes, indeed, do you know them?” a gruff voice said as a large hand clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to look at the bearded god beside him, most obviously Poseidon, given the massive trident he held in his other hand. “You know, Zeus and I both wanted to marry her… but then we found out that her son will be greater than his father.” He belched loudly and held his hands up, swaying slightly. “Well, after that, neither of us wanted to touch that.”
“So you handed her off to a human instead?”
Poseidon winked at him over a fresh cup of wine. “ ‘Sactly, Doctor. Got to screw these men over any way you can, you’ll find that out when you get older. Now if you s’cuse me, I think there’s a nymph over there who need shome ‘tention…” he wandered over to his consort, Amphitrite, as the Doctor worried a lip over his teeth.
“You haven’t drank enough, Doctor,” the barkeep said as he poured more wine into his goblet.
“You don’t understand,” he said urgently. “If this is the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, then something very bad is going to go down.” He thought for a second, then slapped himself. “Of course!” Lysianassa’s words ran through his head. “We did decide that maybe you represented bad luck, but… she wasn’t invited.” He ran back to the herald. “Listen, hey, me again. I was just wondering, was someone left off the guest list? Somebody who would be very upset?”
The herald thought as he pulled a scroll out of his pocket. “No, everyone was invited. Literally, everyone,” he said as he eyed the rumpled Doctor critically, making his point obvious. He returned his gaze to the parchment, then gasped. “Oh, there was one!” He said, but was interrupted by a loud bang behind the Doctor.
“Eris!” the collected crowd yelled, confirming his fears. He turned to face them, seeing people sprawled across the room, a wall of smoke rolling outwards from a woman in the middle, the goddess of strife and discord herself. She smiled and tossed a golden apple onto the floor. Another bang and puff of smoke, and she was gone, her laughter echoing off the walls. The party goers stood around, perplexed.
Reluctantly the Doctor inched his way to the middle and picked up the apple, seeing at first an inscription in Greek before the TARDIS translated it for him. “For the Fairest,” he read aloud, his soul sinking.
&&&
This is, of course, just the beginning of the Illiad. I was thinking of doing the whole story, but that is a lot. The Doctor would be stuck in the events of the Trojan war and get his TARDIS back at the end, or something. I donno. What I do know is, I need help with my drunk Poseidon speech. Help-a girl out?
Or, if you like, the Ill'I'ad.
You get it, the Illiad? I worked hard on that. I think I had that title before I had the idea for the story. Anyway. Of course I don't own Doctor Who or the Illiad. But I do have a copy of it upstairs on my bookshelf. Go me. Enjoy this crack!fic. And if you don't think it is very crack, then you need to study more Greek mythology.
&&&
He was excited. If he had a companion at that time, they wouldn’t even have to know him well enough to know that he wore high tops with everything to know that he was incredibly, over-the-top, excited. And why not? Despite being utterly alone he was still capable of enjoying his solitary existence, and so with a flourish he set his coordinates to a random place and time on Earth and listened in rapture as he moved through the Void.
When he arrived, he trusted his oldest and truest companion, the TARDIS itself, and managed to ignore the quiet alarm it was trying to give him. The least he could have done was checked the outside conditions, like atmosphere, pressure, visual feed… the seven day forecast… but in his mood he decided to ignore all of it.
‘Why do I even bother?’ the sentient TARDIS' thought despondently, and had a group of mops move towards the door, in a manner not unlike The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, except without the brooms. ‘Oh, a broom, that might come in handy,’ the TARDIS realised, and chased the stray thought, as absent-minded as her Timelord.
So it came to pass that he grabbed his long brown coat off the forked column by the ramp, grabbed his key from one of the many pockets, and pelted to the door, excitement painted in every feature and line of his body. He reached for the door, noticing belatedly that they seemed to be straining ever-so-slightly. As his hand came into contact, they burst open inwardly, a veritable wall of seawater and creatures pummeling him.
‘Yes, and a dustpan, and a new-oh!” the TARDIS noticed guiltily, and applied a negative force, pushing the water back out, watching with slight amusement as her Timelord went sweeping out of the door as well, a look of disbelief on his face. After the doors slammed shut, she sat in silence, then seemed to release a sigh. “Mops!” she ordered, then decided, for a laugh, to disappear into the Void and reappear on the beach somewhere.
This, however, did the Doctor no good. He tried in vain to move toward the TARDIS, but the light on top started flashing, and it’s outline became blurry and less solid. The absence it created a millisecond after disappearing was filled with a rush of water, and he felt himself pulled toward it, too late.
