The Black Pot

I don't so much not believe in Destiny as I do refuse to acknowledge it. I don't like being bossed around, not by anyone and certainly not by abstract concepts. Abstract concepts like Fate and Destiny have about as much authority over me as Good Sense and Propriety do.

Still, none of that means that a smart bloke can't sometimes pretty clearly see the shape of things to come. Wouldn't be here if I didn't. Still, there's a difference between Destiny and being able to accurately follow things through to their logical conclusion.

All of this rambling does, believe it or not, lead us on to our topic of discussion. What predictions would you make about this new year we're all facing? What do you see coming? End of the world? Critical shortage of sausages? And if anyone's got the numbers for the National Lottery, pass 'em on to the hostile waitress, yeah?

The tag for this month is predictions, and please claim your characters here.

The Doctor remains in his seat, grinning. "Nicely done!" he cheers for Quirrell, applauding.

He gets to his feet and tucks his hands into his pockets, then leans against the edge of the table and waits for the crowd to quiet down. When he can speak without having to raise his voice much, he begins, smiling as he does.

"See the thing about time travel, is that it makes it possible to go back into the past and make sure people you... care about get just the thing they were hoping for, just what they wanted, for the holidays. It's a little bit like playing Father Christmas." He grins. "Maybe even better than playing Father Christmas, because it's a complete surprise to the people getting the gift... Can't really stick around to reveal yourself -- just think of the paradoxes it would cause if they met you before they really meet you!"

"And..." He removes one hand from his pocket and points to the crowd, tone a somewhat stern. "For those of you more familiar with the rules about timelines and interfering with them, if done properly -- that is, making sure you aren't seen – the whole secret-gift-giving-thing is sort-of permissible under the Cheap Tricks clause. Which is a very important clause. Not unlike Santa."

He shrugs, then hurries on to better explain himself, speaking rapidly. "And it's not every year that I do it, just, you know, every once in a while, when I see something special. A microscope for Liz, an out-of-print book on plants Peri. Rare recording for Grace. And plenty of others." He grins, eyes twinkling. "Don't want to ruin any surprises."

His smile fades, expression becoming more serious. He speaks again after a moment. "But I think the best present I ever gave was a red bicycle. To Rose Tyler. When she was twelve." He smiles fondly. "I thought she’d like it. And the red – not sure if it was a favourite colour, but like a rose... " He shrugs and smiles somewhat sheepishly. "I thought it was an appropriate choice at any rate. And it made me think of her."

After another pause, he continues quietly. "I told her about it, one time, after we'd started traveling together. I was smiling, had a good day, saved the world, met Jack, everyone lived, and she said to me, she said 'Look at you, beaming away like you're Father Christmas.' And I replied, 'Who says I'm not, red-bicycle-when-you-were-twelve.'" He grins, eyes looking a bit too bright and continues with a short chuckle, "I don't think she believed me!" His smile fades, expression turning wistful, before he shrugs and adds "But that's fine." He stands quietly for a moment, looking downward, scuffing the floor with his trainer..

He takes a deep breath, shakes his head, trying to shake off his mood, before continuing. "Anyway! What I would want as a present..." He hesitates a moment, then speaks quietly. "Well, it's really not worth destroying the universe for. Well, she is. But... Never mind." He shakes his head forcefully. "Impossible! Not important!"

"And besides!" he bursts with forced enthusiasm, smile taking a moment to become truly genuine. "It's the season of giving!"

"So, tell you what, I have too many things. Really. The TARDIS is bursting, which..." he breaks off, nodding emphatically before continuing on in a rush "...is saying something, seeing as it's dimensionally transcendental. So, you're all invited to stop over after our meeting this evening and pick something out. Anything you want out the wardrobe, the library, storage, even the art gallery. Though, you will have to arrange how to transport whatever you select, since, you know, my ship is still not quite working."

"Ah!" he adds quickly. "And, I'll make sure my... er, roommate is out... or locked up... or something... so he can't bother you at all." He lowers his voice. "He's... a bit Grinch."

He grins suddenly and takes his seat. "Hope to see you later! And Happy Holidays!"

