Ficlet: Locked In
I'll try and get onto the meme reveal and answers presently, but pitry gave me '7, 2 and 14 are locked in a wine cellar - one finds treasure, one gets drunk, and one is planning to escape'.
As the characters in question were the First Doctor, the Eighth Doctor, and Donna Moss from the West Wing, it seemed immediately obvious that Eight would be treasure-hunting, that Donna would be the one trying to find a way out (practical as ever), and, erm, One would be having a nice time, drinking the wine. So, please accept that this is a piece of nonsense, but I had to write it:
***
Locked In
All ages, 1440 words, Eighth Doctor, First Doctor, Donna Moss, Josh Lyman
In which Josh asks Donna to talk to an intruder. Which naturally leads to her being trapped in the wine cellar with two strange Brits, neither of whom seem worried about getting out again.
*
How did this happen? was a question Donna Moss found herself asking every now and then in the course of her work. Generally, she preferred to answer with one word (that word being ‘Josh’), but there was also the weird that came with the White House and the rest of its staff, and sometimes that included her and her seemingly limitless capacity to mess things up.
What category this one came under, she hadn’t yet decided, but since Josh was the one who had asked her to engage the oddly-dressed, long-haired stranger in conversation for reasons as yet unknown, she was working her way to blaming him, which wasn’t difficult.
The cute, charming, British stranger was also nuts, she had sorrowfully concluded, which put paid to the one bright side of the situation.
“Why would there be treasure?” she asked him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the US government is always trying to balance the budget. If they had a handy treasure trove down here, they’d have used it up by now. And why would they put it in the wine cellar?” She thought about that, and added, under her breath: “And why am I asking?”
“There’s treasure enough here as it is,” added the white-haired man, another Brit, who had somehow already been down in the wine cellar when they arrived, and was currently and knowledgeably engaged in wine-tasting. Despite the chuckling, he didn’t seem to be much more affected by that than he had been when she and Cute-but-Crazy guy had walked in. Who was, as it turned out, improbably searching for treasure buried underneath the White House.
All this would be reasonably normal, if only she could leave and alert security to the problem, but it turned out while security was lax enough to allow two strangers in and give them free rein of the wine cellar, they were fully up to locking the door at the wrong moment without checking who might be already inside.
The handsome crazy guy (with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen) looked at them both as if they were spoiling his Christmas. “Isn’t one of you going to help me?”
“My dear fellow,” said the old guy, “I’m keeping as far away from you as possible, for reasons that should be perfectly obvious. We should not be here together.”
“Well, go away, then.”
The old guy said. “Really, I’d have thought you might have remembered why I can’t possibly do that.”
“At the rate you’re drinking, I’m surprised I can remember any of this at all.”
They were both crazy, decided Donna, who had been concentrating on ignoring them and finding a way out, from the get-go. She was trapped in a wine cellar with two crazy British guys, while wearing a midnight blue evening dress that was not anything like warm enough for this madness. How was that possible? She could buy being trapped in the wine cellar - it was her sort of luck - and maybe even with a crazy guy, or two, in the middle of a formal occasion, but trapped in a wine cellar with two mad, British guys while wearing her very best frock? What were the odds?
She hammered on the door again, and debated with herself whether it would have been better if the mad guys had been French. Or Chinese. Or Russian, or something. If she couldn’t speak their language, maybe she wouldn’t know how crazy they were and she’d feel better.
Donna shrugged, and reluctantly decided that, after what felt like about six hours, it was time to sacrifice her hair for the greater good, pulling out the jewelled clip that was keeping it up, and the hair grips along with it, the result momentarily giving the lie to her claim never to have bad hair days, before it resumed its normal position, hanging about her shoulders in a blonde curtain. Now, she asked herself, how do you go about picking a lock?
Behind her, the old guy was sampling some wine, that she’d go so far as to classify as ‘red’, praising its bouquet (there was a hint of rosemary, apparently) and claiming he remembered the year well - 1895.
“What are you, like, Methuselah or something?” she muttered, and then: “We have wine that ancient?”
The white-haired Brit chuckled again. “I could be, my dear, I could be!”
“You’re more drunk than you look,” Donna informed him. “I can’t say I’m surprised, sir. Isn’t one of you going to help me get us out of here?”
Cute-crazy-guy was busy trying to move racks and crates. “According to the secret code on this map, there should be a trap-door about here, and the treasure -.”
“You have a map with secret code?” she said, raising her eyebrows, although she had noticed he was waving a sheet of fading and torn paper about, and she should have gotten past the point of being surprised by anything he did. “Who sold you that pile of tourist crap?”
“Aha!” he said. “Here it is - just as I thought! There’s probably a secret passage down here, you know.”
Donna looked at her hair grip, the lock, and back round at the situation, and tried for a scream, or at least a loud yell, at the exact same moment that the door finally opened, and Joshua Lymon appeared opposite her.
*
“And now I’m deaf,” complained Josh, wincing at her inadvertent welcome. “What were you doing? What happened and why’d you wind up here? Donna?”