He hadn’t had much opportunity to hold his breath before being swept out the doors. He looked around, feeling his mind get a little foggy around the edges. ‘Where am I at?” he wondered and tilted his head back, trying to ascertain how far underwater he was and how long it would take him to swim to the surface.
The TARDIS appeared on a deserted sandy beach, and seemed to be trying to shake water droplets off itself. Eventually the door opened and a gout of water and fish flooded out. After purging herself, she pulled out a mental checklist. “Calypso Deep in the Ionian sea, the deepest spot in the Mediterranean at 5,267 meters, not so fun to visit after all,” she noted, the stored it away for future reference. Belatedly she pulled the file back out and noted on the end: (3.27 miles.)
Then she waited for her Timelord to come back.
He was otherwise occupied. The weight of his clothes, the pressure of the water, it was all acting against him, but he continued to feebly fight against them all. Fish darted around him furtively, and the occasional bigger silhouette farther out frightened him half to death every time he saw one.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. It had been a good twenty minutes, and his lungs and limbs ached. He wondered if he would regenerate, decided he probably would, but would drown almost immediately, then regenerate again, burning through all his remaining bodies instantaneously. Unless he came back as a gilled creature… he shook his head, trying to clear his head. He noticed, somewhat too late, that he had stopped swimming, and the larger fish shadows were getting closer. “So this is the end?” he thought as his eyes slid shut. “Well, at least I will have that mermaid for company…” his eyes snapped open. “Wait, mermaid?”
He gasped as she laid a hand on his shoulder, then tried to close his mouth. Too late, the little oxygen left in his lungs escaped, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he blacked out.
He slowly woke up, moving his head back and forth. Suddenly, with a scream, he started peddling his arms and legs, trying to swim for the surface. In his terror, he fell off the narrow bed he was laying on, landing with a thump on a hard floor. He opened his eyes, looking around, reassuring himself that he was breathing air. He patted himself down, trying to decide if he was actually still alive. Not only was he still breathing, but his clothes were dry. “I’m dry as a bone,” he said aloud, a hand thrust up under his shirt against his skin. “How long have I been unconscious that I am completely dry and still fully dressed?”
“Oh, for about two days,” a musical female voice said from somewhere out of his eye shot. He jumped to his feet, yelping, and looked around crazily. She seemed to appear out of the wall, the very image from ancient Greek art. “I am sorry to disturb you, Lord, but I was told to watch you until you awoke, and then escort you directly to the wedding. Are you feeling recovered?”
He tried to act like he knew what she was talking about. “Yes, of course I am. On to the… wedding.”
She examined him. “Would my lord wish to change his clothes into something more informal?”
He examined his suit, chic-geek and clean, if a little ruffled. “More informal than this? I am wearing my PJ Flyers, how more informal would you like for me to get?”
She bowed her head. “As you wish, my lord.” She held her arm out to him. “My name is Lysianassa, by the way. Shall we proceed?” he gladly accepted and held her arm, trying to figure out what important event in history he was crashing.
“Lysianassa, the last thing I remember was being in the water. Was it you who saved me?”
She giggled. “Yes, my lord. I asked around, and nobody knew for certain what patron god you were, but obviously, we agreed, it was not of swimming, being rational, or punctual. We did decide that maybe you represented bad luck, but… she wasn’t invited.”
He thought hard. “I’m a god?”
She looked up at him. “Well, we saw your temple appear and then disappear. Was it not a holy place where you live, my lord?”
He decided there were bigger mysteries to figure out in life than how this mix-up had occurred. “Well, of course, it is my sanctuary. I move around a lot. Can’t handle the property taxes in Rome, it is horrible there.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Rome, my lord?”
He backpedaled. “Did I say Rome? I meant Athens.”
“Ah, Athens… yes, I hear it is quite expensive there. Man is always making life too complicated for their own good.” They climbed some steps, revealing a large arched doorway opening up into a huge opulent space that appeared to come straight out of The Little Mermaid. “Oh, wow,” he said, truly overawed. “What is this place?”
“This is the parking garage, lord.”
His eyes adjusted, the rose-tinted filters over his mind’s eye falling away. He noticed the massive chariots covered in rare metals and jewels, exotic and mythical animals pawing at piles of hay or bloody meat, and slaves running back and forth, keeping them fed. “Oh, right,” he huffed, embarrassed. “I’m only a little back-water deity, clearly all I can afford is that little box you saw.”