Q can't quite believe he's actually going to do this. He gulps down the rest of his third (or is it fourth?) drink and goes up to the stage. He takes the boom box he's just gotten (no WAY is he doing this a capella!)and and after a brief struggle with plugging it in, Q pushes play and turns to face the audience. He sings, doing his best Eartha Kitt:

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree,
For me.
been an awful good boy,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, a 54 convertible too,
Light blue.
I'll wait up for you dear,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Think of all the fun I've missed,
Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed,
Next year I could be just as good,
If you'll check off my Christmas list,

Santa baby, I wanna yacht,
And really that's not a lot,
Been an angel all year,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa honey, there's one thing I really do need,
The deed
To a platinum mine,
Santa honey, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex,
And checks.
Sign your 'X' on the line,
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Come and trim my Christmas tree,
With some decorations bought at Tiffany's,
I really do believe in you,
Let's see if you believe in me,

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing,
A ring.
I don't mean on the phone,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight,
Hurry down the chimney tonight,
Hurry, tonight.

Merlin watches people get up and speak about all sorts of things, some very interesting--and most very confusing. So much he doesn't understand about this place! But being here--in the future--is the most amazing spell he's ever experienced. He isn't sure this is what Gaius intended, but while he was here he planned to learn as much as he could.

So he sits, enraptured, listening to speeches about things he doesn't understand but plans to eventually. Soon everything begins to jumble in his mind despite his best efforts to keep it all straight. One person's speech in particular though stays with him throughout the night.

Trying not to attract any undue attention, Merlin leaves the cafe, and steps around the side of the building. This spell is one he's practiced many times, the first he ever learned actually, so he is confident he'll be able to make it work right. At least, he better.

Five minutes pass...

Merlin steps back into the cafe, a white box tucked under his arm. His timing is fortuitous...the stage is empty. His face heating, he drops his chin and shoves his way, carefully, toward it. With a deep breath, he climbs up and stands nervously in the center of the stage.

"Um, well. Hi. I'm Merlin, new here. I don't have anything to say about Christmas or presents, really, except I do have something to say about giving."

He shifts a little, looking around at the audience. There are only two familiar faces as he's only met two people. He just hopes the one isn't upset that he has nothing for him.

"I've never had much, growing up, my mum being poor. But she always tried to do her best, no matter what time of year it was. Once she gave me a sword, because I wanted to learn how to slay dragons. Except then," he says, grinning, "she told me that it would be pretty stupid to slay a dragon because one can learn so much from them." He pauses, glances at the Doctor, remembers what he told him about wizards. He takes a deep breath.

"And she was right," he says softly. "Dragons are brilliant."

He smiles. "She gave me my first books, and my, um, first spell book too, even though I burned it the next week because the King's soldiers were coming through our village and I didn't want her to get into trouble. In Camelot, doing magic is illegal, and, well, the King..." He gulps, remembering his first day in Camelot, seeing for himself exactly what the King did to those who knew magic.

"Anyway. She risked a lot, her life, by giving me that book. I read it every chance I could, except I had to read it in secret because it was a dangerous book to have. One of the things I learned, um, I have... Well. I'll show you."

He holds the box out in front of himself, blinks, his gaze resting on Data. "I can't help you with your ambient metaphasic impulse conduit. But I can help you with the other thing you were wanting. I guess this is a present, then."

Stepping off the stage, he stands in front of Data with the box. It wiggles.

"I hope you like her," he says, holding the box out.

Data understands giving and receiving presents. Many, many cultures observe a similar practice. "That is a very nice thought. If it is not any trouble, I would like to request an ambient metaphasic impulse conduit. That, or a quantum duodynetic plasma scanner. Either one would be welcome." He pauses. "I realize that these may be difficult for you to come by here, so perhaps I should just ask for a cat. I miss Spot."

It strikes me as being rather wrong and unfestive not to have a holiday-themed topic of discussion for December, and so this month I'd like to talk about presents. Who doesn't love presents? So what I want to know is this: what would you like for Christmas and why? Or what's the best present you can think of to give someone else? A real present or a hypothetical one, I don't mind.

