Episonde 1, part 1. -the art historian's wet dream-

To whoever may read this. My name is Andrew Connolly and I’m a student in Art history at Dublin University. I met the Doctor on my way home after lecture. I was carrying around my books when I bumped into a blue police phone box. Being interested in history like I am, I decided to take a closer look. The thing looked English to me. Then what was it doing in Dublin? I was about to look up some information on my phone when the box opened from the inside. That was, indeed, rather odd. But even more odd was the man that came out. He was wearing a suit, combined with rather bright red shoes and a hairdo that I do not dare to describe. He smiled at me, as if he’d been expecting me. I don’t know why, but it almost was as if he already knew me in some way. He pulled me into that strange blue box, only to leave me in wonder. It’s interior was bigger than its exterior! And the architecture, or whatever it was, looked like nothing I’d ever seen before. The man, the Doctor as I’d later understand, gave me a smile. “so this is your first time, huh?” he was grinning for some reason. Wasn’t it obvious? I didn’t know this man and his box. Instead of answering I just shrugged, which made him frown as he walked off to fondle with things I suspect where controls. “Well, I promised you Florence, so off we go!” I just stood there, gaping at him. He promised me something, but I couldn’t remember it at all, I was about to talk as the box started moving. Instinctively I clung onto the central panel, trying to keep standing. My books got shattered over the floor but as suddenly as the box started moving, it stopped, producing an unpleasant scraping sound while doing so.
“Florence!” the man seemed overly happy, “there we are, middle of the renaissance, the bloom of Italy!” warily, I stepped out of the box and looked around. To my surprise, we were indeed in Florence, standing right in front of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, the large “Duomo” that is so significant in this Italian city. I gasped when I realized it looked too…new? Yes, it definitely looked like a freshly build church. Curious citizens where flocking around the doors of gilded bronze, that shone in the light of the early evening of Italy. Somewhere around 1475, or maybe some years later, I realized. I looked around in awe while the doctor smiled at me. “come on, this way.” He encouraged me to follow him, and so I did blindly trusting him. Thinking of this later, this is weird. I didn’t know this man but I followed him blindly. Maybe it’s because I knew, unconsciously. I followed him through narrow streets, away from the Duomo, until we reached a tiny looking home. My eyes were drawn to the small stone pla
quette by the door. “Buonarroti” it read. Now I told you, reader, that I am an art history student, which caused me to directly recognize the name: Michelangelo Buonarroti. The Doctor, though, led me past the home. With more trouble this time, because I could not keep my eyes of the door. That door handle was touched by one of the fathers of the renaissance! I wondered if I would get to meet him, little did I know that in not long from then, my life would depend on this same Michelangelo.
The man, which I remind you, I still did not know, pulled me away, putting me on the rim of a clear water fountain, where he stood in front of me. “before you storm off like usually, this time I do need to warn you not to go predicting the future like you seem to like. I know you know a lot of this stuff, but people here do not. Keep quiet and for once, please, behave like you belong here” he almost sounded like he had told this many times before. “alright” I said, taking absolutely no effort to hide my thick accent. “but before I.. run off? I want to ask you some stuff.” He rose one of his eyebrows. “who are you?” the answer came quickly, impatiently almost. “I’m the Doctor.” Okay, that didn’t make sense but I accepted it for now. “okay, and that box, what’s it?” apparently it was a time machine called a Tardis. I was not satisfied, but he left me no time to ask anything else. Already walking off to somewhere in the shadows. Apparently this doctor expected me to wander off, so why wouldn’t I?
A little doubtingly I walked off, forcing myself to not walk directly back to the home, but wander back to the duomo. I could as well take a look at the doors while the gilding was still on there. It was not hard to find the church at all, since I could simply walk to that big shiny dome. It was harder to keep focused on that though. Everywhere around me where things I thought to be interesting. People talking at the market, other people discussing in what I recognized as Italian, but could still understand. In my education I had picked up a little Italian, so I thought it was just because of that. Quickly, I found myself looking at the little stalls, drooling over the pastries they sold there. Sadly, I did not have any money to buy one of them. I felt in my pockets for something I could trade, finding nothing but an old piece of gum. In thought I stood there, when I realized I was wearing that tube shaped helix earring I got for my birthday a few years ago. It was silver, so maybe it would sell. While I was taking it off, the marketer on the other end of the stall seemed to have already guessed my intention and offered me a pastry and a few florin as change. I smiled, handed him the earing and walked off again, munching down the delicious pastry. It was crunchy, yet creamy and tasted like vanilla, with a hint of cinnamon. Being completely in love with the pastry, I was not watching where I was going and however cliché this may sound: I bumped into a man. Little pots of paint shattered around the floor and I was already crouching to pick them up when I realized who it was. Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni. My jaw dropped as I was both stunned and dumbfounded by his appearance. He was young, about my age, but already had the air of a high classed artist, even though that didn’t make him look unfriendly. What surprised me even more was the look of interest I spotted in his eyes. Interest in me, apparently. I got myself to stand up and gave him his paint, but our eyes seemed locked together. Then he smiled, took my hand together with the paintpots and forced me to shake it. I was shaking hands with Michelangelo! He told me his name and explained me what he was, which caused me to roll my eyes. Luckily he didn’t notice it. Then a very special question came, one I wasn’t prepared for at all. “are you interested in a modelling job?”
