Thursday, May 28, 2009

If *I* Had Written The Massacre IV

(Preslin's shop. Mickey and Annie enter.)

Mickey: OK. The Doctor's dead, there's no sign of the TARDIS key, and there's a massacre tomorrow that makes Jim Jones look like an April Fool Prank. On a scale of one to ten, we're completely screwed.

(Suddenly the Doctor climbs out of the carpet.)

Doctor: Oooh! Massive brain damage! That's the killer! Molte Bene!

Mickey: What the hell were you doing in there?

Doctor: Coming down very slowly. Wow, what a buzz. Anyway, Mickey, how have you been?

Mickey: OK. You just spent three days on a massive trip at the exact same time and place a guy with your EXACT face and voice happened to be part of a conspiracy? I mean, is that suspicious or what?

Doctor: Now you come to mention it... kinda. Right, let's get out of this crapheap.

Annie: Too late, the curfew bell's rung?

Doctor: Don't tell me what the time is! I'm the Last of the Time Lords! Who are you, anyway?

Annie: Annie "No Nuts" Shapleeeeeeee, monsieur.

Doctor: You've got a Cornish accent.

Annie: Lots of Parisian wenches are born in Cornwall. Anyway, tomorrow is Saint Bartholomew's Day in honor of the transexual secret agent, so we can sneak out in the crowds.

Mickey: That's sorted then.

Doctor: Ahm, not QUITE. You know that Massacre I mentioned? The Massacre of Saint Bartolomew?

Mickey: Oooh. Shit.

Doctor: You betcha. Well, Annie, sorry, but we can't take you with us, so you can go home and hide out somewhere for tomorrow. Maybe you can blackmail a bishop or something to get out of town and settle in England?

Mickey: You really think that'd happen?

Doctor: Only one way to find out...

(At the Louvre, the Marshall is bitching to Dubar. As always.)

Marshall: Right, what you've got to do is find Mickey, blame him for the death of the Abbot, kill him and hope no one puts two and two together.

Dubar: This sucks. What the hell are YOU going to be doing, boss man?

Ratbag: Oooh, Marshall?

Marshall: Sweet crap, what do you want now, you daft old bat?

Ratbag: Stuff all this assassination business. We do the jihad tomorrow and let the mob do our work for them.

Marshall: Exsqueeze me!? You think that rioting mobs are precision instruments?


Marshall: Lady, half the Protestants are just lying to impress the chicks! You start a bloodbath, you'll wipe out most of Paris on both sides!

Ratbag: France will breath of pure air after tomorrow.

Marshall: It'll breathe fumes of rotting corpses! And what about your son in law?!

Ratbag: He's no son of mine!

Dubar: Yes, he IS, miss. Remember?

Marshall: Kill Prince Henry and there'll be a Holy War! Run by people not quite as stupid as you, you bitch!

Ratbag: If one Protestant life escapes me tomorrow, we may both regret this act of mercy!!

Marshall: Maybe, but I won't regret THIS!

(The Marshall blows her brains out.)

Dubar: That won't stop the bloodshed.

Marshall: No, but by god it made me feel good.

Dubar: But now we are to unleash the wolves of Paris. None are to be spared. At dawn tomorrow this city will weep tears of blood.

Marshall: Oh, piss off you pretentious twat.

(At the Admiral's Pad, stuff is happening in a rather nondescript way.)

De Laren: Dude, the Catholics are going to kill us! And you've actually let a Catholic Guard under a Catholic Commander GUARD your house! Are you TRYING to get killed here, Admiral?!

Admiral: Oh, stop yer whining, bitch. How the hell does Price Henry put up with you?

De Laren: Generally by me not turning up for work.

(There's a knock at the door.)

Captain: (vo) Ah, hello. Someone order a genocidal ethnic cleansing?

Muss: Sounds about right.

(Muss goes to open the door.)

De Laren: NO!!!!!

(Too late! The door opens and the Imperial Stormtroopers surge in.)

Muss: Oops. Still, I'm sure everything will sort itself out.

(Moments later, the bullet-riddled and stark naked Admiral is thrown through the upstairs windows and falls into the street where Catholics leap upon the body and tear the Admiral's head off. The Doctor and Mickey watch this on the scanner.)

Doctor: France. It's a different planet.

(The Doctor sets the controls and takes off. )

Mickey: So what happens next?

Doctor: It'll die down after a few days and twelve thousand dead, but it gets very fashionable throughout France. Religion and politics, Mickey. Never end up anywhere good. So, the Admiral, Muss, De Laren, that annoying bastard running the landlord, those washer women, that kid kicking a ball of paper... all dead.

Mickey: What about Annie?

Doctor: What have I always told you about time travel, Mickey?

Mickey: Take precautions. I never told anyone the future.

Doctor: Eh? Jings, Mickey, I mean contraceptives! How many times did you do it with that Cornish chick?

Mickey: Wait a minute...

Doctor: Now, IF Annie was smart enough to get out of town and escape to England, IF she managed to survive a perilous sea voyage while pregnant and IF she had a boy and IF that boy grew up to carry on the Chapleeeeeeee name, then we can prove she survived by finding her descendent.

Mickey: That is... creepy.

Doctor: Gallifreyan Genealogy, Mickey Boy!

Mickey: It won't. Like she could escape carnage that killed twelve thousand people!

(The TARDIS lands. A girl runs through the doors.)

Dodo: Where's the telephone?

Mickey: What? You didn't notice the whole bigger on the inside thing?

Dodo: Well, this IS a police box. It says so outside.

Doctor: Jings.

Dodo: Wait a minute, if this ISN'T a police box, what is it? And who are you?

Mickey: Piss off, girl!

Doctor: Hang on a sec, what's your name?

Dodo: Dodo.

Mickey: Man, you unlucky cow.

Dodo: Dorothea really. Dorothea Chaplet.

Mickey: Chaplet?! You're not French are you?

Dodo: Don't be daft! Me granddad was, though.

Doctor: Oh yeah! Didn't I say, Mickey? Didn't I say? Annie Chapleeee's descendant.

(They both stare at Dodo.)

Doctor: It's really rather depressing, isn't it?

Mickey: Yeah. Like the Morlocks, only a hell of a lot more personal.

Dodo: Who are you anyway?

Doctor AND Mickey: PISS OFF!

(They bundle her out the doors.)

Mickey: This story sucks immensely.

Doctor: Trust me. Wipe the video prints and give a really inaccurate novelization, they'll be lauding this as the epitome of sophistication, even after they hear the soundtrack. Now, how about dealing with a bunch of freaky aliens on the day the sun explodes and destroys the Earth?

Mickey: Any French people?

Doctor: (thinks about it) Nope.

Mickey: Power up the Crystals, Cardinal!!

Doctor: ...don't do that. No. No. Just... don't. Do that. Don't.


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