Fill: Challenge #8
Jan. 26th, 2022 09:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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tenminutesadayThis is the closest I'm ever going to get to writing something epistolary. :) I tried to think of a better idea, but this was all I came up with.
Sorry in advance for formatting issues. You can't really format a formal letter in the limited HTML Dreamwidth provides, so the indented bits are the return address and signature, which should be located to the right of center.
Conrad sat in the cramped office, legs propped on the desk and chair dangerously tilted back on two legs, twirling a pen in his hand as he gazed off into space. Another day of running the family business, handed down to him when Uncle Peter had passed on. He was duty-bound to keep it running, even though the hundred-fifty-year-old company barely did anything these days. Perhaps his ancestor had been a successful toy designer back when Queen Victoria was the ruler of half the world, but now, a factory in China churned out the same old tired pieces. The once-respected name now only appeared in tourist traps and bargain bins, enough to keep the doors open but unable to compete with flashy electronics, modern materials, and unique ideas.
His eyes slid to the corner of his computer screen and sighed: fifteen minutes since the last time he’d looked, fifteen minutes older, fifteen useless minutes.
“Oi.”
Chaz strode in and dropped an envelope on the desk, next to his shoe.
“What’s that?”
“Post.”
“Post? That’s your job, mate, not mine.”
“It’s a letter, not a bill or a payment.” Shrugging, Chaz left without another word.
“A letter? An actual letter?” Conrad murmured as he swung his legs off the desk, stamping the floor before leaning forward and snagging the envelope. He frowned as he looked it over.
The front of the envelope, made of heavy ivory paper, was covered with a mesmerising pattern of interlocking circles and lines, reminiscent of gearwork, drawn with walnut ink. In one small empty space, “Norton Novelty Co.” and the office address was scribbled in a feminine hand. Seven stamps - five from different countries and two printed with scripts Conrad had never seen before - had been affixed randomly on the back. Luckily, one of the stamps was British first class.
“Huh,” he grunted.
He opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of the same ivory paper that displayed a formal letter written with severe, rushed strokes.
Mefil City, Cherapfa
41 Carimp 3275 10 May 2015
Norton Novelty Co.
Coventry, United Kingdom
Earth
To whom it may concern,
I apologise for putting off writing this message for twelve centuries, though I have a good excuse as I spent a better part of that time defending Christmas. My companion Clara is teaching me manners and insists that I take the time to communicate my approval when I encounter quality work.He She is holding my dinner hostage until I learn this lesson, and thus I am writing to you now.
I had the good fortune of acquiring a wind-up mouse made by your company, a simple mechanism encased in faux grey fur. I admit that I kept it in my pocket for some decades without ever using it - I believe I got it at some point during the war, possibly in the wreckage of the bazaar in Vethra on Olmos, and I am sure that I forgot I had it. However, even after all those years, when I did wind it up and let it go, it performed admirably, distracting the guard and giving my daughter an opening to strike him unconscious, which admittedly had not been the plan but worked out for the best. But to the point, I was very pleased with the performance of your product, and when I am again in the market for clockwork rodentia, there is only one company that I can trust.
If you are looking for suggestions on improvements to your product line, I should like to mention that the mouse is not resistant to high intensity laser fire, and it disintegrated on impact. Perhaps it was a flaw in manufacturing.
Thank you again for your excellent mouse. I believe now I will be allowed to eat.
Sincerely,
The Doctor
Conrad stared at the paper for some time after reading it through twice. Then he sighed. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m putting the company up for sale. The land, the assets, all of it. And then! And then, I’m going to section myself.” He leant back in his chair, put his feet up, and returned to twiddling his pen.
Sorry in advance for formatting issues. You can't really format a formal letter in the limited HTML Dreamwidth provides, so the indented bits are the return address and signature, which should be located to the right of center.
Conrad sat in the cramped office, legs propped on the desk and chair dangerously tilted back on two legs, twirling a pen in his hand as he gazed off into space. Another day of running the family business, handed down to him when Uncle Peter had passed on. He was duty-bound to keep it running, even though the hundred-fifty-year-old company barely did anything these days. Perhaps his ancestor had been a successful toy designer back when Queen Victoria was the ruler of half the world, but now, a factory in China churned out the same old tired pieces. The once-respected name now only appeared in tourist traps and bargain bins, enough to keep the doors open but unable to compete with flashy electronics, modern materials, and unique ideas.
His eyes slid to the corner of his computer screen and sighed: fifteen minutes since the last time he’d looked, fifteen minutes older, fifteen useless minutes.
“Oi.”
Chaz strode in and dropped an envelope on the desk, next to his shoe.
“What’s that?”
“Post.”
“Post? That’s your job, mate, not mine.”
“It’s a letter, not a bill or a payment.” Shrugging, Chaz left without another word.
“A letter? An actual letter?” Conrad murmured as he swung his legs off the desk, stamping the floor before leaning forward and snagging the envelope. He frowned as he looked it over.
The front of the envelope, made of heavy ivory paper, was covered with a mesmerising pattern of interlocking circles and lines, reminiscent of gearwork, drawn with walnut ink. In one small empty space, “Norton Novelty Co.” and the office address was scribbled in a feminine hand. Seven stamps - five from different countries and two printed with scripts Conrad had never seen before - had been affixed randomly on the back. Luckily, one of the stamps was British first class.
“Huh,” he grunted.
He opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of the same ivory paper that displayed a formal letter written with severe, rushed strokes.
Mefil City, Cherapfa
Norton Novelty Co.
Coventry, United Kingdom
Earth
To whom it may concern,
I apologise for putting off writing this message for twelve centuries, though I have a good excuse as I spent a better part of that time defending Christmas. My companion Clara is teaching me manners and insists that I take the time to communicate my approval when I encounter quality work.
I had the good fortune of acquiring a wind-up mouse made by your company, a simple mechanism encased in faux grey fur. I admit that I kept it in my pocket for some decades without ever using it - I believe I got it at some point during the war, possibly in the wreckage of the bazaar in Vethra on Olmos, and I am sure that I forgot I had it. However, even after all those years, when I did wind it up and let it go, it performed admirably, distracting the guard and giving my daughter an opening to strike him unconscious, which admittedly had not been the plan but worked out for the best. But to the point, I was very pleased with the performance of your product, and when I am again in the market for clockwork rodentia, there is only one company that I can trust.
If you are looking for suggestions on improvements to your product line, I should like to mention that the mouse is not resistant to high intensity laser fire, and it disintegrated on impact. Perhaps it was a flaw in manufacturing.
Thank you again for your excellent mouse. I believe now I will be allowed to eat.
Sincerely,
The Doctor
Conrad stared at the paper for some time after reading it through twice. Then he sighed. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m putting the company up for sale. The land, the assets, all of it. And then! And then, I’m going to section myself.” He leant back in his chair, put his feet up, and returned to twiddling his pen.
no subject
Date: 2022-01-26 08:03 pm (UTC)You really got 12’s voice in this, and I like the ending a lot.
( I figured this is not long after Deep Breath?)
no subject
Date: 2022-01-26 09:19 pm (UTC)I figure it's eomewhere in Series 8 - back before the writers discarded Twelve's idiosyncrasies to make him more attractive to the female fans, and while Clara was still trying to mold the Doctor into her ideal man.