All That I Have to Say Has Already Crossed Your Mind

“'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,' said he.

“'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I replied. 

And This Was How I First Met :

Tyler Durden.

“'You stand fast?' 

“'Absolutely.' 

“He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol from the table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which he had scribbled some dates. 

“'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,' said he. 'On the 23d you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.' 

“'Have you any suggestion to make?' I asked. 

“'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,' said he, swaying his face about. 'You really must, you know.'

“'After Monday,' said I. 

“'Tut, tut,' said he. 'I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this affair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. You have worked things in such a fashion that we have only one resource left. It has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you have grappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would.' 

“'Danger is part of my trade,' I remarked. 

“'That is not danger,' said he. 'It is inevitable destruction. 

You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realize. 

You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.' 

“'I am afraid,' said I, rising, 'that in the pleasure of this conversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits me elsewhere.' 

“He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head sadly. 

“'Well, well,' said he, at last. 'It seems a pity, but I have done what I could. I know every move of your game. You can do nothing before Monday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. 

You hope to place me in the dock. I tell you that I will never stand in the dock. 

You hope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me. 

If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.' 

“'You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,' said I. 'Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former eventuality I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the latter.' 

“'I can promise you the one, but not the other,' he snarled, and so turned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking out of the room. 

“That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. 

I confess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft, precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully could not produce. Of course, you will say: 'Why not take police precautions against him?' the reason is that I am well convinced that it is from his agents the blow will fall. 

I have the best proofs that it would be so.” 

“You have already been assaulted?” 

“My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the grass grow under his feet. I went out about mid-day to transact some business in Oxford Street. 

As I passed the corner which leads from Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a flash. I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the fraction of a second. 

The van dashed round by Marylebone Lane and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after that, Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from the roof of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my feet. I called the police and had the place examined. 

There were slates and bricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they would have me believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. 

Of course I knew better, but I could prove nothing. 

I took a cab after that and reached my brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have come round to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. 

I knocked him down, and The Police have him in custody; but I can tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working out problems upon a black-board ten miles away. 

You will not wonder, Watson, that my first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and that I have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the house by some less conspicuous exit than the front door.” 

Mycroft :

Do you? 

Sherlock :

Do I what? 

H-how did you get that? 

I left it at the crime scene. 

Mycroft :

"Crime scene"? 

Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions? 

Do you miss him? 

Sherlock :

Moriarty is dead.

Mycroft :

And yet...? 

Sherlock :

His body was never recovered. 

Mycroft :

To be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall. 

Pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama. 

Your life in a nutshell. 

Sherlock :

Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions? 

(HE SNIFFS) 

Sherlock :

Have you put on weight? 

Mycroft :

You saw me only yesterday. 

Does that seem possible? 

Sherlock :

No. 

Mycroft :

Yet, here I am, increased. 

What does that tell the foremost criminal investigator in England? 

Sherlock :

In England? 

Mycroft :

You're in deep, Sherlock, deeper than you ever intended to be. 

Have you made a list? 

Sherlock :

Of what? 

Mycroft :

Everything. We will need a list. 

Good boy. 

Sherlock :

No, I haven't finished yet. 

Mycroft :

Moriarty may beg to differ. 

(HE SIGHS) 

Sherlock :

He's trying to distract me. 

To derail me. 

Mycroft :

Yes. He's the crack in the lens, the fly in the ointment

The virus in the data. 

Sherlock :

I have to finish this. 

Mycroft :

If Moriarty has risen from the Reichenbach cauldron, he will seek you out. 

Sherlock :

I'll be waiting.

Mycroft :

Yes. I'm very much afraid you will..... 

Mrs. Hudson : 

Two days he's been like that. 

Lestrade :

Has he eaten? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

No, not a morsel. 

Lestrade :

Press are having a ruddy field day. 

There's still reporters outside. 

Mrs. Hudson : 

Oh, they've been there all the time, I can't get rid of them. 

I've been rushed off my feet making tea. 

Lestrade :

Why do you make him tea? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

I dunno, I just sort of — do. 

Lestrade :

He said, "There's only one suspect," and then he just walks away and now he won't explain. 

Which is strange, because he likes that bit. 

Said it was so simple I could solve it. 

Mrs. Hudson : 

I'm sure he was exaggerating. 

Lestrade :

What's he doing, do you think? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

He says he's waiting. 