Donna sighed. “For a moment there I was so happy to see you, I nearly kissed you, but you just blew it. Wouldn’t you know?”
“There’s a disappointment I’ll learn to live with,” Josh retorted, and then returned to semi-yelling. “You thought sneaking some intruder down into the wine cellar for a quiet tête-à-tête was a great idea? How did that ever make sense to you? Was it the olde worlde outfit, or the devastating good looks, or what?”
“And now I’m considering hitting you instead,” Donna informed her boss. “You asked me to go speak to him, which, by the way, I told you wasn’t going to be a good idea, judging by that jacket, and, as it turned out, he was a crazy British guy who dragged me down to the wine cellar, where there was a second crazy British guy, and now my dress is ruined, I’m not appreciative of you choosing now to lecture.”
“Yeah, you’re a mess,” he said, looking at her properly, giving a small quirk of his mouth that might have been a smile.
Donna gave a rueful grimace, and gestured down at her full-length evening dress. “It was a nice dress, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Josh agreed. “It’s still not bad in, you know, all the right places. You okay?”
Donna nodded. “I am. Thanks for coming to look for me, even if it did take you three hours, Joshua -.”
“There’s been an international crisis. Crises, even.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, because nobody informed the section of the party that was locked in the wine cellar.”
“You’ve learned a valuable lesson, and grown as a person, and now you’re going to move on,” advised Josh.
Donna turned around. “Never talk to strangers, even when your boss asks you?’ Or at least, wait for him to say ‘pretty please’ first, because when’s that ever gonna happen?”
“Yeah, something like that,” said Josh. “Come back to the party.”
“Like this?”
“You look great.”
“You just said I look a mess. I’ve got dust in places you don’t want to know about, and I’ve ruined my hair.”
Josh shrugged. “When I said party, I meant the last dregs having beers in CJ’s office, and you look way better than they do, even if you did spend the best part of the night in the wine cellar. How come you’re still sober?”
“The crazy old guy was hogging any actual alcohol.”
“You coming?”
“Okay,” said Donna, giving him a smile, which she followed swiftly with an attempt at a stern frown. “But don’t think I’m forgetting it was all your fault, and you left me locked in the wine cellar for three hours with two guys who were both bats. It’s a miracle one of them didn’t try to kill me.”
“How is that my fault?”
“How is it not your fault?”
“Yeah, I’m incurably optimistic.”
*
Security never did apprehend either of the mysterious strangers, but they did discover a trail of gold coins down in the newly unearthed secret passage under the wine cellar - just about enough to cover the cost of the missing wine.
***
I very much doubt there will be actual fic from the rest, but this just... wrote itself before breakfast yesterday.
As the characters in question were the First Doctor, the Eighth Doctor, and Donna Moss from the West Wing, it seemed immediately obvious that Eight would be treasure-hunting, that Donna would be the one trying to find a way out (practical as ever), and, erm, One would be having a nice time, drinking the wine. So, please accept that this is a piece of nonsense, but I had to write it:
***
Locked In
All ages, 1440 words, Eighth Doctor, First Doctor, Donna Moss, Josh Lyman
In which Josh asks Donna to talk to an intruder. Which naturally leads to her being trapped in the wine cellar with two strange Brits, neither of whom seem worried about getting out again.
*
How did this happen? was a question Donna Moss found herself asking every now and then in the course of her work. Generally, she preferred to answer with one word (that word being ‘Josh’), but there was also the weird that came with the White House and the rest of its staff, and sometimes that included her and her seemingly limitless capacity to mess things up.
What category this one came under, she hadn’t yet decided, but since Josh was the one who had asked her to engage the oddly-dressed, long-haired stranger in conversation for reasons as yet unknown, she was working her way to blaming him, which wasn’t difficult.
The cute, charming, British stranger was also nuts, she had sorrowfully concluded, which put paid to the one bright side of the situation.
“Why would there be treasure?” she asked him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the US government is always trying to balance the budget. If they had a handy treasure trove down here, they’d have used it up by now. And why would they put it in the wine cellar?” She thought about that, and added, under her breath: “And why am I asking?”
“There’s treasure enough here as it is,” added the white-haired man, another Brit, who had somehow already been down in the wine cellar when they arrived, and was currently and knowledgeably engaged in wine-tasting. Despite the chuckling, he didn’t seem to be much more affected by that than he had been when she and Cute-but-Crazy guy had walked in. Who was, as it turned out, improbably searching for treasure buried underneath the White House.
All this would be reasonably normal, if only she could leave and alert security to the problem, but it turned out while security was lax enough to allow two strangers in and give them free rein of the wine cellar, they were fully up to locking the door at the wrong moment without checking who might be already inside.
The handsome crazy guy (with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen) looked at them both as if they were spoiling his Christmas. “Isn’t one of you going to help me?”
“My dear fellow,” said the old guy, “I’m keeping as far away from you as possible, for reasons that should be perfectly obvious. We should not be here together.”
“Well, go away, then.”
The old guy said. “Really, I’d have thought you might have remembered why I can’t possibly do that.”
