(no subject)
There's a funny thing about TARDISes -- or, at least, this specific TARDIS, who has lived through a Time War and seen the end of the greatest race to ever exist. Her brothers and sisters weren't much different, but this one TARDIS, she took this funny fact to new heights.
Because, as I'll explain, TARDISes? Are very jealous, very vindictive, very cruel creatures sometimes, and this TARDIS -- the Doctor's TARDIS -- was particularly so. She had to be, because her pilot was an idiot. A wonderful, brilliant, incredibly loved idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. And on occasion, he needed reminding of just how big an idiot he was.
Like now. You see, my dear readers, in his ever-evolving need to pretend he's still eighty, the Doctor thought it'd be a swell idea to swing by Tolarus Ispantia and have automatic locks and a car alarm installed on his ship. Among those somewhat nasty qualities I listed earlier, TARDISes are also proud -- and again, particularly his. Hundreds of years of being called junk will either give you the biggest inferiority complex imaginable or, like her pilot, expand your ego to compensate (and the Doctor is compensating for a great deal, as she can tell you). So she was proud. She was proud, and she was angry, and she remembered the last stunt he'd pulled like this, snapping his fingers at her like a dog.
And you know what, gentle readers? She just wasn't going to take it anymore.
So it started out small. When he came back from sitting with the Ood, she made sure the lock structure of her main door had changed. The Doctor was all ready understandably distraught over his recent future reading, but that was just too bad. He should have thought of that before he decided to show off his flashy new toy. He was, after all, a Time Lord. It wasn't like he couldn't see this was going to happen. So he stood outside a while and fussed. Cajoled. Begged. There was a particularly impressive shouting match with the voice in his head when he realised none of that was working and his ship was happy enough to just sit in the snow while he stood outside in it. So then he pouted and stomped about and, for a little while, walked away. He'd show her, he said to the entity in the back of his mind. Let's see what you do when I freeze to death out here, he told her.
He came back about two days later, begging to be let back in, full of promises to never do it again and would she pleeeeeeeeeeeeease forgive him? She was all he had! He loved her! She meant everything to him!
Though she was miffed, the TARDIS couldn't turn down such flattery and finally relented, letting the Doctor inside for the first time in about a week.
Unfortunately, her generosity wasn't returned in any fashion she'd expected. Did he remove the automatic locks? No. Did he uninstall the car alarm? Negatory. He spent about two weeks being ridiculously kind to her, dotting on her every need as they moved lazily through the cosmos, just the two of them, and he didn't mention the additions. But neither did he take care of them.
Still, he was paying her attention and didn't seem keen on a repeat, so she let it go. For now.
Until they finally landed on Qontoraplintop and he used the automatic locks again. "Livid" didn't really describe the immense amount of roiling emotion emanating from the ship as he walked away, clueless.
She didn't lock the doors this time, no. As a matter of fact, she let the Doctor in, normal as you please. It wasn't until about a day later that he began to realise something was wrong. Doors he'd just walked through would randomly lock; hallways shifted direction. Every time he opened the refrigerator or tried to make a cuppa, alarm bells sounded throughout the ship, accompanied by overdramatic flashing red lights and a looped audio of the Cops theme song from '90s Earth.
But the worst, oh, the worst she saved for those rare occasions when the Doctor actually laid down to sleep. His bed was always warm, the atmosphere welcoming, comforting. He'd begin to drift asleep, curled safely beneath his blankets, on the cusp of unconsciousness, when the blaring, beeping monstrosity of noise that was the car alarm he'd installed went off.
Right next to his head.
To his credit, the Doctor managed to put up with it all for about three months before he finally relented and uninstalled the alarm and locks. His ship all but glowed, the circulated air warm, almost electric with happiness. She was even nice enough to shorten the hallway to his room when he glowered at her walls and stomped off for some sleep. Her entire interior hummed in triumph.
When he finally laid down, by this point reflexively tense, his ship finally took pity on him. The lights dimmed, the air warmed and she sang softly to him in the back of his mind. He'd learned his lesson (for the moment) after all. He deserved a reward.
