Charles is my Jeep. He is a big, black, gay JGC whom I love dearly. I say he's gay, because whenever I park him, when I come back he's surrounded by large sexy trucks and SUVs even when he started out next to some little POS car. But I suppose he's less gay, and more a big slut who happens to like manly trucks more than little bitties. When I told my friend, who owns the lovely Versa Betty, about my chance encounter with 'the Doctor' (featured in another of my stories 'Little Moments') she commented that not only had I ruined MY chance to become a Companion, but I'd also ruined Charles's chance to have a roaring relationship with the TARDIS.
Charles was a Jeep. A big, beautiful, black, gay Jeep; well, bisexual Jeep. His owner babied him like no car had ever been babied, but she also rode him hard over inhospitable terrain and roads commonly marked "no winter maintenance". He was a Jeep Grand Cherokee, LTD, and he could take it.
Charles loved to let his v8 run, passing Priuses and mini Coopers like a Lipizzaner passing a rearwards facing pony, and keeping neck and neck with larger trucks. When he parked it didn't matter where but soon he would be surrounded with Tahoes and Chevys old and new, the smaller Volkswagens being chased away by his incredible force of character. On the open highway between home and the university his owner attended, Charles liked to let his mind drift, admiring attractive 4-wheel drive vehicles as they vied for space around him. In the university parking lot, Charles would gossip with the sexy older Chevy that always parked next to him.
Charles's days were spent admiring the world around him as well as waiting excitedly for the next mission his owner would set before him. This past semester had seen him becoming a willing pack horse to a musical. He along with his owner's friend's Nissan Versa Betty, were drafted into the set production and prop management world of creating A Very Potter Musical. This involved a lot of piling boxes, lighting trees, and set supplies inside him. Not that Charles minded, he loved being used hard. And it was thoroughly ludicrous seeing Betty filled to the brim with large panels of polystyrene. Charles however had charge of all the wood needed, as he is especially experienced in storing large amounts of lumber in the back.
Once break hit, however, he was unloaded for the last time, and driven home to sleep in the dark driveway out in the country and take his owner down some beautiful and dangerous back roads at stupid-early in the morning to work. He liked that morning drive. Down hills and coursing swiftly over pockmarked roads barely one lane wide that were slowly falling into the clear and cold brook. He enjoyed the feel of the dirt road under his new tires, but he also reveled in the nearly empty blacktop that consisted of the final stretch into work.
One morning, however, as he came to the large intersection in the centre of the town his owner worked in, he was slammed into an uncomfortable and illogical stop. About to voice his disapproval with a loud engine rev, he realized that an insane human was running full tilt and open bore into traffic. It was no mind to him; though he was glad his owner had realized and hadn't run the man over. Blood and guts in his grill would be uncomfortable.
He put the man out of his alternator and prepared to turn right and spend his day basking in the sun of the parking lot at work. He'd become quite good at looking cool but on the inside have been preparing to roast his owner alive when she came back outside.
But his owner wrenched him around roughly, driving them haphazardly across traffic to the left. Charles was terrified, cars were honking loudly at him as he felt his wheels trundle over the curb and up a steep embankment. His passenger door was flung open, and suddenly someone was climbing into him. He could tell his owner was fantastically excited, but all he could think about was how terrible that screaming, careening path across traffic had been.
His owner skidded them to a stop in an empty clearing just off the golf course, and he could feel the unpleasant sensation of his wheels sinking into the loamy earth. About to try and voice his displeasure again, he caught sight of a tall, blue, rectangular police box in the centre of the sand trap.
She was gorgeous. Such lines, sleek and straight, and the deep vivid blue shone in the early morning light. He was captivated, enthralled. Who was that gorgeous vehicle?
The strange human his owner was talking to gestured at her and said she was a T.A.R.D.I.S. Nothing had ever sounded as sweet to him as that word.
She hummed with a deep mechanical sound, one that drew him toward her. He saw his owner hurry forward with the man, and run inside TARDIS. He wanted to go too, he needed to. But his wheels wouldn't turn, his ignition was cold. He couldn't move. And with the most beautiful, haunting, agonizingly sweet sound, she was gone.
And he was alone.
By god, this will be continued.