Tornado Fic Part 2- Jupiter Juice, 1/3
Title: Jupiter Juice, 1/3
Author: Kesshin
Rating: PG
Characters: Nine and Rose
Notes: Part the second of the tornado/vortex mini-series I've been writing with my lovely accomplice,
northern_magic, who is all manner of amazing. The series is a smattering of drabbles and short fics revolving (Hah, pun!) around Rose, Nine, and storm chasing! This particular piece is doubling as my hearts_in_time ficathon story. I hope that doesn't make me a bad person.
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Part One, the Introduction, is here ---> Part the First
-
Part Two, Jupiter Juice 1/3, is below.
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-
-
The tea was good- suspiciously so, even. Rose checked under the saucer and ran a finger along the cup’s gold-leafed rim, but could find nothing out of the ordinary.
Such a circumstance was, itself, quite out of the ordinary.
“The tea’s normal,” she said. Her tone was identical to the one some people use to say, “The gun’s loaded,” or “There’s this one crunchy bit in the pork pie that I can’t quite chew.” It was an apprehensive tone.
The Doctor looked up from his newspaper, “What, did you expect it to be blue?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, “Humans. You show them one unfortunate example, and they’re convinced that anomalies are out of the question. It’s all or nothing with you lot, isn’t it?”
“Speciesist,” she said. It was a word she’d picked up on their last visit to Crespalian, and was taking advantage of this handy addition to her vocabulary by using it as often as possible. There were shaving nicks on the Doctor’s face that had their origin in the word ‘speciesist.’ It wasn’t her fault that he was in the habit of being derogatory in the mornings.
“Brainless humans/weevils/macrobiotic spiders, blah blah blah…”
“That’s unfair.”
“Not if it’s true. Certain bundles of DNA are too thick to find their arse with a map.”
“Speciesist.”
“I AM NOT AN- Ow.”
“…”
“Damn.”
“Tissue?”
The Doctor seemed to be recalling the same incident. There was a tilt to his mouth and a shine to his eyes that suggested that justice was about to be served, with interest.
He put down the newspaper and stood up, stretching, “Well, that was a nice break. Decent scones. Ready to see the main attraction?”
Rose stood, “Yeah.”
“Lovely. You might want to leave the tea, though.”
“Any reason?”
There was that half-smile again, “Yes, actually.”
Normally, Rose was eager to follow most of the Doctor’s advice- she learned early on that doing so helped her to avoid seriously unfortunate incidents. Like decapitation.
But something in the Doctor’s attitude was begging her to ignore him. She cradled the cup in her palms and said, “That’s nice. Shall we?”
“Certainly. Turn around.”
Smiling over the cup, with a smugness that was in brutal competition with the Doctor’s own, Rose took a swig of tea. She turned around.
A noise shot across the café. It sounded like “SPRFFFFLLL.”
“Gurk,” said Rose. She wiped frantically at her mouth and nose.
From somewhere behind her, the manager sighed, “Shit, not again. Wiggins, who lowered the view blockers?”
A gangly boy next to him mumbled.
“I can’t hear you, Wiggins. I thought I made it quite plain last week that we clear the area of liquid before the scheduled viewing. Was that difficult to understand, Wiggins?”
The boy shook his head hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
“Well, then,” the manager said, calmly annunciating each word, “mop it up.”
“It’s not your fault,” the Doctor whispered when, twenty seconds later, the exceedingly nervous Wiggins appeared near the viewing screen with towel and a bucket.
“C’mon, I’ll get this mess cleared away.”
The Doctor swiped the cleaning implements. He mopped up the tea. Rose watched, turning her head every so often to steal a look at Wiggins. The boy couldn’t have been a day over fourteen. His hands, deprived of towels to wring, had decided to wring themselves. He was rake-thin, and looked about as well adjusted as a bowl of goldfish in the lobby of a sardine-canning factory. His eyes were very wide.
Rose cleared her throat, “Sorry, mate. I didn’t know that- I mean, what I mean to say is-”
“What she means to say,” the Doctor interrupted from the floor, “is that she should have listened to her good friend’s kindly given advice and left her tea on the table.”
Rose’s glower did not seem to phase his turned back. Perhaps it bounced off of his shoulder blades.
“I really am sorry,” she said, turning to Wiggins, “I didn’t know we were… are… um… here. On Jupiter. I just…” she took a breath, and laughed, “I thought we were going to a café first. Somewhere else- not Jupiter. So…. When you opened the blinds, I-”
Wiggins nodded furiously, “Oh, I know, Miss. It makes you want to sporfle your tea right out your mouth. Or your nostrils. Or,” he added sagely, “your imbibing implement of choice. Jupiter Juice caters to all types, miss, without bias.”
“Really,” said Rose, “Amazing. Some people could learn from that.”
“Hey.”
“But I don’t understand,” Wiggins mumbled. His hands flung themselves into their wringing with renewed desperation, “I didn’t let down the view blockers,” he took a shaky breath, “I didn’t do it, and I don’t care what Mr. Parry says. Honest.”
His face was crimson.
“Do you have any idea who else could have lowered them?” Rose asked.
“Well, Mr. Parry could, but he didn’t, I know, and the Manager could but he’s off-planet at the moment. Err.”
A sneaking suspicion was rising to the surface of Rose’s mind.
“Tell me, what does it take to trigger the view blockers, Wiggins?”
“”A little blinky key card, miss. The whole system’s wired up sonic.”
“Is that so?”
The Doctor took a sudden and passionate interest in the texture of the ceiling tiles.
-
To be continued.
-
Sorry for the wait, Rose. I didn't mean for this to take an extra week to post. I have no excuses. Well... I do, actually, but they aren't good ones. Also, I didn't mean for this to be so long. And we haven't even gotten to the bit with the Eye yet!*grumbles* My apologies.
