Since most of the daytime celebrations are children's pranks, Ukraine doesn't bother with those, waiting until about an hour or so before dusk to start setting up on the beach. There's a nice big wooden picnic table that she manages to drag onto the sand and cover with food and drink before she turns her attention to building and lighting a few bonfires, making sure they're all different sizes. There's even a small one for the Westerners to jump over if they shy away from the idea of vaulting across five feet of flames. It's a little disappointing that there isn't a river, but part of the forest is right by the beach, so it works out well enough for her satisfaction.

As soon as people arrive, Ukraine appears beside them to cheerfully drop a large wreath of flowers on their heads and explain the traditions so no one is lost, then thank them for attending and shoo them off to flirt and chat and whatever else it is kids do these days.

Who: The Eleventh Doctor and Neo Team TARDIS
What: The Doctor is in the hospital after the march
When: Backdated to the 16th
Where: New Moore General

( And then it was just the waiting. )

[ Hey, New Moore. Have a blonde, who looks confused, but not really weirded out. ] S'not where I meant to go. Hullo? Can anyone hear me? I'm looking for someone called the Doctor.

Why is he acting like no-one's ever kissed me before?  It hadn't really been that long.  And never giving Amy a chance to change out of her nightie, honestly.

Also, I can't really believe that hair.  The bowtie, fine, it's not the first time, but a scissors wouldn't kill him, would it?

I admit it, though.  Ghost of Christmas Past.  I am jealous, a bit.

I suppose we ought to talk. Never really finished getting you caught up with all the news, did I?

[The video opens on a middle-aged man, who is obviously QUITE CRANKY. His tone carries an underlying edge of sarcasm for the first few sentences.]

"So, Dr. McKay, you weren't actually real except now you are and welcome to New Moore." Stop me if you've heard that one before, because I am sure I and my colleagues must all have had a similar story fed to us at some point in the past four years. That we imagined a big part of our lives. That it was all in our heads. So you'll forgive me if I'm not quite ready to believe this whole thing and expect to wake back up in the infirmary at any moment to be told it was some sort of weird dream caused by- by, oh, I don't know, an alien fungus or something like that. Hey, it's not completely unheard of!

[There's a pause as he takes the time to read over some of the recent network entries.]

...Wait, MANDATORY DANCE? This is not my best day...

[Do you know who's lazy? Rose is. Seriously, why is she using the network? Theoretically because she doesn't know where Donna is at this very moment. Really, it's because she doesn't apparently want to bother with walking across the apartments to Donna's to see if the woman is there. Again, theoretically because she might not be.

Also because the bed is pretty cozy, and she's happily sitting atop the covers when the screen flicks on.] Donna! Who are you taking to the dance? We should go out and pick out dresses and you can tell me about this rash I missed.

[Yes. She's apparently reverted to sixteen. And what is filtering?]

Bit odd, that. Mandatory dance? I mean... do they really consider that normal?

Not that it is really that big of a deal, just seems a bit odd. Possibly even a bit suspicious.

Why do they want us all there?

Now that I have settled in here a bit more comfortably, I realized I never formally introduced myself.

Jim Crick, Author.

And the pleasure is all mine.

[Hey guys, guess who was pretty much nowhere to be seen last week? Rose Tyler. Why? She was pretty much sleeping the whole time. Seriously. That chocolate was potent stuff, and she just...was way too chill to want to do anything but laze around in bed. It was like a flashback to her teenage years. Not the best time to flash back to, really. Still, she's recovered now, and finished complaining.

So. Hello there, world of the living!]

You'd think I'd have learned not to take candy from strangers, but no, apparently that never goes away. [Okay. Mostly done complaining.] Anyway, question time: have they done something like this before? Obviously they're not new to deceit but...issuing thing designed to make our lives go haywire? Is that normal?

[Hello New Moore feeling good not all crushed? Rose isn't doing too badly herself. She's thoughtful, though, and tapping her chin.]

So, um...before anyone rushes out and starts up our very own local revolution...has anyone here actually seen or even communicated with the outside world? Has anyone visited the rest of this planet, or has all of our information come from the people keeping us here? 'Cos we're agreed we're all real, yeah? So that much they're telling us isn't true. How much else isn't? We might want to wait until we've got a bit more information before staging any bloody revolutions. They tend to get a bit messy.

There are two plans. Only one of them can work (if either of them actually works), and I've got no right to make that decision for you all.

