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Apr. 18th, 2010 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bodldopsLong time, no post. Of course, I'm doing so to post fic. Ficlet. >.> Whatevs.
'Do I look like People', a Mways/11th Doc crossover thingy.
They'd met over cocoa, the ex-waitress and the ex-kiss-o-gram girl. Perhaps it was a slightly calculated move on the pyro's part - she does like to keep up on the Companions, making sure they're okay, making sure he's okay.
The conversation is light and far-ranging, discussing impossibilites and realities and the things that go bump under the bed and the things that cease having the decency of only bumping under the bed once you start traveling with the Doctor.
"And then he tells me," Amy warms to her topic, her hands making frustrating gestures, "Five minutes. Five minutes. I even packed my teddy." Ace grins at the idea of a little girl on the TARDIS, especially a little girl who could put up with a scrambled post-traumatic-regeneration Time Lord trashing the kitchen and settling on custard with fish sticks.
"An'? How'd the old girl look after a crash like that? The TARDIS, I mean, not the Doctor, if he ever switches genders I'm sure we'll all know 'bout it."
Amy scowls darkly, hands wrapping around the mug of cocoa in front of her.
"He didn't come back." Ace blinks blankly at the young Scotswoman, not processing. "He didn't come back for twelve years."
The Time Lord, the pyro, ex-waitress, ex-Companion, ex-lonely little girl's expression shifts to match Amy's.
"Pardon me, I'll be back in a bit." Ace leaves the poor girl to be consoled by her cocoa and storms across the bar, out the back door, across the green spring grass, towards a blue police box parked just beyond the reach of the Whomping Willow. She's focused, remembering lessons taught by two very patient soldiers, as she bursts through the unlocked doors and toward the lanky man who is bent over the controls of his beloved machine.
He looks up, smiles hesitantly - regeneration fog is a pain in the ass, she decides, though his lack of full recognition doesn't faze her at all. Well. Not much, anyway. He straightens as she gets closer than is polite, staring down at her with the full righteous indignation of a disturbed Time Lord on his home turf.
And for all little girls everywhere who have been told by People that they won't be left alone, she throws a perfect right hook, bowling him over.
Sometimes, yes, he looks exactly like a Person.
'Do I look like People', a Mways/11th Doc crossover thingy.
They'd met over cocoa, the ex-waitress and the ex-kiss-o-gram girl. Perhaps it was a slightly calculated move on the pyro's part - she does like to keep up on the Companions, making sure they're okay, making sure he's okay.
The conversation is light and far-ranging, discussing impossibilites and realities and the things that go bump under the bed and the things that cease having the decency of only bumping under the bed once you start traveling with the Doctor.
"And then he tells me," Amy warms to her topic, her hands making frustrating gestures, "Five minutes. Five minutes. I even packed my teddy." Ace grins at the idea of a little girl on the TARDIS, especially a little girl who could put up with a scrambled post-traumatic-regeneration Time Lord trashing the kitchen and settling on custard with fish sticks.
"An'? How'd the old girl look after a crash like that? The TARDIS, I mean, not the Doctor, if he ever switches genders I'm sure we'll all know 'bout it."
Amy scowls darkly, hands wrapping around the mug of cocoa in front of her.
"He didn't come back." Ace blinks blankly at the young Scotswoman, not processing. "He didn't come back for twelve years."
The Time Lord, the pyro, ex-waitress, ex-Companion, ex-lonely little girl's expression shifts to match Amy's.
"Pardon me, I'll be back in a bit." Ace leaves the poor girl to be consoled by her cocoa and storms across the bar, out the back door, across the green spring grass, towards a blue police box parked just beyond the reach of the Whomping Willow. She's focused, remembering lessons taught by two very patient soldiers, as she bursts through the unlocked doors and toward the lanky man who is bent over the controls of his beloved machine.
He looks up, smiles hesitantly - regeneration fog is a pain in the ass, she decides, though his lack of full recognition doesn't faze her at all. Well. Not much, anyway. He straightens as she gets closer than is polite, staring down at her with the full righteous indignation of a disturbed Time Lord on his home turf.
And for all little girls everywhere who have been told by People that they won't be left alone, she throws a perfect right hook, bowling him over.
Sometimes, yes, he looks exactly like a Person.
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Date: 2010-04-20 01:04 am (UTC)