Shriner's Convention - (Doctor Who Fic)
Title: Shriner's Convention
Author: betawho
Characters: 11th Doctor, River Song
Rating: PG
Words: 875
Author's Note: As I was driving to another town to see the Doctor Who Anniversary Special, what should come on the radio but the Ray Stevens song "Shriner's Convention."
And it suddenly occurred to me that those first words, "It was a glorious mess, everybody wears a fez," perfectly described the Doctor!
I spent the rest of the drive giggling and inserting the Doctor into that song in my head. It's a hilarious comedy song, worthy of a listen just for its own sake. But here's my take on what was really happening "Back at the motel..."
* BEFORE YOU READ THIS FIC - listen to the song below - "Shriner's Convention," by Ray Stevens -
Meanwhile Back At The Motel ...
The Doctor bounced out of the Tardis into the motel room, happy as a grig, fez on his head and still waving like he was still in the parade.
There was a roar from the Tardis behind him and he jumped to the side, just as River emerged from the Tardis on a huge Harley Davidson motorcycle.
His eyes feasted on her. Normally when he and Clara rode a motorcycle and wore helmets, they just looked “safe.”
When River rode a motorcycle, her red-tinted hair billowing out beneath it, grinning that “go to hell” smile, revving the engine and wearing a leather jacket and leather pants. Well, the motorcycle wasn’t the only thing that revved.
The phone rang. Distracted from the picture of his wife, he fumbled on the nightstand and picked up the phone.
River gunned the motorcycle, the Doctor grinned and pressed his ear into the phone. “Who?” He stuck one finger in his other ear, “Who? Oh.”
He listened, making faces at whatever the other person was saying. Finally he nodded and put the phone down. He rubbed his hands together gleefully.
“I told you this would be fun!” he said, jumping in a circle to face River, he pointed a finger in the air. “We’ve been invited to a banquet!” He straightened his bow tie. “And it’s black tie!”
“Oh good, an excuse to dress up!” River revved the engine one last time. Then abruptly stared at the bed and snapped off the engine. He turned to see what she was staring at with such a horrified look.
There was a fez on the bed. With a propeller on top.
He grinned like it was Christmas and pounced.
-----
“River!” the Doctor slapped a hand over his eyes. He parted two of his fingers. One eye raked her top to bottom, then his fingers closed again.
“Oh relax, Sweetie. It’s a flesh colored leotard.” She took his propellored fez off her red curls. “You said to create a distraction.”
“I told you to cause a distraction, I didn’t expect this!” He almost swallowed his tongue when she stared peeling out of the flesh colored leotard. It was pink, but River’s flesh was all gold.
The phone rang, and he jumped. He reached out to grab it. He frowned into the receiver, still distracted by his disrobing wife. Huh? “Who is this?” he asked into the phone.
River pulled on a flowered beach wrap from their last trip to Space Florida.
“Flowerdy shirt,” he said somewhat in a daze, though his eyes kept slipping down to her bare legs. She smirked at him over her shoulder.
He abruptly turned his attention back to the phone.
“How do you know it was mine?” he asked, to whatever the person on the other end was saying. Then he shrugged, and nodded, a goofy forbearing look on his face.
After a minute, and some extra nodding, he hung up the phone. He grinned. “We’ve been ordered to a secret conclave!”
His eyes widened as his wife sauntered up to him in that flowerdy shirt. He gulped at the look on her face.
River reached up and stroked the black bow tie of his tux, he’d taken care of the Zygon waiters, with her distraction, but had missed the banquet. Her eyes trailed down him, she always did like him in a tux.
“That’s a coincidence, Sweetie. I was rather thinking of a secret conclave myself.”
-----
The phone shrilled in his ear early the next morning. He fumbled for the nightstand and answered it.
He held the phone away from his ear as a voice blasted demandingly down the receiver. “I was in a meeting,” he finally mumbled.
River sauntered out of the Tardis looking fresh and flushed and scrubbed. She was back in her riding leathers. He’d promised her a cross country motorcycle tour once they dealt with the Zygons.
“It was nothing,” he muttered distractedly into the phone, not really paying attention.
She turned and slung one leg over the Harley. He saw the design painted on the back of her leather jacket. Two overlapping hearts, one wearing a fez, both pierced by a silver lightning bolt.
“Maybe I’ll join the Hell’s Angels,” he muttered to himself. River turned and saw the admiring look on his face, his hair standing up endearingly in all directions.
She giggled, and cranked the throttle.
The phone blasted in his ear again, he jumped, then ignored the irritated voice coming from the other side and hung up.
“Apparently we have one more task to do before we leave. Last night,’ he said, sitting up. “I’ve got a pair of fruit-patterned swim trunks in the Tardis don’t I?”
“I’m sure you do, Sweetie. What task?”
“How do you feel about taking the motorcycle up on a high dive?”
River’s eyes fired. “I’ve always wanted to ramp a motorcycle into a pool!” She revved the engine again enthusiastically.
The man in the next room pounded on the wall. River rolled her eyes.
“Who is that who keeps calling you?” she asked.
The Doctor stopped, about to enter the Tardis, and shrugged. “Don’t know. But, whoever he is, apparently he thinks my name is Coy."