I didn’t know what to say, I wanted to scream, to shout, to hug him, but I did just nod. He didn’t even ask my name as he pulled me along to his workplace which, I realized, was in a street behind his house. He then pushed me onto a sort of small podium. “stand there and try to keep standing still” I was ordered. Nodding again, I tried not to beam a smile as I looked at the artist. Michelangelo got a piece of wood and a piece of chalk, sketching already. I was surprised to find he liked to talk while sketching, complementing my pale skin, cursing my strawberry blonde curls which were too hard to draw, even though this was the feature he had selected me on. I told him my name and my nationality. The latter made him furrow his brow, but he shrugged it off as he told me to turn my face a little. I did, but was corrected as soon as I moved. Turning my face to the other side and tried my best to keep the rest of my body as still as possible. Still not satisfied with the result he got up and roughly corrected my stance. It hurt, but I laughed it off, trying to stand the way he wanted me to. He muttered some insults (of which I was not sure if they were aimed at me or not) and continues sketching. It took what felt like an hour before he was ready, coming to take me of the podium and offered me some water, which I gladly took. By now I had gathered enough courage to ask this one question that had been playing around in my mind pretty long now. “Can I see your work?” A proud smile appeared on his face. “Sure” he walked off, to what looked like a gallery full of statues. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized some works from my books. Others I did not recognize, like this statue of an angel. When I got closer I realized it was not made of marble, or any other stone that I’d recognize. “Michel?” I asked, unsure if I could call him that but he didn’t seem to mid and came over, so I continued. “What material is this statue made off?” I got worried when he didn’t answer right away, instead he just stared at the sculpture. Then, after a minute or so, came an answer. “I didn’t make that statue.” Well, that’s weird but we made a great mistake when we looked at each other and then back at the statue. To my surprise and horror, the statue had changes position, to now look at us. Instinctively I backed away, pulling the artist along. “Let’s get out of here” I hissed, still walking backwards to the door. Luckily, Michelangelo listened to me and followed. We closed the door and I insisted that we left the house too. Stumbling outside with looks of horror on our faces, we ran into the Doctor. He rose one of his eyebrows and I started to explain. During my story his face went first blank and then got a hint of worry. “ you were lucky” he told us, “you encountered a weeping angel. A race of malicious aliens that can move only when nothing is looking at them. They’re very dangerous, and you are very lucky to have survived the encounter”
I looked at The Doctor, frowning. “but we left…so that would mean it’s now free to move around whatever it likes.” Michelangelo, by my side, nodded. Seemingly he had understood that even before I did. “But what is it doing in my gallery?” he asked concerned, making the doctor frown.
“well there is this a theory among Time Lord scientists, it was never tested because we can’t see angels move, but they believe the weeping angels are able to reproduce by possessing lifeless statues.” All three of us remained silent in thoughts. It wasn’t too hard to guess what each of us was thinking about: The Doctor was probably trying to think of a way to stop it, Michelangelo might have been very concerned about his work and I, I was wondering how this all was possible and how it affected history. Surprisingly, I was the first to snap out of it. “Doctor, we need to do something” I stated and the old, old eyes looking at me showed a hint of approval. He nodded and looked at the artist by my side, suddenly shining with what seemed to be an idea. “Alright! Mike, I can call you mike, can’t I?, we’re going to lure it outside. We make a statue so pretty the angel won’t be able to resist. And with we, I mend you. You’re the only one of us that can actually sculpt. listen. You must make a statue that is pretty, but make it immobile, so it won’t be dangerous even if this plan fails. You can do that, can’t you?”
I could see a hint of worry on the Italians face, but he was too proud to admit it to be a very hard, almost impossible job. He nodded and even forced a smile as he reached for his chisel. “ then you better get me some marble.”
…
I was surprised to find Michelangelo work as quickly as he does. In basically no time he had a rough model half embedded in rock. The artist smiled at me and gave me a hand full off fine sand, asking me to polish the legs as he worked on the face. I agreed and eventually a true masterpiece occurred…only it was still part of a marble block. It seemed that the doctor was contented by the result and I even saw him run his hand over the smooth marble for a moment. I understood this motion; if I hadn’t just ragged open my hands by polishing it, I would too he happily stroking the surface. “good!” he suddenly spoke. “now we need to place this in the sight of the angel.” We nodded and struggled to pick up the massive piece of rock. I can assure you it was heavy, even with the three of us trying to lift it. “isn’t there an easier way to move these things?” I asked Michelangelo, realizing this was something I never had to learn. Seemingly, this question left him to wonder, and I understood this wasn’t something he usually worried about. The doctor shook his head. “it’s not far, we’ll just carry it”