Double Drabble: Broody
Title: Broody
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Myf.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 509: Sausage at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Poor old Myf; it’s that time of year again.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“Myf’s broody again,” Ianto said wearily, coming down from the Pteranodon’s aerie looking a trifle dishevelled thanks to her determination to mother him. He slumped onto the sofa beside Jack. “On the plus side, at least this time she didn’t try to feed me. Eating sushi is one thing, but I find having raw fish heads shoved in my face a bit off-putting.”
“Most people would,” Jack agreed. “Especially since she prefers them smelly.”
Ianto gave a wry smile and picked bits of straw from his hair and clothes. “Mackerel is rather pungent; took ages last time to get the smell out of my shirt. Can’t really be cross with the silly old sausage though. She’s just following her natural instincts. I wish we could somehow give her a baby to raise. It’s not her fault she’s stranded in the future, millions of years away from the rest of her kind.”
“I’m not sure a breeding population of Pteranodons would go down too well in modern-day Wales,” Jack pointed out.
“That’s a fair point, but still, I hate seeing her go through this year after year.”
“How many ‘eggs’ has she got this time?”
“Two rugby balls and a coconut.”
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Myf.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 509: Sausage at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Poor old Myf; it’s that time of year again.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
“Myf’s broody again,” Ianto said wearily, coming down from the Pteranodon’s aerie looking a trifle dishevelled thanks to her determination to mother him. He slumped onto the sofa beside Jack. “On the plus side, at least this time she didn’t try to feed me. Eating sushi is one thing, but I find having raw fish heads shoved in my face a bit off-putting.”
“Most people would,” Jack agreed. “Especially since she prefers them smelly.”
Ianto gave a wry smile and picked bits of straw from his hair and clothes. “Mackerel is rather pungent; took ages last time to get the smell out of my shirt. Can’t really be cross with the silly old sausage though. She’s just following her natural instincts. I wish we could somehow give her a baby to raise. It’s not her fault she’s stranded in the future, millions of years away from the rest of her kind.”
“I’m not sure a breeding population of Pteranodons would go down too well in modern-day Wales,” Jack pointed out.
“That’s a fair point, but still, I hate seeing her go through this year after year.”
“How many ‘eggs’ has she got this time?”
“Two rugby balls and a coconut.”
The End