And, should you be inspired to give your humble waitress waiter a present, you should of course feel very welcome to do so.

The tag for this month is presents, and please claim your characters here.

"Right. Advice."

He nods as Ianto finishes speaking and gets to his feet, leaning against his table for a moment. "Well, when you get to be my age, you've heard a fair amount, given a fair amount... So, here is the best possible advice I can give you, advice based on -- and I'm not joking -- centuries of experience."

He holds up two fingers and nods once, quite serious. "It's actually a two-parter."

He continues on, speaking loudly, walking among the tables. "One, is run."

"But not right now," he adds quickly. "Just... in general. Well... more specifically, know when to run. That is one of the most important pieces of advice I could give anyone. Saved my life countless times."

"Now then, B..." he trails off, brow furrowing. "Or... Two." His brow furrows further. "Whatever. Wear trainers. Obviously, this is connected to A..." He stops again and sighs wearily. "I mean one. But... Really, there's something to be said for practical shoes. Definitely makes running easier."

He abruptly stops walking. "And that's it. Simple, really." A beaming smile crosses his face. "Any questions?"

Ianto takes a deep breath as he stands. He certainly knows the best advice he was ever given. He doesn't even have to think about it, not even for a second. But talking about it....Well, that's something else altogether. It's so deeply personal, from a time in his life he's tried to move on from. Tried fairly successfully, he thinks.

He tries to figure out where to start. "I used to live in London," he begins quietly, not even sure if anyone can hear. "But one day, there was an....accident, at work. A horrible accident. A lot of people died. People I loved, people I cared for. And a lot of people I didn't know. Just innocent bystanders. I was one of the few survivors. I went back to Cardiff, went back to work, but decided that rather than face that pain, that loss and that grief again, I would just stay...numb. Empty. It was so easy; it didn't hurt at all. I didn't have to feel, have to think. I just went and did my job, and if I did it well enough, no one even noticed me. And that was what I wanted. You can't care about people, can't get close to them, can't lose them, if they don't even notice you're there." He shudders a bit, remembering that, that emptiness, and how could he ever have thought that that was good? "But then, someone told me, Jack told me, that that was no way to live my life. That maybe it didn't hurt, but it could never feel good, either. I was missing out on so much, that my life could be so much more than I was making it. I could be happy again. Enjoy things again. Love again."

He sits back down rather hurriedly, resolutely studying his hands resting on the table.

He was everywhere and anywhere and now he was here. Binky waited outside, having a nibble off of a sad, shrubby looking thing in a pot by the kerb. Inside, he listened thoughtfully, nursing something sticky with an umbrella in it. Death sighed. Humans were all the same. They asked for advice, gave advice, listened, didn't listen, looked in the strangest of places for the answers to questions they didn't even understand the asking of. Still, if even one person paid attention, it would be worth it. It’d be different anyway. He got to his feet and cleared his throat portentously. "COWER NOW, BRIEF MORTALS, FOR I AM DEATH, 'GAINST WHOM NO LOCK WILL HOLD NOR FASTEN'D PORTAL BAR." He looked around the room. "I’M SORRY," he said, patting at his robe. "I SEEM TO HAVE PICKED UP THE WRONG SCRIPT." He coughed, embarrassed. "YES, WELL. IT’S LIKE THIS- BASICALLY, YOU GET WHAT YOU THINK YOU HAVE COMING TO YOU. THAT’S ALL THERE IS TO IT. DON’T COMPLICATE THINGS UNNECESSARILY."

Caprica thinks about that for awhile as she's listening. Advice. That's something she's struggling with, in some ways. She speaks from her seat, taking her time sorting through it. "I think I'm having some difficulty with advice." Her gaze darts to the side and then back to the audience.

"I've given a little good advice before. There was a time when I told my lover at the time, Gaius, to get down, and he did. It saved his life from a nuclear shockwave."

Her brow furrows, considering, and then she shrugs and continues. "I don't know. As for advice I've been given—"

She tenses, gaze fixing off to her left side, expression turning more anxious.