Lestrade :

For what? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

The Devil. 

I wouldn't be surprised. 

We get all sorts here. 

Well, wire me if there's any change. 

Mrs. Hudson : 

Yeah. 

(CREAKING) 

(FOOTSTEPS) 

Lucifer :

Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind. 

Sherlock :

Then possibly my answer has crossed yours. 

Lucifer :

Like a bullet. 
. It's a dangerous habit, to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing gown. 
Or are you just pleased to see me? 
(NECK CREAKS) 


Sherlock :
You'll forgive me for taking precautions. 

Lucifer : 
I'd be offended if you didn't. 
Obviously, I've returned the courtesy. 
(BARREL CLICKS) 
I like your rooms. 
They smell so... ..manly. 

Sherlock :
I'm sure you acquainted yourself with them before now. 

Lucifer :

Well, you are always away, 
on your little adventures for The Strand. 
Tell me, does the illustrator travel with you?
 Do you have to pose... during your deductions? 

Sherlock :
I'm aware of all six occasions you have visited these apartments during my absence. 

 Lucifer :
I know you are. 
By the way, you have a surprisingly comfortable bed. 

Sherlock :
Did you know that dust is largely composed of human skin? 

Lucifer :
Yes. Doesn't taste the same, though, you want your skin fresh. 
Just a little crispy. 

Sherlock :
Won't you sit down? 


Lucifer :
That's all people really are, you know, dust waiting to be distributed. 
And it gets everywhere. Ugh. 
In every breath you take, dancing in every sunbeam, all the used-up people. 

Sherlock :
Fascinating, I'm sure. 
Won't you sit... 

Lucifer :
People, people, people! 
Can't keep anything shiny. 

Do you mind if I fire this? 
Just to clean it out. 

Exactly, let's stop playing. 
We don't need toys to kill each other. 
Where's the intimacy in that? 

Sherlock :
Sit down. 

Lucifer :
Why? What do you want? 

Sherlock :
You chose to come here. 

Lucifer :
Not true, you know that's not true.
What do you want, Sherlock? 

Sherlock :
The Truth. 

Lucifer :
That. Truth's boring! 

You didn't expect me to turn up at the scene of the crime, did you? 
Poor old Sir Eustace. 
He got what was coming to him. 

Sherlock :
But you couldn't have killed him. 

Lucifer :
Oh, so what? Does it matter? 

Sherlock :
Stop it. Stop this. 

Lucifer :
You don't care about Sir Eustace, or the Bride, or any of it. 

There's only one thing in this whole business that you find interesting. 

Sherlock :
I know what you're doing. 
(RATTLING) 

Lucifer : 

The Bride put a gun in her mouth and shot the back of her head off and then she came back. 

Impossible. But she did it. 

And you need to know how. 
How? Don't you? 
It's tearing your world apart, not knowing. 

Sherlock :
You're trying to stop me... 
To distract me, derail me. 

Lucifer : 
Because doesn't this remind you of another case? 
Hasn't this all happened before? 
There's nothing new under the sun. What was it? 

What was it? What was that case? 
Huh? Do you remember? 
It's on the tip of my tongue. 
It's on the tip of my tongue. 
It's on the tip of my tongue. It's on the tip... ..of my tongue. 

Sherlock :
For the sake of Mrs. Hudson's wallpaper, I must remind you that one false move with your finger and you will be dead. 
(HE MUMBLES) 
I'm sorry? 

Lucifer : 
Dead... is the new sexy. 
(RUMBLING) 
(GUNSHOT) 

Well, I'll tell you what, that rather blows the cobwebs away. 

Sherlock :
How can you be alive? 

How do I look? Huh? 
You can be honest, is it noticeable? 

Sherlock :
You blew your own brains out, 

how could you survive? 

Lucifer : 
Or maybe I could backcomb. 


Sherlock :
I Saw You Die. 
Why aren't You dead? 

Because it's not The Fall that kills you, Sherlock. 
Of all people, you should know that, 

it's not The Fall, it's never The Fall. 
It's The Landing! 

The Mind Robber

Delta and the Bannermen Wrap Party 1987 

 I worked on the shoot of Delta and the Bannermen in LMVT5 during the summer of 1987. This is the wrap party featuring Cast members and Crew. 

The Outtakes Video can be found at Part 1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_co... 

Part 2 https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_co...

