Double Drabble: Help Needed
Title: Help Needed
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Scrap.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 587: Poke at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Something wants Owen’s attention.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Owen was sitting at his workstation, typing up the notes from his latest autopsy, when he felt something poking at his ankle. His first impulse was to kick at whatever it was, but he restrained himself; things had been different around the Hub recently, thanks to an unexpected discovery, so instead he carefully inched his seat back and looked under the desk.
Feeling the gentle poke again, he squinted at his right ankle. Sure enough, he could just make out a slim, grey shape against the lighter grey of the concrete floor: a snock.
Not just any snock either. Owen recognised it immediately by the scars on the small body: Scrap, the snock he’d treated after it got stuck in the sub-etheric resonator.
“Hello! You’re a bit far from your flock, aren’t you?”
Black button eyes peered myopically up at him, then Scrap poked Owen’s ankle again, making sure it had his attention, before wiggling around the side of his desk, out of sight. Puzzled, Owen followed.
Tucked against the base of his desk was a paler snock with a nasty tear in its body. Scrap must have bought it to him for help!
Snocks were smarter than he’d thought.
The End
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Owen, Scrap.
Rating: G
Written For: Challenge 587: Poke at tw100.
Spoilers: Nada.
Summary: Something wants Owen’s attention.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters.
A/N: Double drabble.
Owen was sitting at his workstation, typing up the notes from his latest autopsy, when he felt something poking at his ankle. His first impulse was to kick at whatever it was, but he restrained himself; things had been different around the Hub recently, thanks to an unexpected discovery, so instead he carefully inched his seat back and looked under the desk.
Feeling the gentle poke again, he squinted at his right ankle. Sure enough, he could just make out a slim, grey shape against the lighter grey of the concrete floor: a snock.
Not just any snock either. Owen recognised it immediately by the scars on the small body: Scrap, the snock he’d treated after it got stuck in the sub-etheric resonator.
“Hello! You’re a bit far from your flock, aren’t you?”
Black button eyes peered myopically up at him, then Scrap poked Owen’s ankle again, making sure it had his attention, before wiggling around the side of his desk, out of sight. Puzzled, Owen followed.
Tucked against the base of his desk was a paler snock with a nasty tear in its body. Scrap must have bought it to him for help!
Snocks were smarter than he’d thought.
The End