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Author: betawho
Characters: 11th Doctor, River Song
Rating: PG
Words: 875
Author's Note: As I was driving to another town to see the Doctor Who Anniversary Special, what should come on the radio but the Ray Stevens song "Shriner's Convention."
And it suddenly occurred to me that those first words, "It was a glorious mess, everybody wears a fez," perfectly described the Doctor!
I spent the rest of the drive giggling and inserting the Doctor into that song in my head. It's a hilarious comedy song, worthy of a listen just for its own sake. But here's my take on what was really happening "Back at the motel..."
* BEFORE YOU READ THIS FIC - listen to the song below - "Shriner's Convention," by Ray Stevens -
Click to viewMeanwhile Back At The Motel ...
The Doctor bounced out of the Tardis into the motel room, happy as a grig, fez on his head and still waving like he was still in the parade.
There was a roar from the Tardis behind him and he jumped to the side, just as River emerged from the Tardis on a huge Harley Davidson motorcycle.
His eyes feasted on her. Normally when he and Clara rode a motorcycle and wore helmets, they just looked “safe.”
When River rode a motorcycle, her red-tinted hair billowing out beneath it, grinning that “go to hell” smile, revving the engine and wearing a leather jacket and leather pants. Well, the motorcycle wasn’t the only thing that revved.
The phone rang. Distracted from the picture of his wife, he fumbled on the nightstand and picked up the phone.
River gunned the motorcycle, the Doctor grinned and pressed his ear into the phone. “Who?” He stuck one finger in his other ear, “Who? Oh.”
He listened, making faces at whatever the other person was saying. Finally he nodded and put the phone down. He rubbed his hands together gleefully.
“I told you this would be fun!” he said, jumping in a circle to face River, he pointed a finger in the air. “We’ve been invited to a banquet!” He straightened his bow tie. “And it’s black tie!”
“Oh good, an excuse to dress up!” River revved the engine one last time. Then abruptly stared at the bed and snapped off the engine. He turned to see what she was staring at with such a horrified look.
There was a fez on the bed. With a propeller on top.
He grinned like it was Christmas and pounced.
-----
“River!” the Doctor slapped a hand over his eyes. He parted two of his fingers. One eye raked her top to bottom, then his fingers closed again.
“Oh relax, Sweetie. It’s a flesh colored leotard.” She took his propellored fez off her red curls. “You said to create a distraction.”
“I told you to cause a distraction, I didn’t expect this!” He almost swallowed his tongue when she stared peeling out of the flesh colored leotard. It was pink, but River’s flesh was all gold.
The phone rang, and he jumped. He reached out to grab it. He frowned into the receiver, still distracted by his disrobing wife. Huh? “Who is this?” he asked into the phone.
River pulled on a flowered beach wrap from their last trip to Space Florida.
“Flowerdy shirt,” he said somewhat in a daze, though his eyes kept slipping down to her bare legs. She smirked at him over her shoulder.
He abruptly turned his attention back to the phone.
“How do you know it was mine?” he asked, to whatever the person on the other end was saying. Then he shrugged, and nodded, a goofy forbearing look on his face.
After a minute, and some extra nodding, he hung up the phone. He grinned. “We’ve been ordered to a secret conclave!”
His eyes widened as his wife sauntered up to him in that flowerdy shirt. He gulped at the look on her face.
River reached up and stroked the black bow tie of his tux, he’d taken care of the Zygon waiters, with her distraction, but had missed the banquet. Her eyes trailed down him, she always did like him in a tux.
“That’s a coincidence, Sweetie. I was rather thinking of a secret conclave myself.”
-----
The phone shrilled in his ear early the next morning. He fumbled for the nightstand and answered it.
He held the phone away from his ear as a voice blasted demandingly down the receiver. “I was in a meeting,” he finally mumbled.
River sauntered out of the Tardis looking fresh and flushed and scrubbed. She was back in her riding leathers. He’d promised her a cross country motorcycle tour once they dealt with the Zygons.
“It was nothing,” he muttered distractedly into the phone, not really paying attention.
She turned and slung one leg over the Harley. He saw the design painted on the back of her leather jacket. Two overlapping hearts, one wearing a fez, both pierced by a silver lightning bolt.
“Maybe I’ll join the Hell’s Angels,” he muttered to himself. River turned and saw the admiring look on his face, his hair standing up endearingly in all directions.
She giggled, and cranked the throttle.
The phone blasted in his ear again, he jumped, then ignored the irritated voice coming from the other side and hung up.
“Apparently we have one more task to do before we leave. Last night,’ he said, sitting up. “I’ve got a pair of fruit-patterned swim trunks in the Tardis don’t I?”
“I’m sure you do, Sweetie. What task?”
“How do you feel about taking the motorcycle up on a high dive?”
River’s eyes fired. “I’ve always wanted to ramp a motorcycle into a pool!” She revved the engine again enthusiastically.
The man in the next room pounded on the wall. River rolled her eyes.
“Who is that who keeps calling you?” she asked.
The Doctor stopped, about to enter the Tardis, and shrugged. “Don’t know. But, whoever he is, apparently he thinks my name is Coy."
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