She giggled again. “It is okay, my lord. I have cousins, the Dryads, who have a single oak tree apiece. They have often complained to my sisters and I about the room we have.”
They had crossed the space to stand a the foot of another set of steps, this one designed on a godlike scale. “I am afraid to tell you, my lord,” she said sadly, “That you slept through the wedding itself. But at a little over two days, the reception itself is barely started. It is at the top of these stairs.”
He looked at her, startled. “Won’t you be coming too?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, I will be there soon, my lord. I would hardly miss my own sister’s reception.” She pointed at a good looking man a few feet away. “I, however, have someone else I must accompany, if you do not mind, my lord.”
He sensed the budding romance between the nymph and the brawny hero. “No, I do not mind, Lysianassa. I am a lonely god, after all.”He waved at the pair. “Go ahead, I’ll follow you up.” The lovers looked at each other, giggling, then raced up the stairs, leaving him stunned at the bottom.
“I really am getting too old for this kind of thing,” he said as he trudged up the broad marble steps.
When he finally reached the top, a man stood waiting for him. “Ah, my lord!” he said exuberantly. “I am afraid Lysianassa did not tell me what your name was. I need to now before I can announce you.” He indicated his trumpet in his hand for emphasis.
“I’m… the Doctor…” he wheezed, feeling very out of shape.
The man grinned and blasted on the instrument. “The minor god of disappearing temples and hermits, The Doctor!” The assembled group of humans, gods, and demigods looked up, examining the small man standing by the herald, then returned to their food and wine, uninterested.
“Why did you say I was the god of hermits?” the Doctor sputtered, annoyed.
“Well, that is what she told me, that you were a lonely god,” the man defended.
“Yeah, but… ah… never mind. I need some wine.” He stumbled off to the bar, hoping it was open.
“Nectar, Doctor?” a young man asked, smiling as he held a gold cup up to him. He nodded and drank it down greedily, trying to abate his powerful thirst. His eye landed on a poster behind the barkeeps head, making him spray his drink all over.
It read in large Cyrillic letters “Today, the wedding of Peleus son of Aeacus, to Thetis, the Nereid. Tomorrow, Hades 212438th annual poker tournament. “ He set his glass done, face white. “The Peleus and Thetis?” he asked, shocked.
“Why, yes, indeed, do you know them?” a gruff voice said as a large hand clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to look at the bearded god beside him, most obviously Poseidon, given the massive trident he held in his other hand. “You know, Zeus and I both wanted to marry her… but then we found out that her son will be greater than his father.” He belched loudly and held his hands up, swaying slightly. “Well, after that, neither of us wanted to touch that.”
“So you handed her off to a human instead?”
Poseidon winked at him over a fresh cup of wine. “ ‘Sactly, Doctor. Got to screw these men over any way you can, you’ll find that out when you get older. Now if you s’cuse me, I think there’s a nymph over there who need shome ‘tention…” he wandered over to his consort, Amphitrite, as the Doctor worried a lip over his teeth.
“You haven’t drank enough, Doctor,” the barkeep said as he poured more wine into his goblet.
“You don’t understand,” he said urgently. “If this is the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, then something very bad is going to go down.” He thought for a second, then slapped himself. “Of course!” Lysianassa’s words ran through his head. “We did decide that maybe you represented bad luck, but… she wasn’t invited.” He ran back to the herald. “Listen, hey, me again. I was just wondering, was someone left off the guest list? Somebody who would be very upset?”
The herald thought as he pulled a scroll out of his pocket. “No, everyone was invited. Literally, everyone,” he said as he eyed the rumpled Doctor critically, making his point obvious. He returned his gaze to the parchment, then gasped. “Oh, there was one!” He said, but was interrupted by a loud bang behind the Doctor.
“Eris!” the collected crowd yelled, confirming his fears. He turned to face them, seeing people sprawled across the room, a wall of smoke rolling outwards from a woman in the middle, the goddess of strife and discord herself. She smiled and tossed a golden apple onto the floor. Another bang and puff of smoke, and she was gone, her laughter echoing off the walls. The party goers stood around, perplexed.
Reluctantly the Doctor inched his way to the middle and picked up the apple, seeing at first an inscription in Greek before the TARDIS translated it for him. “For the Fairest,” he read aloud, his soul sinking.
&&&
This is, of course, just the beginning of the Illiad. I was thinking of doing the whole story, but that is a lot. The Doctor would be stuck in the events of the Trojan war and get his TARDIS back at the end, or something. I donno. What I do know is, I need help with my drunk Poseidon speech. Help-a girl out?