“At the rate you’re drinking, I’m surprised I can remember any of this at all.”
They were both crazy, decided Donna, who had been concentrating on ignoring them and finding a way out, from the get-go. She was trapped in a wine cellar with two crazy British guys, while wearing a midnight blue evening dress that was not anything like warm enough for this madness. How was that possible? She could buy being trapped in the wine cellar - it was her sort of luck - and maybe even with a crazy guy, or two, in the middle of a formal occasion, but trapped in a wine cellar with two mad, British guys while wearing her very best frock? What were the odds?
She hammered on the door again, and debated with herself whether it would have been better if the mad guys had been French. Or Chinese. Or Russian, or something. If she couldn’t speak their language, maybe she wouldn’t know how crazy they were and she’d feel better.
Donna shrugged, and reluctantly decided that, after what felt like about six hours, it was time to sacrifice her hair for the greater good, pulling out the jewelled clip that was keeping it up, and the hair grips along with it, the result momentarily giving the lie to her claim never to have bad hair days, before it resumed its normal position, hanging about her shoulders in a blonde curtain. Now, she asked herself, how do you go about picking a lock?
Behind her, the old guy was sampling some wine, that she’d go so far as to classify as ‘red’, praising its bouquet (there was a hint of rosemary, apparently) and claiming he remembered the year well - 1895.
“What are you, like, Methuselah or something?” she muttered, and then: “We have wine that ancient?”
The white-haired Brit chuckled again. “I could be, my dear, I could be!”
“You’re more drunk than you look,” Donna informed him. “I can’t say I’m surprised, sir. Isn’t one of you going to help me get us out of here?”
Cute-crazy-guy was busy trying to move racks and crates. “According to the secret code on this map, there should be a trap-door about here, and the treasure -.”
“You have a map with secret code?” she said, raising her eyebrows, although she had noticed he was waving a sheet of fading and torn paper about, and she should have gotten past the point of being surprised by anything he did. “Who sold you that pile of tourist crap?”
“Aha!” he said. “Here it is - just as I thought! There’s probably a secret passage down here, you know.”
Donna looked at her hair grip, the lock, and back round at the situation, and tried for a scream, or at least a loud yell, at the exact same moment that the door finally opened, and Joshua Lymon appeared opposite her.
*
“And now I’m deaf,” complained Josh, wincing at her inadvertent welcome. “What were you doing? What happened and why’d you wind up here? Donna?”
Donna sighed. “For a moment there I was so happy to see you, I nearly kissed you, but you just blew it. Wouldn’t you know?”
“There’s a disappointment I’ll learn to live with,” Josh retorted, and then returned to semi-yelling. “You thought sneaking some intruder down into the wine cellar for a quiet tête-à-tête was a great idea? How did that ever make sense to you? Was it the olde worlde outfit, or the devastating good looks, or what?”
“And now I’m considering hitting you instead,” Donna informed her boss. “You asked me to go speak to him, which, by the way, I told you wasn’t going to be a good idea, judging by that jacket, and, as it turned out, he was a crazy British guy who dragged me down to the wine cellar, where there was a second crazy British guy, and now my dress is ruined, I’m not appreciative of you choosing now to lecture.”
“Yeah, you’re a mess,” he said, looking at her properly, giving a small quirk of his mouth that might have been a smile.
Donna gave a rueful grimace, and gestured down at her full-length evening dress. “It was a nice dress, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Josh agreed. “It’s still not bad in, you know, all the right places. You okay?”
Donna nodded. “I am. Thanks for coming to look for me, even if it did take you three hours, Joshua -.”
“There’s been an international crisis. Crises, even.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, because nobody informed the section of the party that was locked in the wine cellar.”
“You’ve learned a valuable lesson, and grown as a person, and now you’re going to move on,” advised Josh.
Donna turned around. “Never talk to strangers, even when your boss asks you?’ Or at least, wait for him to say ‘pretty please’ first, because when’s that ever gonna happen?”
“Yeah, something like that,” said Josh. “Come back to the party.”
“Like this?”
“You look great.”
“You just said I look a mess. I’ve got dust in places you don’t want to know about, and I’ve ruined my hair.”
Josh shrugged. “When I said party, I meant the last dregs having beers in CJ’s office, and you look way better than they do, even if you did spend the best part of the night in the wine cellar. How come you’re still sober?”
“The crazy old guy was hogging any actual alcohol.”
“You coming?”
“Okay,” said Donna, giving him a smile, which she followed swiftly with an attempt at a stern frown. “But don’t think I’m forgetting it was all your fault, and you left me locked in the wine cellar for three hours with two guys who were both bats. It’s a miracle one of them didn’t try to kill me.”
“How is that my fault?”
“How is it not your fault?”
“Yeah, I’m incurably optimistic.”
*
Security never did apprehend either of the mysterious strangers, but they did discover a trail of gold coins down in the newly unearthed secret passage under the wine cellar - just about enough to cover the cost of the missing wine.
***
I very much doubt there will be actual fic from the rest, but this just... wrote itself before breakfast yesterday.