Fic: As I came thro' Sandgate
Regarding the wild tales of pirate booty at Liverpool Docks: Whereof I cannot speak, thereof I am going to do my best to remain silent. And instead, turn to news that stands a sporting chance of actually being true.
Jenna-Louise Coleman is to play Lydia Wickham.
The fandom-specific plot followed inevitably.
The docks, Emma supposed, might well have been the most direct route back to the TARDIS. But at the height of the morning's fish market, they were by no means the most direct. Forcing her way through a crowd seemingly composed of half the city's housewives, trying to thread a route between endless ramshackle stalls, she was finding it almost impossible to keep the Doctor in view.
For a few moments he was lost to her view behind a stack of nets; then she caught sight of him again, strolling along the edge of the quay. A grubby-looking barge was alongside, into which a rickety crane was lifting wagons of coal.
As Emma quickened her pace, a flicker of movement among the ship's hands caught her eye. For a moment, it seemed that there was a man standing among them who was certainly no sailor: tall, pale, of aristocratic mien and bearing. But then her attention was caught by alarmed shouts and the creaking and snapping of timber. As if in a nightmare, events seemed to unfold far too slowly, but still too quickly for her to do anything. The coal wagon, suspended above the quayside, tipped over. Its contents hit the quay with a roar and a cloud of black dust, followed a moment later by a lesser crash as the wagon itself broke free from its remaining ropes and smashed against the stones.
"Doctor!" Emma shouted, running as fast as she could in the direction of where she had last seen him. Before she reached the shattered wagon, though, her heart swelled with relief: the Doctor emerged from the dust cloud, with a stranger - a young woman - at his heels.
"Look at my dress!" she was complaining. "I am sure it is torn beyond repair, and even if it were not so, it is irreparably soiled with coal. I insist, sir, that you make me proper recompense."
"Doctor," Emma repeated. "You're all right."
"In all important respects," the Doctor replied, dusting himself down with the aid of his handkerchief. "I expect I'll recover the full use of my left elbow in time."
"But what happened? I saw them drop that coal right on top of you! And don't just say it was your peripheral vision, that doesn't explain anything."
"No. It was a fortunate accident."
"Fortunate for you," the girl beside him grumbled.
"What happened?" Emma asked, turning her attention to their new acquaintance.
"I was on my way to the market, doing no harm to anybody, when this Doctor of yours tripped me up!" Her dark eyes flashed angrily at the thought. "My dress is ruined, and it was as fine a muslin as could be bought for five shillings the yard!"
Emma looked to the Doctor, who shook his head. "I suspect Miss Foghorn here may have suffered a minor concussion. I was walking along the quay, doing no harm to anybody, until she threw herself at my feet."
"Miss-" The girl's coal-streaked face reddened further. "I'll have you know my name is Mrs Lydia Wickham, and I am a respectable married woman. Which is more than you can say, I'll be bound."
"I devoutly hope I never have to convince anybody of that," the Doctor replied, "But if I did, I flatter myself that I wouldn't look quite so much like a cat trying to convince everyone that it didn't steal all the milk - even though it was wearing a mask and a striped jersey, driving a float full of milk churns, and was heading for the address of a well-known milk receiver."
Lydia, seemingly unable to answer that point, or perhaps to comprehend it, stamped her foot. "You had no right to knock me over!"
"He says he didn't," Emma pointed out. "And who cares whose fault it was? If you hadn't bumped into each other, you'd both be under a ton and a half of nutty slack by now."
"I insist that you replace my dress!"
The Doctor sighed. "Very well. Emma, take off your clothes."
"I thought you'd never ask," Emma said.
"And give them to Mrs Wickham here."
Emma's face fell. "I never thought you'd ask. I don't suppose there's a beach hut or something we can use to change?"
"For that, I shall rely on your well-known ability to improvise."
"The harbourmaster's office is at no great distance," Lydia said, holding out her hand. "It will prove quite adequate, I dare say."
"And what do I wear after she's walked off in my clothes?" Emma shook her head. "I know, I know. Improvise."
"Ah," the Doctor said, as Emma reluctantly emerged from the harbourmaster's office. "Hello, sailor. I see your improvisation is well up to its usual standard."
"This was the only stuff that fitted," Emma retorted.
"I think 'fitted' is a rather generous term."
"You're telling me. These trousers feel like they were made for someone two feet shorter than me and twice as big round the middle. And the jacket..."
"...Appears to have been intended for a man with three arms and two heads," the Doctor mused. "Perhaps it was salvaged after a violent collision between two tailors' carts."
"Can we get back to the TARDIS and worry about that later?"
"Of course."
"Tell you what," Emma said, as they resumed their course along the quayside. "That Lydia woman. I kept thinking I knew her from somewhere."
"Yes." The Doctor frowned. "She does seem familiar in some way."
"Maybe she's just got one of those faces." Emma stopped briefly to hitch up her borrowed trousers. "But it's a funny thing. I'd swear she looks just like my Aunt Oswin."