Well, when someone writes about an incident AFTER it's happened, that is 

HISTORY. 

But when the writing comes FIRST, that's MAGICK. 

 If we'd have fallen into the Master's Trap, we would have  

BECOME FICTION.

Childhood's End : Bad Wednesday

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” he said sadly. “I grew up long ago.” 

“Then why, then what – oh, I don’t understand. Where am I?” cried Jane, gazing about her in terror.

“Far from home, my child, far from home,” croaked the Great-Grandfather. “You are back in the Past – back where Christina and the boys were young sixty years ago!” 

Through her tears Jane saw his old eyes burning fiercely. “Then – how can I get home?” she whispered.

“You cannot. You will stay here. 

There is no other place for you. 

You are back in the Past, remember! 

The Twins and Michael, even your Father and Mother, are not yet born; Number Seventeen is not even built. 

You cannot go home!” 

“No, no!” cried Jane. “It’s not true! It can’t be.”

Her heart was thumping inside her. Never to see Michael again, nor the Twins, nor her Father and Mother and Mary Poppins! 

And suddenly she began to shout, lifting her voice so that it echoed wildly through the stone corridors.

“Mary Poppins! I’m sorry I was cross! Oh, Mary Poppins, help me, help me!” 

“Quick! Hold her close! Surround her!” She heard the Great-Grandfather’s sharp command. She felt the four children pressing close about her. She shut her eyes tight.

“Mary Poppins!” she cried again, “Mary Poppins!” A hand caught hers and pulled her away from the circling arms of Christina, Valentine, William and Everard.

“Heh! Heh! Heh!” The Great-Grandfather’s cackling laugh echoed through the room. The grasp on her hand tightened and she felt herself being drawn away. She dared not look for fear of those frightening eyes, but she pulled fiercely against the tugging hand. 

“Heh! Heh! Heh!” The laugh sounded again and the hand drew her on, down stone stairs and echoing corridors. She had no hope now. Behind her the voices of Christina and the Triplets faded away. 

No help would come from them. She stumbled desperately after the flying footsteps and felt, though her eyes were closed, dark shadows above her head and damp earth under her foot. What was happening to her? Where, oh, where was she going? If only she hadn’t been so cross – if only! The strong hand pulled her onwards and presently she felt the warmth of sunlight on her cheeks and sharp grass scratched her legs as she was dragged along. Then, suddenly, a pair of arms, like bands of iron, closed about her, lifted her up and swung her through the air.

“Oh, help, help!” she cried, frantically twisting and turning against those arms. She would not give in without a struggle, she would kick and kick and kick and. . .

 “I’ll thank you to remember,” said a familiar voice in her ear, “that this is my best skirt and it has to last me the Summer!”

Jane opened her eyes. A pair of fierce blue eyes looked steadily into hers.

The arms that folded her so closely were Mary Poppins’ arms and the legs she was kicking so furiously were the legs of Mary Poppins.

“Oh!” she faltered. “It was you! I thought you hadn’t heard me, Mary Poppins! I thought I should be kept there for ever. I thought—” 

“Some people,” remarked Mary Poppins, putting her gently down, “think a great deal too much. Of that I’m sure. Wipe your face, please!” 

She thrust her blue handkerchief into Jane’s and began to get the Nursery ready for the evening. Jane watched her, drying her tear-stained face on the large blue handkerchief.

She glanced round the well-known room. There were the ragged carpet and the toy cupboard and Mary Poppins’ armchair. At the sight of them she felt safe and warm and comforted. She listened to the familiar sounds as Mary Poppins went about her work, and her terror died away. A tide of happiness swept over her.

“It couldn’t have been I who was cross,” she said to herself. “It must have been somebody else.” And she sat there wondering who the Somebody was. . . “But it can’t really have happened!” scoffed Michael a little later when he heard of Jane’s adventure.  

“You’re much too big for the Bowl.” She thought for a moment. Somehow, as she told the story, it did seem rather impossible. “I suppose it can’t,” she admitted. “But it seemed quite real at the time.” 

“I expect you just thought it. You’re always thinking things.” He felt rather superior because he never thought at all.  

“You two and your thoughts!” said Mary Poppins crossly, pushing them aside as she dumped the Twins into their cots.

“And now,” she snapped, when John and Barbara were safely tucked in, “perhaps I shall have a moment to myself.”

