Here it is. This is the reason for the hullabaloo over a pub name. At least, I
think there was a hullabaloo.

Right. This is a new sort of thing (in a way). It's called the This Time Round
pub. This Time Round is an adaptation of the Subreality Cafe, created by Kielle
for the alt.comics.fan-fiction newsgroup. The idea behind both the Inn and the
Cafe is to provide a place for characters to kick back and relax outside of
continuity. Of course, Becky Dowgiert has done much the same thing with the
Land of Fiction in her IA announcements, but that's a conceptual dimension on
the edges of the physical universe. This is different. Really.

So, here's the introductory piece. There's no real, jihad-causing continuity
(although the Cafe series recently featured a round robin). Any writer can
contribute, using any characters or what-not (it's generally considered polite
to attribute who/what belongs to who). Anything can happen at the Inn,
Blinovitch and the Laws of Time (sounds like a heavy metal group, dunnit?) most
certainly do *not* count. Versions of the same character might while the night
away comparing themselves. Kadiatu might drop in for a quick pint while a
Mentiad and Ford Prefect have an Janx Spirit drinking contest. Or a gaggle of
Doctors may argue over who's smarter (no, wait, they already did that).

C'mon folks, pitch in! If you're wary of writing your own epic, or don't want
the time constraints of a round robin, or already write shorts like this, This
Time Round is the thing for you!

* * * * *

A Quiet Night Out -- by Tyler Dion

In the dim of the ever present fog, a building could be seen. It was a creaky
affair, painted a dark brown and fairly small. The bay windows of the main
floor were lit up, the watery light spilling into the car park. People could be
seen sitting at tables and moving around. Outside, in the car park, the muffled
strains of a twisted copy of "Robert Hardy reads 'Tess of the D'Ubervilles'"
drifted into the night. With a quiet, asthmatic shuffle, a blue police box
neatly materialised within the lines of a parking space, next to a line of a
second police box, a potted tree, and an office desk. The doors of the police
box swung inward, allowing a young man with blond hair in a fawn colored frock
coat to step out. He was followed by a pretty young auburn haired woman in a
splotchy rainbow dress and a fellow in a badly tailored navy blue suit with
cropped red hair.

"Here again, is it?" the woman asked, disdainfully glancing over the dingy
building.

"Now, Tegan," the blond man said in a placating tone, "you did say you wanted
to go somewhere restful."

"That's just it, Doctor," Tegan interjected, "I said 'restful.' Not here."

"Oh, I don't know," the red head said snidely, "it seems just the place for
you."

Tegan raised her fist at him, saying warningly, "Just one more word, Turlough."

Whether he was intimidated or not, Turlough didn't respond to the rise, much to
the Doctor's relief. He really didn't want to have to mediate another spitting
match between the two. "Come on, you two," the Doctor said, striding forward.
Approaching the building, he noted one of the the handicap spaces had been
filled tonight, by a black sedan with a license plate reading "DAV1." The
Doctor frowned briefly, but continued anyways. At the door was a young man in a
battered army jacket juggling flaming clubs.

"Hello, Wil," the Doctor said, raising his hat in greetings.

"Hiya, Doc!" Wil replied, not deigning to take his attention from the clubs.
The Doctor grimaced at the nickname. "It's busy tonight, might not many tables
left."

"Oh, I think we'll find one," the Doctor said assuredly. "Who's in tonight?"

Wil managed to shrug. "Just the regulars, a Legion, half a squad of Sontarans,
and some stray Thals that escaped Peel. Oh yeah, Jacqui and Sanki are on
tonight."

The Doctor nodded absentmindedly. Seeing his companions catch up, he tipped his
hat to Wil and dropped a five grotzi piece in the up-turned camouflage cap in
the ground. "Well, must press on," he said, "'night, Wil."

"Doctor," Wil called, "one other thing. Be careful, you and Ace are here as
well."

The Doctor nodded, tapping his nose, "No fear, Wil. I'll be careful."

The trio moved on towards the front stoop, past the sign hanging crookedly over
the door that read "This Time Round" in olde English script, and into the inn
proper.

By now the Robert Hardy tape had been replaced by a live Earth Reptile duo. The
Doctor smiled quietly: Sanki and Jacqui had been somewhat surprised at the
promise of a permanent gig after the fiasco at the Duke of the Solar System's
reception.

