Pro-Fun Hoedown > Unexpected Guests > A Change of Venue

Eloise, on stage, pauses in tuning her fiddle and smiles at a young woman skipping by on the arm of a frock-coated man who may or may not be a Time Lord (does one dare ask?).

“Sorry,” the woman is saying, with a laugh, to another man, “I’m taken for the moment – feel free to help yourself to some birthday cake though…!”

She points to one of the food tables, which bears a humungous Dairy Queen icecream cake in the shape of a 22.

Eloise notices, and nods knowingly. “See, folks?” she announces through the microphone. “I told you the birthday hats were a good idea! Congratulations, Alryssa! Let’s start your celebration off with a whoop, holler and bang! Watcha say, folks? Are we ready to party?” On the spur of the moment, she plays “Happy Birthday” to the rhythm of a jig…

“You’re damn right we’re ready to party!” Alryssa waves and smiles back at the avocado troll, then drags her young man up onto the stage and stomps her feet in time to the music. “Wheeeeee!”

Removing his toy Groucho glasses and placing them on a passing cybermat, Rufus sits back to enjoy the fiddler’s next performance. “Talented, isn’t she?” he says to the Lurker. “Of course you realize, I taught her everything she knows. And, everything I know. And, a few things neither of us kn–”

Abruptly cut off by an incredulous raised eyebrow from center-stage, he suddenly remembers that performers can sometimes hear the conversation going on in the front seats. He flashes what he hopes is an apologetic-yet-winning smile to Eloise, produces a silver teaspoon from his sleeve, and idly stirs his V8 juice as the performance continues.

A few rows behind the Firefly’s glow, which has turned a lambent pink with slight embarrassment, the orange-furred figure notices something of a commotion. A squat, toad-like troll is oozing venom as it loudly distracts those around it with shouts of “This music sucks” and “When’s the next act on?”

Orange sidles up to the toad and produces a large feather from somewhere about his person. “Ooh, I’m scared,” the toad sneers. “I suppose you’re going to try to weigh the purity of my heart against that feather, are you?”

“No,” says Orange. “I’m going to tickle you until you dance.”

“Good idea!” Eloise calls from the stage. “Let’s get all these layabouts up and dancing!” She addresses the crowd seated around the stage. “Okay, folks,” she says. “It’s time to move the chairs aside and get on your feet! Choose your partners! The Valeyard Reel is about to start!”

There’s a brief period of muttering as those in the audience (creatures more used to sitting on a couch watching the entire “Key to Time” arc in one go than actually moving) wonder if she could be serious.

The troll, however, is just standing there: hands on her enormous hips, one very large toe tapping impatiently. She is, it seems, serious.

Full of doubts, the audience members gradually start folding the chairs and leaning them against the wall.

Eloise shields her eyes against the spotlight, searches the faces in the crowd, and, raising her voice over the metallic clatter, calls out: “Dave Stone? Is Dave Stone here?”

Somewhere in the crowd a hand waves.

“Oh, there you are! Well, get your banjo up here and join in!”

Dave makes his way to the stage, banjo in hand. Before long, he’s towering over the round troll, and is tuning his strings.

“What shall it be?”

“You know the tune ‘Cotton-eyed Joe’?”

“Of course,” says Dave. And before long the banjo classic is filling the air…

Eventually, the audience is more or less paired up, more or less standing in squares of eight – more or less.

Eloise shrugs. Close enough, she thinks. And begins to call the dance:

Head couples: Into the TARDIS, curtsey and bow!
Then come out, and sides go now.
All join hands and circle ’round
To that thrilling TARDIS sound!

Okay: Jamies now do the right-hand star,
While Zoës swing both near and far!

The gathered crowd, unfamiliar with square dance terms at the best of times, are thoroughly lost by these “thematic” phrases. All semblance to traditional square dancing is likewise thoroughly lost. Some dancers are skipping in circles, some stand in place doing the “funky chicken”, while still others are bumping bellies and falling over in over in Teletubby fashion.