She took the pins out of her hat and thrust it back into its brown-paper bag. She unclipped the locket and put it carefully away in a drawer. Then she slipped off her coat, shook it out, and hung it on the peg behind the door. 

“Why, where’s your new scarf?” said Jane.

“Have you lost it?” 

“She couldn’t have!” said Michael. “She had it on when she came home. I saw it.” Mary Poppins turned on them. “Be good enough to mind your own affairs,” she said snappily, “and let me mind mine!” 

“I only wanted to help—” Jane began.

“I can help myself, thank you!” said Mary Poppins, sniffing. Jane turned to exchange looks with Michael. But this time it was he who took notice. He was staring at the mantelpiece as if he could not believe his eyes. “What is it, Michael?” 

“You didn’t just think it, after all!” he whispered, pointing. Jane looked up at the mantelpiece.

There lay the Royal Doulton Bowl with the crack running right across it. There were the meadow grasses and the wood of alders. And there were the three little boys playing horses, two in front and one running behind with the whip.

But – around the leg of the driver was knotted a small, white handkerchief and, sprawling across the grass, as though someone had dropped it as they ran, was a red-and-white checked scarf.

At one end of it was stitched a large white label bearing the initials: M.P. “So that’s where she lost it!” said Michael, nodding his head wisely.

“Shall we tell her we’ve found it?” Jane glanced round. Mary Poppins was buttoning on her apron and looking as if the whole world had insulted her.

“Better not,” she said softly. “I expect she knows.” 

For a moment Jane stood there, gazing at the cracked Bowl, the knotted handkerchief and the scarf. 

Then with a wild rush she ran across the room and flung herself upon the starched white figure.  

“Oh,” she cried. “Oh, Mary Poppins! I’ll never be naughty again!” 

A faint, disbelieving smile twinkled at the corners of Mary Poppins’ mouth as she smoothed out the creases from her apron.

“Humph!” was all she said.

Theatre of Blood

Peregrine Devlin: 

You did kill Larding and the others didn't you? 

_{Edward Lionheart:} 

How many actors have you destroyed as you destroyed me? 

How many talented lives have you cut down with your glib attacks? 

What do you know of the blood, sweat and toil of a theatrical production? 

Of the dedication of the men and the women in the noblest profession of them all? 

How could you know you talentless fools who spew vitriol on the creative efforts of others because because you lack the ability to create yourselves! 

No Devlin, no! I did not kill Larding and the others. 

PUNISHED them my dear boy, punished them. 

Just as you shall have to be punished. 

Peregrine Devlin: 

Well get it over with then, just so you don't have to make me listen to that demented rubbish of yours. Go on, kill me then!

I Know What The Bee Knows

“But you, Watson"—he stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders —"I've hardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever."

"I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes—you have changed very little—save for that horrible goatee."

"These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson," said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. "To-morrow it will be but a dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial changes I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's tomorrow as I was before this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled —before this American job came my way."

"But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs."

"Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen. 

"Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London."

"But how did you get to work again?"

"Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Minister alone I could have withstood, but when the Premier also deigned to visit my humble roof—! The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of some strong and secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man, you will realise that the matter was complex. Since then I have been honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I watched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope that you are none the worse!"

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and swore.

"Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages," he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. "Hullo! Hullo!" he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "This should put another bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him. Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for."

The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor.

"I shall get level with you, Altamont," he said, speaking with slow deliberation. "If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!"

"The old sweet song," said Holmes. "How often have I heard it in days gone by. It was a favourite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs."

" As I mentioned in my introduction to Frank's Dark Knight, one of the things that prevents superhero stories from ever attaining the status of true modern myths or legends is that they are open ended. 

An essential quality of a Legend is that the events in it are clearly defined in time; Robin Hood is driven to become an outlaw by the injustices of King John and his minions. That is his Origin. 

He meets Little John, Friar Tuck and all the rest and forms the merry men. He wins the tournament in disguise, he falls in love with Maid Marian and thwarts the Sheriff of Nottingham. That is his Career, including love interest, Major Villains and the formation of a superhero group that he is part of. 

He lives to see the return of Good King Richard and is finally killed by a woman, firing a last arrow to mark the place where he shall be buried. That is his Resolution --

you can apply the same paradigm to King Arthur, Davy Crockett or Sherlock Holmes with equal success. 