Her posture sinks with resignation and her eyes track around to the front. "Yes." She looks back to the crowd and draws a deep breath. "I mean that yes, I've been given advice before. But I think it's a difficult thing, knowing if you should listen— to whatever it is. To a friend, or a learned person, or the voice... the voice— inside yourself. Your conscience, perhaps. But I don't know, what do you do if you don't think you can trust your conscience? I think I'd like to hear some thoughts rather than offer any advice of my own."

Just at full dark, Riddick saunters into the café. He's carrying a long white box under his arm. When he hears the discussion topic, he snorts derisively. "No one ever gave me any advice. I had to learn the hard way. But I've got some pearls of wisdom I'm willing to pass along." He pulls out a chair and sits down. "One, there's no such word as friend. Two, bow to no man. And three, you keep what you kill." He puts the box on the table and props his feet up next to it, tipping the chair back. "That last is gonna come back to haunt me."

Data stands up. He isn't quite sure how to put this. “Much of the advice humans give is confusing or contradictory in nature. You say ‘Many hands make light work', but also that 'Too many cooks spoil the broth.' Or 'Slow and steady wins the race', but on the other hand you say 'He who hesitates is lost'. And I do not understand how a stitch in time can save nine. Nine what? Lack of specificity makes the advice useless. I am also at a loss to understand why you should never eat spinach with a stranger.” He looks around the café. “I do not intend any offense. It is just that I do not know what the best advice to follow is and I do not understand how you decide. However, I appreciate the recommendation about the bacon. Apparently, I am fortunate that I do not need to eat."

No one's said anything yet, and Rusty figures it's been a while since he's opened his own piehole, so...

He clears his throat as he stands. "Best advice I ever got was this: 'stand on eighteen, hit on fifteen'."

He starts to sit down again and notices a few people eyeballing him like he's said something weird. "Seriously. That was the best advice I ever got." He gives a little half-shrug when his butt hits the chair.

So you're all fairly smart individuals with some interesting life experiences. And if you're not fairly smart and haven't had interesting life experiences, I'm sure you know someone who is, and who has.

The topic for discussion this month is advice. If you could offer one piece of advice, what would it be? And what about advice you've been given? Have you ever had any shockingly bad advice? Or has someone given you advice that has turned out to be a life-saver?

Share your wisdom, and let me give you this advice: avoid the bacon this morning.

The tag for this month is advice, and don't forget to claim the month for your character here

Ianto takes a deep breath as he stands up. It's not really that the topic bothers him, although it's certainly not his favourite. But it kind of throws into sharp relief how much of himself he is missing, having lost his memories the way he has. He's standing up in front of these people, about to tell them something he doesn't even remember. He just read about it. It might as well have happened to someone else.

"I never really cared one way or another about clowns when I was a kid. I didn't really like them, but they didn't scare me, either. They were just people in weird costumes who made balloon animals and things like that. Then I grew up and went to university and got a job, and never thought about them.

But a while ago we were involved in this case, a big case. There was this big streetfair, and the members of my team were...brainwashed or something, into being performers. And I was a clown. Only I was there, but my mind wasn't. My mind was being shown the future, a future, a terrible one, what would happen if we weren't able to win this fight. I saw the darkness take over. I saw Jack die." Again and again and again, he doesn't add. "I saw myself die trying to save him..." He trails off, shuddering a bit. "So no, not really a big fan of clowns now."

Considering how Jack is trying to avoid... certain people... He isn't present for this month's café meeting.

He does, however, have a mobile phone, a partner who likewise has a mobile phone, and the ability to text message and use speakerphone settings. So, once he's exchanging a bit of texting with Ianto (complete with some choice inappropriate remarks), he sends a voice message along for Ianto to play for listeners.