Plan A is to power the TARDIS up as much as I can. Burn off every room except the control room, then pump all that energy and the power from the engines into the shields. That means there will be room for twenty, maybe thirty people inside if you squeeze in tight. Donna, Master, Rose, Amy, Rory-- you'd be in charge of keeping the shields stable. Other than that spots would be first come, first serve. IF the force-field around the island can soak, oh, maybe half of the impact of the comet, then there's maybe a fifty percent chance everyone inside the TARDIS would survive.

Plan B is to get everyone on board the TARDIS. Absolutely everyone. Then we wait for the last moment, after the meteor hits. If we can dematerialize in between the time the force-field goes down and the shockwave hits, we could get away. If the force-field goes down before the tsunami hits or the volcano goes off or the island breaks apart. AND if the force-field is what's been keeping the TARDIS pinned in place here, which I'm not sure of.

Everyone gets a vote, but until I've got your vote, absolutely nobody goes aboard.

[Honestly, for someone who's just been uprooted from her universe and told she's fictional...Rose looks a little bit bored when her image pops up on screen. She's got her chin propped on her hand, and she's squinting at the camera as if she can see right through it to the other side.] I s'pose this place gets points for being original, at least. I've been kidnapped and told I hallucinated things before...but figment of someone's imagination? Haven't tried that one yet. It's reassuring to know people aren't running out of creativity, huh? [After a moment, her expression melds into a tiny, amused grin, and she wiggles the fingers of the palm supporting her chin.] So, I'm guessing I'm not the first person to get that welcome? How many of us are here? Is there anyone willing to catch me up on what we've got figured out about this place yet? I've got a little bit of practice with big words, if that helps.

[She straightens up suddenly, dropping her hand to the table.] Right, first thing's first, though. My name's Rose, I'm from Earth, two thousand and...something. Twelve or thirteen, I think. [She squints again, and shakes her head, waving a hand.] Gets a little bit vague sometimes, doesn't it? [When you time travel.] Especially around the New Year, yeah? [Annndddd a grin!] Sorry, no, hang on to that explanation a moment. More important question: have we got any chippies here? Cos I'm starved.

Ah, time rounds the corner on another journey of Art. With the completion of filming, we begin rehearsals for the live interactive portion of the show. I am prouder than the fourth of July at the deep character work my cast has done, and I have full faith that this will do its authorial intent justice.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of How to Commit Suicide and Take Everyone Else With You, an innovative work that marries the fields of film and theatre, the genres of silent and musical. You will laugh. You will cry. You will kiss the ground you walk on, for fear of it shattering beneath your feet.

Wednesday, June 22 at the New Moore College Auditorium. As always, black tie optional.

ROSE! Bring a bucket of Gadorate to the premiere. That is all.

Right.  Well.  Found someone who's found Rory, or has a way to track him down, at any rate.  Not sure if they'll be needing us along, but... that doesn't mean we won't been going.  Never been that good at letting the professionals do their work.  They're always far too... professional... about it.

So!  Assignments, as of now.  If they decide we're only going to get in the way we're going to need to follow them, and that means setting watches. 

Jack!  You were a Time Agent, you're sure to have done a stake-out or two before.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find out exactly where one Seta Souji can be found at the stroke of midnight every night, and who's with him. 

Rose!  Follow his friends once things go back to normal after midnight.  They're a very grown-up lot for schoolkids and they're good at what they do, so that means they'll be on the lookout. 

Donna!  Temping to do!  If Rose is still working down at the police station, she can help you daytime, but I want to get my hands on any information I can about these kids' world and where they come from.  Files!  Emails!  Posts on the network where they're less than careful about keeping their secrets!  We want to know enough that we can help them out, after all, whether they decide to trust us or not.

Jenny!  Amy!  You lot get the fun bit.  The three of us are going to tail Yosuke when he heads out at night to meet with his friends, and keep an eye on them in the Dark Hour itself. 

Amy:  inside the Dark Hour memories get blurry, even mine, so bring a pen and a pad of paper.  We'll jot down everything important we see.

Jenny... just this once, mind... bring your guns.

Master.  If you're reading this.  I wouldn't mind having your help on this one, but if you're not feeling in the helpful sort of mood... don't get in my way.

LOST: Husband, Rory Pond. Height & Weight: 5'10", 160-ish pounds. Hair: Brown. Nose: ... on the large-ish side of normal. Face: Stupid. Last seen wearing a flannel shirt and carrying a lager.

If found please return to Amy Pond, South 303 - and feel free to give him a smack for me.



Oi stupidface, if you're reading this, you'd better not be dead in a ditch somewhere because I am going to kick. your. backside!!

We didn't wake you, did we?

So when do I get my free shirt?