You cannot apply it to most comic book characters because, in order to meet the commercial demands of a continuing series, they can never have a resolution. Indeed, they find it difficult to embrace any of the changes in life that the passage of time brings about for these very same reasons, making them finally less than fully human as well as falling far short of True Myth. 

The reasons this all came up in the Dark Knight intro was that I felt that Frank had managed to fulfill that requirement in terms of Superman and Batman, giving us an image which, while perhaps not of their actual deaths, showed up how they were at their endings, in their final years. Whether this story will actually ever happen in terms of "real" continuity is irrelevant: by providing a fitting and affective capstone to the Batman legend it makes it just that... a legend rather than an endlessly meandering continuity. 

It does no damage to the current stories of Batman in the present, and indeed it does the opposite by lending them a certain weight and power by implication and association--every minor shift of attitude in the current Bruce Wayne's approach to life that might be seen in Batman or Detective over the next few years, whether intentionally or not, will provide twinges of excitement for the fans who can perceive their contemporary Batman inching ever closer to the intense and immortal giant portrayed in the Dark Knight chronicles. 

It also provides a special poignance... while I was doing some of the episodes of "Under the Hood" for the Watchmen text backup and especially upon seeing Dave's mock-up photographs of the Minutemen in their early, innocent days, I felt as if I'd touched upon that sense of "look at them all being happy. They didn't know how it would turn out" that one sometimes gets when looking at old photographs.  

Dark Knight does this for the Batman to some degree, and I'd like to try to do the same for the whole DC Cosmos in Twilight. I feel that by providing a capstone of the type mentioned above, but one which embraces the whole DC Universe rather than just a couple of its heroes, I can lend a coherence and emotional weight to the notion of a cohesive DC Universe, thus fulfilling the criteria set out in my ramblings about the effect of all this on the idea of DC continuity as mentioned above.  

Being set in a possible future, it does nothing that cannot be undone, and yet at the same time has a real and tangible effect upon the lives and activities of the various characters in their own books and their own current continuities. 

At the same time, by providing that capstone and setting the whole continuity into a framework of complete and whole legend, as Frank did in Dark Knight, we make the whole thing seem much more of a whole with a weight of circumstance and history that might help to cement over any shakiness left in the wake of Crisis and its ramifications. 

Even if we pull the threads of these various characters' circumstances together at some hypothetical point in the future, this does imply that there is a logical pattern or framework for the whole DC Universe, even if the resolution of the pattern is at a point thirty years in the hypothetical future.

 

They Want Us to Think That They are Bears

Of course the bears came out, and stood in the middle of the road and waved their arms: Archie and Teddy and Bruno.

ARCHIE TEDDY BRUNO   

So Mr. Bliss had to stop, because he could not get by without running over them.

"I like bananas," said Teddy.

"And I like cabbages," said Archie.

"And I want a donkey!" said Bruno. "And we all want a motor-car," they all said together.

"But you can't have this motor-car; it's mine," said Mr. Bliss.

"And you can't have these cabbages - they're mine," said Mr. Day.

"And you can't have these bananas, or this donkey - they're mine," said Mrs. Knight.

"Then we shall eat you all up - one each!" said the bears.

Of course they were only teasing; but they rolled their yellow eyes, and growled, and looked so fierce that Mr. Bliss was frightened (and so was Mr. Day and Mrs. Knight). So they gave the bears the cabbages and the bananas.

Archie and Teddy piled them on the donkey and took them away to their house in the wood. Bruno sat and talked to Mr. Bliss. Really he was watching to see Mr. Bliss did not drive away before Archie and Teddy came back.

 

You’re Built Over LOT of Death

RYAN: 

So, today I want to talk about 

The Greatest Woman I Ever Met. 

Smart, funny, caring. 

Proper special. 

My nan. 

Because... she died.

[Ryan's bedroom]

RYAN: 

First me mum six years ago, and now me nan. 

It's like the best people get taken first. 

I had a lot to learn from her 

and I were looking forward to that. 

She died like she lived, 

trying to Help Other People. 

I love you, Nan, and tomorrow 

I'm going out there for you.

[Moors]

(Amazingly, the bike is still rideable - but Ryan still keeps falling off, bless.) 

RYAN: 
Three, two, one... 

(The Doctor watches from a distance as Ryan keeps trying and falling and trying again.)

[Chapel]

 

Our Lady :

What time did Your Dad say he'd get here? 

RYAN: 

Two hours ago. 