The troll’s face scrunches in worry. She opens her mouth, tempted to correct her guests’ “mistakes”, then realizes they’re having fun, and that’s all that matters. Shrugging, she forgets about calling the dance, and joins Dave in his playing.

A few verses later, the movement on the dance floor slows to a standstill, as the people stop to catch their breath. As the gasping and wheezing quiets, Dave segues into the tune for “Happy Birthday”, and all those gathered start to sing:

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Alryssa!
Happy Birthday, to yo-o-o-u!

And for the second time that evening, a cheer rises up in the crowd.

Alryssa blushes and grins. “Awww. Thanks.”

Eloise beams. The first official Rad-wah Pro-Fun Troll Hoedown is a smashing success. Everyone – even the complaining trolls (now sated with honeyed wine), and the venomous toad troll (tickled into happiness by Orange) has joined in the spirit. And, though she might be mistaken, she could swear she heard Lurkers milling outside the door.

And then, she hears something else. It’s barely audible above the crowd, but there is no mistaking the sound of a TARDIS materializing – inside her own house/barn TARDIS. Almost at the same moment, her guests hear it too. The laughter turns to murmuring so quickly, someone might have thrown a switch.

“This could get interesting,” Eloise mutters.


A short man with dark hair, a Scottish accent, and a familiar question-mark pullover looks up at the sound. The dark-haired woman by his side, getting happily drunk on a bottle of whiskey, gives him a baffled look. “Something wrong, Doctor?”

“I suspect so, Benny,” the little man – the seventh Doctor, here incognito – murmurs. “Every time I’ve arrived here before, the TARDIS has landed outside our gracious hostess’ TARDIS…”

The woman – Bernice Summerfield, known to her friends as Benny – raises an eyebrow. “So how many of you are here?”

“I’ve lost count,” the Doctor confesses. “This is… a special place in the Universe, a place where fun is celebrated. It’s… important to all of us, a place we need. I’m here in all my incarnations. Sometimes even in the same incarnation…”

Benny looks worried. “So… who just arrived?”

The Doctor closes his eyes. “Not a previous me. Not another Time Lord…”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t remember this. And most of the other Time Lords are humourless, self-serving, self-satisfied powermongers who wouldn’t know fun if it came up and gave them a party hat!” The Doctor takes a closer look at the crowd. “No London bus… Not Iris, though it would be her style…”

“Why don’t we just take a look?” Benny suggests, matching word to deed.

The Doctor sighs, and heads off after her.

They push their way through the crowd to the empty space in the centre. Well, empty apart from three people.

The tall man in the dark green frock coat looks closely at the newcomers.“Ah. Now I remember this happening.”

The seventh Doctor pulls his hand down over his face. “Good grief… Only you would be this reckless.”

The eighth Doctor, for it is he, looks apologetic. “I’m deeply sorry about this. My TARDIS had to be fitted with a Randomiser…” (the chubby, red-haired woman mutters, “Keep telling yourself that…”) “…and we seem to have landed in the middle of our hostess’ TARDIS, for which I apologise most sincerely.” He bows towards Eloise. “May we join the party?”

The troll considers returning the bow, but since she is so much shorter than her newest guest, figures it would be redundant.

“Of course,” she assures him. “The invitation did say ‘All Welcome’. However, I suggest you move the TARDIS outside. If some newbie slipped in by accident, he or she could get very lost…” And then she remembers about the Randomizer. “Erm, I suggest you lock on the temporal trace of one of your other time streams…” She searches for the Doctor in his fourth incarnation… “Doctor?” she calls. “Please help yourself outside… I believe you recently had to do a similar maneuver to follow Scaroth back in time. And then, please come back in and help yourself to some birthday cake!”

Chuckling to herself, she heads to the bar for a Millennium Special of her own, and a chat with Orange… After the events of tonight, she needs both.

She has neglected, however, to do a head count…


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Story copyright © 2000 the original authors; this compilation copyright © 2000–2003 Paul Andinach (profun@roundrobins.info), HTML modified by Imran Inayat (narm00@ntlworld.com).