This entry was originally posted at http://john-amend-all.dreamwidth.org/68746.html. Feel free to comment there or here.
Jenna-Louise Coleman is to play Lydia Wickham.
The fandom-specific plot followed inevitably.
The docks, Emma supposed, might well have been the most direct route back to the TARDIS. But at the height of the morning's fish market, they were by no means the most direct. Forcing her way through a crowd seemingly composed of half the city's housewives, trying to thread a route between endless ramshackle stalls, she was finding it almost impossible to keep the Doctor in view.
For a few moments he was lost to her view behind a stack of nets; then she caught sight of him again, strolling along the edge of the quay. A grubby-looking barge was alongside, into which a rickety crane was lifting wagons of coal.
As Emma quickened her pace, a flicker of movement among the ship's hands caught her eye. For a moment, it seemed that there was a man standing among them who was certainly no sailor: tall, pale, of aristocratic mien and bearing. But then her attention was caught by alarmed shouts and the creaking and snapping of timber. As if in a nightmare, events seemed to unfold far too slowly, but still too quickly for her to do anything. The coal wagon, suspended above the quayside, tipped over. Its contents hit the quay with a roar and a cloud of black dust, followed a moment later by a lesser crash as the wagon itself broke free from its remaining ropes and smashed against the stones.
"Doctor!" Emma shouted, running as fast as she could in the direction of where she had last seen him. Before she reached the shattered wagon, though, her heart swelled with relief: the Doctor emerged from the dust cloud, with a stranger - a young woman - at his heels.
"Look at my dress!" she was complaining. "I am sure it is torn beyond repair, and even if it were not so, it is irreparably soiled with coal. I insist, sir, that you make me proper recompense."
"Doctor," Emma repeated. "You're all right."
"In all important respects," the Doctor replied, dusting himself down with the aid of his handkerchief. "I expect I'll recover the full use of my left elbow in time."
"But what happened? I saw them drop that coal right on top of you! And don't just say it was your peripheral vision, that doesn't explain anything."
"No. It was a fortunate accident."
"Fortunate for you," the girl beside him grumbled.
"What happened?" Emma asked, turning her attention to their new acquaintance.
"I was on my way to the market, doing no harm to anybody, when this Doctor of yours tripped me up!" Her dark eyes flashed angrily at the thought. "My dress is ruined, and it was as fine a muslin as could be bought for five shillings the yard!"
Emma looked to the Doctor, who shook his head. "I suspect Miss Foghorn here may have suffered a minor concussion. I was walking along the quay, doing no harm to anybody, until she threw herself at my feet."
"Miss-" The girl's coal-streaked face reddened further. "I'll have you know my name is Mrs Lydia Wickham, and I am a respectable married woman. Which is more than you can say, I'll be bound."
"I devoutly hope I never have to convince anybody of that," the Doctor replied, "But if I did, I flatter myself that I wouldn't look quite so much like a cat trying to convince everyone that it didn't steal all the milk - even though it was wearing a mask and a striped jersey, driving a float full of milk churns, and was heading for the address of a well-known milk receiver."
Lydia, seemingly unable to answer that point, or perhaps to comprehend it, stamped her foot. "You had no right to knock me over!"
"He says he didn't," Emma pointed out. "And who cares whose fault it was? If you hadn't bumped into each other, you'd both be under a ton and a half of nutty slack by now."
"I insist that you replace my dress!"
The Doctor sighed. "Very well. Emma, take off your clothes."
"I thought you'd never ask," Emma said.
"And give them to Mrs Wickham here."
Emma's face fell. "I never thought you'd ask. I don't suppose there's a beach hut or something we can use to change?"
"For that, I shall rely on your well-known ability to improvise."
"The harbourmaster's office is at no great distance," Lydia said, holding out her hand. "It will prove quite adequate, I dare say."
"And what do I wear after she's walked off in my clothes?" Emma shook her head. "I know, I know. Improvise."
"Ah," the Doctor said, as Emma reluctantly emerged from the harbourmaster's office. "Hello, sailor. I see your improvisation is well up to its usual standard."
"This was the only stuff that fitted," Emma retorted.
"I think 'fitted' is a rather generous term."
"You're telling me. These trousers feel like they were made for someone two feet shorter than me and twice as big round the middle. And the jacket..."
"...Appears to have been intended for a man with three arms and two heads," the Doctor mused. "Perhaps it was salvaged after a violent collision between two tailors' carts."
"Can we get back to the TARDIS and worry about that later?"
"Of course."
"Tell you what," Emma said, as they resumed their course along the quayside. "That Lydia woman. I kept thinking I knew her from somewhere."
"Yes." The Doctor frowned. "She does seem familiar in some way."
"Maybe she's just got one of those faces." Emma stopped briefly to hitch up her borrowed trousers. "But it's a funny thing. I'd swear she looks just like my Aunt Oswin."
This entry was originally posted at http://john-amend-all.dreamwidth.org/68746.html. Feel free to comment there or here.