Our Lady :

If he said he'll come... 

RYAN: 

He says a lot of things. 

He's never been the best at being reliable. 

I mean, how can he not be here? 

She's His Mum. 

She would've wanted him here. 

I want him here. 

(The memorial service has started.) 

GRAHAM: 

Lots of you knew Grace longer than me, so I can't stand here and pretend to know everything about her. 

I wasn't her first husband, 

but she said I would do for a second attempt. 

I can only tell you about the Grace I met, 

when I thought I didn't have much time left. 

The... the Grace that showed me 

Life had more to offer, and... 

And I know if she was here now, 

she'd tell us not to be so sad. 

You see, I can hear her saying to me, 

Graham, we had three glorious years, 

what're you complaining about? 

I'm complaining because I wanted more. 

You see, Grace was a better person than I could ever be. 

And I should have gone and... 
Grace should still be here.

[Outside Ryan's home]

Our Lady : :

What did you mean in your speech, 

you thought you'd run out of time? 

GRAHAM:
Oh, well, er, I had cancer and er...
Well, strictly speaking, I'm still in remission, 

three years gone.
And Grace was my chemo nurse.

That's where we met and fell in love. 

So by rights, I shouldn't even be here. 

YASMIN:
Have you got family?

The Woman :

No. Lost them a long time ago. 

RYAN: 

How do you cope with that?

The Woman :

I carry them with Me. 
What they would've thought and said and done. 
I make them a part of Who I Am. 

So even though they're gone from The World, 
they're never gone from Me. 

THE ELDER : 
That's The Sort of Thing 

Grace Would Have Said.

(Everyone is asleep except Victoria, who has the gun. The Doctor yawns and Victoria turns the weapon on him. He raises his arms in surrender.)

The Cosmic Hobo :

I'm on your side, remember? 

Hey, why didn't you wake me? 

I should have been on watch half an hour ago.

VICTORIA: 

I thought you should rest. 
 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Why me?

VICTORIA: 

No reason really.
 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Oh, I think I know. 

Is it because I'm...

VICTORIA : 

Well, if you are 450 years old, 
you need a great deal of sleep.
 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Well that's very considerate of you, Victoria, 
but between you and me, 
I'm really quite lively actually, all things being considered.

(The Doctor takes the gun.)

The Cosmic Hobo :

Are you happy with us, Victoria?

VICTORIA:

Yes, I am. 

At least, I would be if my father were here.

 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Yes, I know, I know.

VICTORIA: 

I wonder what he would have thought if he could see me now.
 
The Cosmic Hobo :

You miss him very much, don't you?

VICTORIA: 

It's only when I close my eyes. 

I can still see him standing there, before those horrible Dalek creatures came to the house. 

He was a very kind man, 

I shall never forget him. Never.

The Cosmic Hobo :

No, of course you won't. 

But, you know, 

the memory of him 

won't always be 

a sad one.

VICTORIA: 

I think it will —

You can't understand, 

being so ancient.
 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Eh?

VICTORIA: 
I mean old.
 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Oh.

VICTORIA: 

You probably can't remember 

Your Family.

 
The Cosmic Hobo :

Oh yes, I can when I want to. 

And that's The Point, really —

I have to really want to, 

to bring them back in 

front of my eyes. 

The rest of the time 

they sleep in my mind, 

and I forget. 

And so will you. 
Oh yes, you will. 

You'll find there's so much else to think about. 

So remember, our lives 

are different 

to anybody else's. 

That's the exciting thing. 

There's nobody in The Universe can do what we're doing. 

You must get some sleep and let this poor old man stay awake.

Altelier

Alan Moore´s living room

Aerial Toll Houses and Imperfect Courage

Cooper, you may be fearless in  

This World. 

But there are  

Other Worlds. 

Worlds Beyond Life and Death. 

Worlds Beyond Scientific Reality. 

[ Worlds Beyond 'Good' and 'Evil' ]

My people believe that  

The White Lodge is a place where the spirits that rule Man and Nature reside. 

There is also a legend of a place called  

The Black Lodge. 

The Shadow Self 

of the White Lodge. 

Legend says that every spirit must pass through there on the way to perfection. 

There, you will meet your own  

Shadow Self. 

My people call it  

The Dweller on the Threshold. 

But it is said that if you confront The Black Lodge with imperfect courage  —

It will utterly annihilate your soul.