Inside, the main room appeared to be a lot bigger than the outside allowed for.
The Doctor knew it wasn't, though, it just looked that way. The general
atmosphere was cheery; dim lighting implied familiarity and coziness.
Decorating the walls were all manner of art: five dimensional magic eye pieces,
some blurry charcoals, a white board reading: "THIS IS A FAKE," and a portrait
of dogs playing poker were just a few. The hound was winning, the Doctor noted.
The ceiling was obscured by the purple haze of a Legion playing a rubber of
whist against three of its other tentacles, although the broad, indistinct
strokes of a bright mural could be seen in places. The small stage to the left
presented the reptilian singers, currently picking their way through an
Arcturan folk song. Among the varied peoples and beings scattered through the
main room, most noticeable was a Sontaran buying a round of drinks for its
clones in a corner booth. A solitary figure in a coat of blazing colors sat
morosely sipping from a clay mug at the end of the bar on the right wall. The
bedraggled Thals were huddled at one of the tables near the rear of the room,
whispering furtively to one another. In the front right corner rested a
computer and printer, dark for the moment. Taped to the monitor was a note,
unreadable from this distance. An ajar door in the right corner, next to the
bar, revealed what might have been the kitchen while a creaky-looking spiral
staircase next to the kitchen door rose to the second floor.

The Doctor turned to Turlough, saying, "Get a table, would you?" Before
Turlough could protest, the Doctor motioned to Tegan and walked over to the
bar, briskly tapping it to attract the innkeep's attention.

Popping up from beneath the bar, the diminutive Navarino smiled deeply, his
wrinkled face folding into kindly furrows, asked, "And what can I serve you,
sir?"

The Doctor smiled congenially. "Ah, hello. I'd like a water, please. And my
friend here will have...?"

"Screwdriver, please," Tegan said shortly.

"Right away, sir, ma'am," the innkeeper said, hustling to collect the necessary
ingredients.

"You forgot Turlough," Tegan reminded the Doctor.

"Did I?" The Doctor seemed surprised. "Well, I'm sure he knows what he wants."

The innkeep returned then with the two drinks. "There you go, sir. Oh, no need
for that, sir," he said, seeing the Doctor reach in his pocket. "On the house,
of course."

"Of course," the Doctor agreed amiably. Turning from the bar, he surveyed the
room before him again as he and Tegan sipped their drinks. They remained at the
bar because Turlough hadn't yet secured a table and was, in fact, exchanging
words with a Sontaran. Heated words, the Doctor noted with concern. He hoped
there wouldn't be a repeat of the last time. No, it looked like the problem was
being resolved.

"You see, Tegan?" the Time Lord said to his companion. "Nice and quiet, just
like you asked."

Tegan merely frowned. "That's what you said last time," she said bitterly,
"just before Frohman showed up."

"That wasn't my fault," the Doctor protested weakly, "how was I to know?"

"It was Fan Night!" she retorted. "What did you expect?"

"Yes, well, best forgotten," he said in that placating tone of his. "It's
definitely not Fan Night."

Behind him, the innkeep popped up again. "Oh, no, sir, no. Not Fan Night, not
tonight. It's Author's Night." Tegan made a frightened noise, jogging her
tumbler of vodka and orange juice slightly. The Doctor spun around.

"*Author's* Night?!" he demanded.

"Oh, yes, sir," the innkeep confirmed. "Every Thursday, Author's Night. I
thought you knew that."

Paling, the Doctor avoided Tegan's look, muttering, "I thought that was
Wednesdays."

"No, sir," the innkeep shook his head, "not since the drabble writers won their
own night. Things got mighty shuffled with that."

"Author's Night," Tegan repeated dully. "It just had to be tonight."

Shaking his head, the Doctor slumped against the bar, Turlough forgotten (who
was, by the way, now being dragged out the back door by an enraged Field Major
Styre). Suddenly, the front doors were slammed open wide as Wil came rolling
in, tucked up in a somersault. He vaulted into the air and landed feetfirst on
an unoccupied table.

Flinging his arms wide in a flourishing gesture, Wil grandly announced to the
room, "And now, ladies and gentlebeings, heeeeeeeeeeere's Audra!"

The Doctor bent down and pulled the innkeep nose to nose. "I do hope you have
some ventilation shafts around here," he said.

* * * * *

Okay. Credits and somesuch:

The Doctor, the TARDIS, and associated characters belong to the BBC.

The 7th Doctor and Ace referred to feature in Lori Summers' excellent "Yin
Yang" trilogy.

Wil is the creation of Vicky Jewitt and currently co-stars in the A.DW.C
Internet Adventures.

Elsa Frohman and Audra McHugh are people who belong to themselves and are their
names are used here only in light hearted fun. No malice or insult is intended.

The idea behind the Subreality Cafe and This Time Round was conceived by Kielle
and used with permission.