Muse: The TARDIS
Word Count: 853
Prompt: A scene with no dialogue
Because, as I'll explain, TARDISes? Are very jealous, very vindictive, very cruel creatures sometimes, and this TARDIS -- the Doctor's TARDIS -- was particularly so. She had to be, because her pilot was an idiot. A wonderful, brilliant, incredibly loved idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. And on occasion, he needed reminding of just how big an idiot he was.
Like now. You see, my dear readers, in his ever-evolving need to pretend he's still eighty, the Doctor thought it'd be a swell idea to swing by Tolarus Ispantia and have automatic locks and a car alarm installed on his ship. Among those somewhat nasty qualities I listed earlier, TARDISes are also proud -- and again, particularly his. Hundreds of years of being called junk will either give you the biggest inferiority complex imaginable or, like her pilot, expand your ego to compensate (and the Doctor is compensating for a great deal, as she can tell you). So she was proud. She was proud, and she was angry, and she remembered the last stunt he'd pulled like this, snapping his fingers at her like a dog.
And you know what, gentle readers? She just wasn't going to take it anymore.
So it started out small. When he came back from sitting with the Ood, she made sure the lock structure of her main door had changed. The Doctor was all ready understandably distraught over his recent future reading, but that was just too bad. He should have thought of that before he decided to show off his flashy new toy. He was, after all, a Time Lord. It wasn't like he couldn't see this was going to happen. So he stood outside a while and fussed. Cajoled. Begged. There was a particularly impressive shouting match with the voice in his head when he realised none of that was working and his ship was happy enough to just sit in the snow while he stood outside in it. So then he pouted and stomped about and, for a little while, walked away. He'd show her, he said to the entity in the back of his mind. Let's see what you do when I freeze to death out here, he told her.
He came back about two days later, begging to be let back in, full of promises to never do it again and would she pleeeeeeeeeeeeease forgive him? She was all he had! He loved her! She meant everything to him!
Though she was miffed, the TARDIS couldn't turn down such flattery and finally relented, letting the Doctor inside for the first time in about a week.
Unfortunately, her generosity wasn't returned in any fashion she'd expected. Did he remove the automatic locks? No. Did he uninstall the car alarm? Negatory. He spent about two weeks being ridiculously kind to her, dotting on her every need as they moved lazily through the cosmos, just the two of them, and he didn't mention the additions. But neither did he take care of them.
Still, he was paying her attention and didn't seem keen on a repeat, so she let it go. For now.
Until they finally landed on Qontoraplintop and he used the automatic locks again. "Livid" didn't really describe the immense amount of roiling emotion emanating from the ship as he walked away, clueless.
She didn't lock the doors this time, no. As a matter of fact, she let the Doctor in, normal as you please. It wasn't until about a day later that he began to realise something was wrong. Doors he'd just walked through would randomly lock; hallways shifted direction. Every time he opened the refrigerator or tried to make a cuppa, alarm bells sounded throughout the ship, accompanied by overdramatic flashing red lights and a looped audio of the Cops theme song from '90s Earth.
But the worst, oh, the worst she saved for those rare occasions when the Doctor actually laid down to sleep. His bed was always warm, the atmosphere welcoming, comforting. He'd begin to drift asleep, curled safely beneath his blankets, on the cusp of unconsciousness, when the blaring, beeping monstrosity of noise that was the car alarm he'd installed went off.
Right next to his head.
To his credit, the Doctor managed to put up with it all for about three months before he finally relented and uninstalled the alarm and locks. His ship all but glowed, the circulated air warm, almost electric with happiness. She was even nice enough to shorten the hallway to his room when he glowered at her walls and stomped off for some sleep. Her entire interior hummed in triumph.
When he finally laid down, by this point reflexively tense, his ship finally took pity on him. The lights dimmed, the air warmed and she sang softly to him in the back of his mind. He'd learned his lesson (for the moment) after all. He deserved a reward.
Muse: The TARDIS
Word Count: 853
Prompt: A scene with no dialogue