Fic: Madame Nostradamus, I Presume
(I have completely given up on having my titles make sense.)
Um, this one... started as a Five Things To Do Instead Of Fixing The TARDIS. (Three found one of Jamie's half-finished socks in the wardrobe room and decided to learn how to knit. Yes, of course Jamie knit his own socks - not least because Frazier Hines has fantastic hands. Shusht. *g*) Then stuff happened.
Anyway.
Title: Madame Nostradamus, I Presume
Summary: This is a Third Doctor "how the Scarf got into the wardrobe room" story. Sort of.
Notes: 363 words. Gen, rated G. Season 10-11 hiatus of Classic Who.
The Doctor drew a deep breath, adjusted his velvet jacket, and rapped sharply on the door. After a few moments, it swung open, and a very young maid popped her head out.
"Have you an appointment, sir?" she asked.
"No," the Doctor began.
"Well, sir," the girl rattled, "the master doesn't interview applicants without an appointment. Particularly those that turn up in costume. And if you'll excuse me saying, sir--"
"Excuse me, miss!" thundered the Doctor. "I am not an applicant for any position, and I am not in costume. However," drawing himself up majestically, "if you continue evaluating your master's visitors according to preconceived notions and external appearances, it is highly probable that you will shortly be an applicant for a position other than the one you now hold." Having delivered himself of this remarkable sentence, the Doctor paused for breath.
"Theta?" called a new voice. "Theta Sigma! You've changed your voice, but I'd know that syntax anywhere. How ya doin', Thete?"
The Doctor stared for several seconds at the speaker, a short fluffy-haired man in a truly remarkable silk kimono, before he finally recognized him.
"Noodles?" he said, using the other Time Lord's Academy nickname.*
"Call me Nostradamus, please," replied the shorter Time Lord, running his hands through his woolly brown hair. It didn't improve his appearance. "Come in, Theta, come in. What brings you here anyway?"
"Call me Doctor," instructed that time-traveller, a bit flustered. "Ah... well, to be honest, I was told that your lady wife is the best knitter in the galaxy."
"She is," said Noodles promptly. "And, don't tell me--you want lessons."
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, not at all impressed. "I take it you've met one of my future selves at some point."
"Sort of," Noodles chuckled. "Believe me, Doc, even if I could tell you... you don't want to know."
"I don't doubt that. Tell me, Noodles--"
"Nostradamus."
"Nostradamus. What are you doing here?"
"Long story. Tell ya later. You'll be here a while."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* It is an unwritten law of Academy nicknames that they mean something embarrassing in one language or another. Just ask the Master about the original Koschei sometime! With proper precautions, of course.
This entry has been crossposted from http://curuchamion.dreamwidth.org/83246.html. You can comment here or there - you can comment anywhere! (sorry *g*)
Um, this one... started as a Five Things To Do Instead Of Fixing The TARDIS. (Three found one of Jamie's half-finished socks in the wardrobe room and decided to learn how to knit. Yes, of course Jamie knit his own socks - not least because Frazier Hines has fantastic hands. Shusht. *g*) Then stuff happened.
Anyway.
Title: Madame Nostradamus, I Presume
Summary: This is a Third Doctor "how the Scarf got into the wardrobe room" story. Sort of.
Notes: 363 words. Gen, rated G. Season 10-11 hiatus of Classic Who.
The Doctor drew a deep breath, adjusted his velvet jacket, and rapped sharply on the door. After a few moments, it swung open, and a very young maid popped her head out.
"Have you an appointment, sir?" she asked.
"No," the Doctor began.
"Well, sir," the girl rattled, "the master doesn't interview applicants without an appointment. Particularly those that turn up in costume. And if you'll excuse me saying, sir--"
"Excuse me, miss!" thundered the Doctor. "I am not an applicant for any position, and I am not in costume. However," drawing himself up majestically, "if you continue evaluating your master's visitors according to preconceived notions and external appearances, it is highly probable that you will shortly be an applicant for a position other than the one you now hold." Having delivered himself of this remarkable sentence, the Doctor paused for breath.
"Theta?" called a new voice. "Theta Sigma! You've changed your voice, but I'd know that syntax anywhere. How ya doin', Thete?"
The Doctor stared for several seconds at the speaker, a short fluffy-haired man in a truly remarkable silk kimono, before he finally recognized him.
"Noodles?" he said, using the other Time Lord's Academy nickname.*
"Call me Nostradamus, please," replied the shorter Time Lord, running his hands through his woolly brown hair. It didn't improve his appearance. "Come in, Theta, come in. What brings you here anyway?"
"Call me Doctor," instructed that time-traveller, a bit flustered. "Ah... well, to be honest, I was told that your lady wife is the best knitter in the galaxy."
"She is," said Noodles promptly. "And, don't tell me--you want lessons."
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, not at all impressed. "I take it you've met one of my future selves at some point."
"Sort of," Noodles chuckled. "Believe me, Doc, even if I could tell you... you don't want to know."
"I don't doubt that. Tell me, Noodles--"
"Nostradamus."
"Nostradamus. What are you doing here?"
"Long story. Tell ya later. You'll be here a while."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* It is an unwritten law of Academy nicknames that they mean something embarrassing in one language or another. Just ask the Master about the original Koschei sometime! With proper precautions, of course.
This entry has been crossposted from http://curuchamion.dreamwidth.org/83246.html. You can comment here or there - you can comment anywhere! (sorry *g*)