Author: Kesshin
Rating: PG
Characters: Nine and Rose
Notes: Part the second of the tornado/vortex mini-series I've been writing with my lovely accomplice,
northern_magic, who is all manner of amazing. The series is a smattering of drabbles and short fics revolving (Hah, pun!) around Rose, Nine, and storm chasing! This particular piece is doubling as my hearts_in_time ficathon story. I hope that doesn't make me a bad person.
-
Part One, the Introduction, is here ---> Part the First
-
Part Two, Jupiter Juice 1/3, is below.
-
-
-
The tea was good- suspiciously so, even. Rose checked under the saucer and ran a finger along the cup’s gold-leafed rim, but could find nothing out of the ordinary.
Such a circumstance was, itself, quite out of the ordinary.
“The tea’s normal,” she said. Her tone was identical to the one some people use to say, “The gun’s loaded,” or “There’s this one crunchy bit in the pork pie that I can’t quite chew.” It was an apprehensive tone.
The Doctor looked up from his newspaper, “What, did you expect it to be blue?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, “Humans. You show them one unfortunate example, and they’re convinced that anomalies are out of the question. It’s all or nothing with you lot, isn’t it?”
“Speciesist,” she said. It was a word she’d picked up on their last visit to Crespalian, and was taking advantage of this handy addition to her vocabulary by using it as often as possible. There were shaving nicks on the Doctor’s face that had their origin in the word ‘speciesist.’ It wasn’t her fault that he was in the habit of being derogatory in the mornings.
“Brainless humans/weevils/macrobiotic spiders, blah blah blah…”
“That’s unfair.”
“Not if it’s true. Certain bundles of DNA are too thick to find their arse with a map.”
“Speciesist.”
“I AM NOT AN- Ow.”
“…”
“Damn.”
“Tissue?”
The Doctor seemed to be recalling the same incident. There was a tilt to his mouth and a shine to his eyes that suggested that justice was about to be served, with interest.
He put down the newspaper and stood up, stretching, “Well, that was a nice break. Decent scones. Ready to see the main attraction?”
Rose stood, “Yeah.”
“Lovely. You might want to leave the tea, though.”
“Any reason?”
There was that half-smile again, “Yes, actually.”
Normally, Rose was eager to follow most of the Doctor’s advice- she learned early on that doing so helped her to avoid seriously unfortunate incidents. Like decapitation.
But something in the Doctor’s attitude was begging her to ignore him. She cradled the cup in her palms and said, “That’s nice. Shall we?”
“Certainly. Turn around.”
Smiling over the cup, with a smugness that was in brutal competition with the Doctor’s own, Rose took a swig of tea. She turned around.
A noise shot across the café. It sounded like “SPRFFFFLLL.”
“Gurk,” said Rose. She wiped frantically at her mouth and nose.
From somewhere behind her, the manager sighed, “Shit, not again. Wiggins, who lowered the view blockers?”
A gangly boy next to him mumbled.
“I can’t hear you, Wiggins. I thought I made it quite plain last week that we clear the area of liquid before the scheduled viewing. Was that difficult to understand, Wiggins?”
The boy shook his head hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
“Well, then,” the manager said, calmly annunciating each word, “mop it up.”
“It’s not your fault,” the Doctor whispered when, twenty seconds later, the exceedingly nervous Wiggins appeared near the viewing screen with towel and a bucket.
“C’mon, I’ll get this mess cleared away.”
The Doctor swiped the cleaning implements. He mopped up the tea. Rose watched, turning her head every so often to steal a look at Wiggins. The boy couldn’t have been a day over fourteen. His hands, deprived of towels to wring, had decided to wring themselves. He was rake-thin, and looked about as well adjusted as a bowl of goldfish in the lobby of a sardine-canning factory. His eyes were very wide.
Rose cleared her throat, “Sorry, mate. I didn’t know that- I mean, what I mean to say is-”
“What she means to say,” the Doctor interrupted from the floor, “is that she should have listened to her good friend’s kindly given advice and left her tea on the table.”
Rose’s glower did not seem to phase his turned back. Perhaps it bounced off of his shoulder blades.
“I really am sorry,” she said, turning to Wiggins, “I didn’t know we were… are… um… here. On Jupiter. I just…” she took a breath, and laughed, “I thought we were going to a café first. Somewhere else- not Jupiter. So…. When you opened the blinds, I-”
Wiggins nodded furiously, “Oh, I know, Miss. It makes you want to sporfle your tea right out your mouth. Or your nostrils. Or,” he added sagely, “your imbibing implement of choice. Jupiter Juice caters to all types, miss, without bias.”
“Really,” said Rose, “Amazing. Some people could learn from that.”
“Hey.”
“But I don’t understand,” Wiggins mumbled. His hands flung themselves into their wringing with renewed desperation, “I didn’t let down the view blockers,” he took a shaky breath, “I didn’t do it, and I don’t care what Mr. Parry says. Honest.”
His face was crimson.
“Do you have any idea who else could have lowered them?” Rose asked.
“Well, Mr. Parry could, but he didn’t, I know, and the Manager could but he’s off-planet at the moment. Err.”
A sneaking suspicion was rising to the surface of Rose’s mind.
“Tell me, what does it take to trigger the view blockers, Wiggins?”
“”A little blinky key card, miss. The whole system’s wired up sonic.”
“Is that so?”
The Doctor took a sudden and passionate interest in the texture of the ceiling tiles.
-
To be continued.
-
Sorry for the wait, Rose. I didn't mean for this to take an extra week to post. I have no excuses. Well... I do, actually, but they aren't good ones. Also, I didn't mean for this to be so long. And we haven't even gotten to the bit with the Eye yet!*grumbles* My apologies.