For all of you lot who haven't noticed, I have a story up in the writing section. Most here have read it, but some haven't. This notice is, mainly, for those that haven't. Also, I'm continuing this one, as soon as I print it up for easy reference. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
I like it. a lot. Douglas Adams' style jokes and all... (The intelligent panel, for example... ) By the way I noticed that the bginning of the story repeats? The read more link will take you to the whole story, so you don't need to copy just the beginning, you need to cut and paste.
I hope you meant the parts where you entered the first paragraph twice, I deleted that for you. I noticed it the other day when I was reading the first bit, but I thought you'd done it on purpose because of some time travelling type thing that was going to be explained later.
41:00 The Doctor was sitting in his room, or rather rooms, a vast complex with a bedroom, living room, automated kitchenette, and two bathrooms. The Doctor always tried to plan ahead, and having two bathrooms just in case is always a good idea. It turned out to be a masterful idea, as the contractor in charge of plumbing also liked to plan ahead, and what a plumber plans today is the money he’s going to earn tomorrow. The Doctor, now much calmer and no longer crying into his pillow, was in fact reviewing the recent plumbing bill. For the hundredth time, he asked himself why they kept paying the man every damn time, and even more importantly why the man was still alive to send bills. And then he remembered the last time that they had called in a different plumber, and shuddered. The poor fellow set out to work as soon as he arrived, lean and keen and ready to earn his due, but it was soon apparent that the plumbing baffled him. He still gave his best, and decided to try to understand the mess that was the piping from the central plumbing room below the complex main. Then the screams began. The Doctor had never ventured to the area below the complex, where pipes, steam and poor ventilation ruled the day, but he decided to see it for himself after the lads dragged the poor plumber out of there, screaming and frothing. One glance was enough. The Doctor never thought pipes could look so menacing. So… alive. He paid the plumber’s psychiatric counselling bills. It was the least he could do, he felt. Last he heard, the fellow was recovering quite well. He was making ornate baskets these days, and in fact had sent one for the Doctor’s last birthday, but he was rumoured to still whimper at the sight of a monkey wrench. The next step had been to make a few discreet investigations, which revealed what the Doctor had now been expecting to find. It was still surprising, though, for while Evil manifested itself in many shapes and forms, it was quite shocking to have it manifested as Harry Davis & Sons, Plumbing. The Doctor then did what any other evil mastermind would do in his place, which was to nominate Davis for the Evil Mastermind League. It went down without much of a hassle, the Doctor recalled, as even the more traditional members of the League could see that Davis’ operation was a work of a truly demented genius (and the hints the Doctor dropped about a possible discount on the plumber’s services to his new best mates was picked up eventually, even by those who needed hearing aids). Still, they had argued, there was something ultimately wrong that a person who, in ages past, would have directed a sect of blood-thirsty, power-hungry, demon-worshipping cultists in an orgy of death and destruction, was now doing their plumbing with a nod and a smile. The Doctor said that Davis’ hobbies had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and the vote passed more or less smoothly from that point on. They got their discount, just as the Doctor concluded, so at least it wasn’t daylight robbery any more, but the bills were still a horror to behold. The Doctor sighed, and put the bill down. He’d pay the man, as he always did, and he’d smile while he did so, as he always did, and Davis would smile as well, a grin the Doctor always associated with the sharks he used to have for some reason, and all would be well until the next pipe blew. The Doctor banished those thoughts from his mind. Time, he decided, to do something useful. Like making sure Ron was fixing the Statue of Liberty, and making his life a living hell if he wasn’t finished yet. To Doctor got up, and cracked his fingers in anticipation. And after he was finished with Ron, he thought as he walked towards the door, he would prepare the new crew for a possible assault. No self-respecting government let the evil genius blackmailing it get away with it without doing its very best to take him down. He wondered who they would send against him this time… * * * Below the Doctor’s feet, the six surviving members of the Doctor’s former team were making their way through a dank pipe. Of the three who lost their lives, one perished when his brain decided that as it was falling into a pit of molten lava, it might as well be spared the excruciating pain usually associated with burning in high temperatures, and promptly shut off, the second drowned in three feet of fake lava, and the third slipped into one of the side pipes, never to be seen again. The readers will agree that nothing was truly lost for humanity. The big man (whom we will call Number Two), who's funny uniform was now dirty and torn, was carefully considering the assents they had. This did not take long. They had all the crap, mucky water, and corroded pipes they could ever ask for. At the moment, Number Two pondered, that didn't seem like much of an assent. They also had their helmets, and the fact that they glowed in the dark gave the survivors at least limited visibility. Still, he couldn't understand why the glowing but on the helmet looked so much like the dartboard they had in the recreation room*. Probably just a coincidence. He should have listened to his mother, Number Two thought as he lowered his foot once more into a liquid that was, in all honesty, not all that liquid. 'Join the mafia, like your father,' she had said. 'You get a free suit, a benefit plan, your own tommy gun, and a discount at the Laundromat for all your bloody clothes. And you get to meet people,' she had said, 'and you get connections with people in the construction business, which is always good.' He sorely wished now that he had listened to her, but he was young then, and stupid (terms which are often synonymous), and thought that he could achieve fame and fortune by joining the Doctor's Unkindest. The Doctor had promised travel, a uniform, and world domination by next Tuesday, and while the travel was quite exciting at times, the uniform was too exciting. Number Two winced in memory. The uniform of an evil mastermind's henchman should make small children run away, but not because they wanted to get the rotten eggs. He sighed, and trundled on. He'd make it out of here, he promised himself, even if he was the only one left alive. Judging by their food stores, or lack thereof, he thought, that very well may be the case. *It was more of a recreation broom closet. It made most dart games short, sharp, and quite painful.
[quote:3e1062c7ba="Tephlon"]Yay! Too short, write more! [/quote:3e1062c7ba] More shall be written... eventually.
