theatrical_muse #185: It's your moment of triumph! Where are you and what are you doing?
And in the end, everybody lived. Even Jack, especially Jack. Jack who they went and got right after Rose mentioned, what about him? Of course the Doctor wasn't going to let him get blown up by some wayward German bomb!
("What's that writing say, anyway?" "Bad Wolf, or something like it.")
They were dancing the day night morning evening dawn dusk away. The Doctor and Rose. Rose and Jack. Jack and the Doctor. Music from the 40's. The 80's. The 3490's. Laughing and carrying on.
("Pardon me, Captain, but is that a hand on my arse?" "Oh, sorry, there should be two there, silly me.")
And how they were all alive, living in ways they had probably done so before, but not quite like this, not as intense or enjoyable or new as this. The strobe lights of the console room. The strange new old instruments weaving intricate tunes that the body just had to move to. Laughing and carrying on like it was the end of the world and nobody cared. Nobody did.
("Hey, where do you keep the drinks here? Any hypervodka?" "What's hypervodka?" "Something you're not going to have.")
The others, everyone, alive, everybody. Young, old, men, women, patients, doctors, sinners and saints. Not a single alien-induced casualty, and that was the most elating feeling. The feeling of floating. Top of the world. Top of the universe.
("Do people die often around you? Should I be worried?" "Nothing could ever worry you.")
Parents and their children. Always something to be proud of. Lost and found again. Hope for the future to come, stigmas be damned. This was his day, and nobody and nothing was about to take that away from him. Just a few short days, a few short hours that didn't include running from explosions and telling others how sorry they were for their loss.
("We'll make sure you have more days like this." "'Course you will. If you didn't, I'd probably have to kick you out." "Aw, and I've just gotten so comfortable here.")
There would be no parade, no victory cry, no novels written. No songs, no television specials, no feature films. Few people were ever going to remember. But there was a celebration, three friends partying until they could no longer stand, in memory of a night well-spent.
("A toast. To those who lived." "Hear, hear.")
("What's that writing say, anyway?" "Bad Wolf, or something like it.")
They were dancing the day night morning evening dawn dusk away. The Doctor and Rose. Rose and Jack. Jack and the Doctor. Music from the 40's. The 80's. The 3490's. Laughing and carrying on.
("Pardon me, Captain, but is that a hand on my arse?" "Oh, sorry, there should be two there, silly me.")
And how they were all alive, living in ways they had probably done so before, but not quite like this, not as intense or enjoyable or new as this. The strobe lights of the console room. The strange new old instruments weaving intricate tunes that the body just had to move to. Laughing and carrying on like it was the end of the world and nobody cared. Nobody did.
("Hey, where do you keep the drinks here? Any hypervodka?" "What's hypervodka?" "Something you're not going to have.")
The others, everyone, alive, everybody. Young, old, men, women, patients, doctors, sinners and saints. Not a single alien-induced casualty, and that was the most elating feeling. The feeling of floating. Top of the world. Top of the universe.
("Do people die often around you? Should I be worried?" "Nothing could ever worry you.")
Parents and their children. Always something to be proud of. Lost and found again. Hope for the future to come, stigmas be damned. This was his day, and nobody and nothing was about to take that away from him. Just a few short days, a few short hours that didn't include running from explosions and telling others how sorry they were for their loss.
("We'll make sure you have more days like this." "'Course you will. If you didn't, I'd probably have to kick you out." "Aw, and I've just gotten so comfortable here.")
There would be no parade, no victory cry, no novels written. No songs, no television specials, no feature films. Few people were ever going to remember. But there was a celebration, three friends partying until they could no longer stand, in memory of a night well-spent.
("A toast. To those who lived." "Hear, hear.")