"You know, I used to actually like clowns just fine, back in those circus days. They weren't as fun as acrobats, of course... But anyway. I can definitely do without them now. Yeah, I can understand a fear of clowns these days. It's not that I'm afraid of them myself, but there's something pretty chilling about seeing your friends turned into possessed clowns. Seeing-- you like that. Clowns aren't exactly funny to me any more, not that many of them were before. Kind of cheesy. Clowns are unpredictable though, so, if some kid's going to be scared of them or even an adult, I don't think that's silly of them any more. Never know now if that clown really chose to be one. That's pretty twisted, isn't it? Hey, if Myfanwy were to dress up for Halloween, what do you think she'd be? Ask people what a pterodactyl should be for Halloween. How does sexy nurse sound? Anyway, see you again later, love you, bye!"

It might be a slight failure on the "for public playback" with his parting words, but Ianto lets it play through without muting.

Data looked around the café which Caprica had brought him to. Such places were excellent for observing human social interactions, though he understood that not all who came here were human. He glanced around for the Cardassian he had been told of, but didn’t see him. He took a chair and listened to the various conversations. Caprica had explained that the owners of the café chose a topic once a month and people were free to comment as they chose. But Data grew perplexed as various people talked about clowns. "I do not understand". He looked at Q. “Your story implies that clowns are of a species inimical to humans, especially children. And you Doctor,” he turns to face McCoy. “You say your daughter frightened other children while dressed as a clown.” He glances at the Master. The man reminds him uncomfortably of his brother, and he chooses not to speak to him just now. “I was under the impression that clowns are happy and make people laugh. I do not completely comprehend humor, but I understood that this was considered a good thing. I do not understand the references made to 'evil' clowns.” Data looks around the café once more. “You see, I have been compared to a clown.” A sad, tragic little clown, he adds silently. “And I do not consider myself to be in any way evil. Could someone please explain this difference to me?” he asks anxiously.

Q stands up, shifting from one foot to the other nervously. “I’m afraid of clowns. I’m not ashamed to admit it. Lots of people are. I’ve read IT,” he nods to James, “more than once. Pennywise was based on John Wayne Gacy you know.” He says that quietly. “Lovely concept. And let’s not forget that bloody clown from Poltergeist! Stephen Spielberg is afraid of clowns. And Michael Meyers was dressed up as a clown when he killed his sister at the beginning of Halloween. Coincidence? I don’t think so.” He unconsciously scratches the back of his head. “I’m going to tell you a story and then you tell me whether or not being afraid of clowns is something to laugh about."

( Please do not read any further if you are easily frightened. You have been warned! )

Dr. McCoy stands up to address the group in the cafe. He shrugs. "I've never really felt anythin' about clowns. I don't like 'em, but I don't hate 'em either. I'm indifferent, if anythin'."

"I took my daughter Joanna to a circus once when she was little, and at first, she was terrified of the clowns. She was five at the time, and anytime one of those clowns would come near her, she'd cry and hide herself in my arms."

He smiles at the memory. That was one of his favorite days, taking Joanna to the circus. When he was in medical school and during his internship, he didn’t get to spend much time with his daughter, so he always treasured those days when it was just the two of them. "It wasn't until after the show when one of the clowns came over to talk to her after he'd taken off his makeup that she realized they were just regular people with stuff on their faces."

"So that Halloween, she had her mother make her a clown costume." The doctor laughs out loud. "I think she scared more kids with that costume than any ghost or goblin that night."

There isn't a key in his hand but a promise would have to do. The lips are pulled in a small frown he walks into the place. It wriggled infant-like in the Doctor's mind, rosy colours and freshly growing flowers. Daffodils: it had made him smirk and the Doctor pout. Predictable, Doctor. Whispers of companions and friendship and long conversations made him gag and the Doctor grin.

Again, predictable. He pouts.

He watches from the door, nose wrinkled but the Doctor's crudely dismissed him for the day and told him to stay out of trouble. It stinks. Sweat. And bad food. And human pets. Other pets. Pets pets. It doesn't matter. It stinks. He seizes up those around him. Ape, ape, stupid ape, girl ape. He rolls his eyes, put-upon sigh on his lips as he stands in the back of the room, watching ape eight and ape nine put on the cheery faces.

"CLOWNS!"

( His shout carries, he nods eagerly at the crowd as they turn around. )