- forty-third year waiting -

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[dictated]

How does everyone plan on celebrating Christmas here? Has the castle ever had a, uh--a normal one?

Last year--the only one I've spent here--it was mental. Literally. Everyone had these really... vivid dreams, and I think we could, you know, dream-hop or something. Visit other peoples' dreams. And then--[sigh]--the castle turned into a Jane Austen novel or something, and it all ended when everyone turned into these tiny toy versions of ourselves inside a dollhouse or something, and we all got chased out by giant rats. I think. I just remember a lot of running.

Is something nice and normal and, well... normal too much to ask for? Just a plain regular Christmas?

[Rory is currently in the library looking at picture books, trying to get ideas for Christmas decorations and tree trimmings for his and Amy's room to wish for. A half-forgotten mug of hot coca is sitting on a nearby table. Come join him!]

Comments

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[mutters] I'm working on that.

[hard-talker.livejournal.com]

Just avoid the Nutcracker like the plague [HAR HAR GET IT] and you should be pretty well on your way.

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[hurrrrr]

I, uh... I never really liked it that much anyway.

[hard-talker.livejournal.com]

Me, neither. ... See that? You're good.

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

Heh. Right...

... Are you the bloke that does the updates on Mondays? Sort of like a radio show? Your voice sounds familiar.

[hard-talker.livejournal.com]

Yep, that's me! Good ol' Hard Harry. You sound familiar, too... You on the Patrol or something?

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

I used to be--on leave now though. I wasn't the most, er, vocal member anyway. But, I did want to say though, I like your broadcasts. Reminds me of home a bit.

[maybe minus a bit of the language, because you couldn't really get away with that on BBC radio, but the point remains]

[hard-talker.livejournal.com]

Oh, yeah? Hey, thanks. Glad to hear it. [and as casual as he's TRYING to come off, well. he's seventeen, so he fails miserably. this sort of thing always makes him ridiculously happy]

Where's home, for you?