theatrical_muse Prompt 243: Olympics
If you could be in the Olympics (summer or winter), what event/sport would you want to do most? Why?
"The 92/apple/gamma/24 Olympics!" the Doctor gushed with ebullient flourish, throwing open the doors of the TARDIS in the grand way that put trumpets on a red carpet to shame.
Charley poked her head into the almost florescent sunlight, squinting and clearly not understanding the full grandeur of his flourishes. "The what?"
"The Olympics! Well, not exactly the Olympics as you remember them, they’ve obviously added a few little games here and there over the billions of years, took a few out because of the unfair advantages towards bipedal species, but it’s still the Olympics." He glanced, grinning, at Charley, a cheerful countenance that faded a little as his words received only the blankest of looks from his female companion. He continued eagerly on despite, hoping to engage at least some of the enthusiasm that this event deserved. "'Citius, Altius, Fortius'? 'Faster, Higher, Stronger'?"
Charley continued to stare at him in calm, serene, and exasperating bewilderment.
"Oh Charley, you must know. The first proper Winter Olympics was in 1928, in St. Moritz, and the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris before that. And then there were the Berlin Games in 1934, of course-“
"Berlin!"
"--But that’s a few years after we met, so I can't expect you to know about that. Maybe we'll take a visit there as well, but later! Right now, we're at one of grandest Olympics in the history of the… the universe, Charley. It’s magnificent! And I mean that quite literally. They're holding the games at New New Earth this year, so it's a particularly mad celebration, to be going to the games on the original planet. Or something as close to. The entire planet's gone into an almost devastating economical crisis over it, but they'll pull through. Humans are rather stubborn like that. Where's C'rizz? C'rizz?” The Doctor bounded to the door and stuck his head in, forcing Charley back inside so as to not knock heads. "C'rizz, are you coming? It’ll be wonderful, they've got the best Old Earth historians working on this event, so there'll be ice cream and... and... candy floss! I love candy floss, brilliant invention. Melts right on your tongue and you can use it to stuff your pillows at night. Oh come on, C'rizz. You’ll fit right in amongst the crowds of the purple-spotted land squids from Altrinous 7!"
"I fit in everywhere, Doctor. People do tell me that I tend to go well with the furniture. But I hope you're not implying that I look like a purple-spotted land squid."
Blithe charm flowed from the Doctor with ease. "Not at all. You look positively dashing. Don't you think so, Charley?"
"Oh yes, Doctor. Almost princely, I'd say."
"Yes, haha, very funny, you two."
"Funny? I was being perfectly serious. Although, I assume you could look like a purple-spotted land squid if you wanted to, unless I've missed something. I think you'd look rather splendid in the colour. What do you think?"
Charley's amused giggles burst from inside at the mental image, threading in alongside C'rizz's withered sigh.
"No, thank you, Doctor."
"Well all right then, if you insist on being so boring. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be. Is there any way to be ready when we go anywhere in the TARDIS?"
"I suppose not. Right then, let's go!" The worn shoe-clad foot sticking out of the TARDIS moved back, leading the Time Lord's body out of the ship and into near blinding daylight.
"Wait, Doctor, just a moment." Charley's hand grabbed the soft fabric of his jacket, keeping him agitatedly in place as he hopped on his feet with childish and frenetic enthusiasm.
"Oh, what is it?" he asked earnestly, bobbing desperately to keep his shoes occupied, "Whatever it is, do make it quick? We'll miss the opening ceremonies at this rate -- the best, most magnificent, the most outdoing-themselves-in-the history-of-outdoing-things opening ceremonies ever! The one that I've told myself I'd never, ever, forgive if I missed it. And if I do, it'll nag at the back of my mind forever. At least for a few lives. I mean it'll really be fantastic! It'll have lights and... and... well, more lights, but they'll be really pretty lights with flashes and bangs. It'll be the most amazing thing you've ever seen." He gestured happily and fervently with his hands, arms stretching out across the over-saturated blue sky that panned out over equally saturated shopping stalls (whatever this event was, Charley thought, it clearly drew a lot of people and potential costumers) as he envisioned the fireworks in his mind, ignoring the comments from C'rizz about how he'd said the exact same thing last week, probably about a cabbage.
"Well, I might have a bit of a hard time deciding," he called to the Eutermesan still in the ship. "They're all really rather quite splendid. The things we've seen, I mean. Not the cabbages. And that was a very unique flower we saw, C'rizz, don't go undermining it. You were one in a billion to have seen it after most of them were wiped out."
"It's not really anything, Doctor," Charley continued, drawing his attention back to her. "But... there isn't anything that's going to... happen, is there?"
"Happen? Happen? That's very vague. What do you mean... 'happen'?"
"I mean like getting kidnapped or being thrown into a dungeon somewhere. While I do like travelling with you, Doctor, I would prefer much it if we could get better scenery than the walls of our cell."
The Doctor sniffed shortly, nose rising a little into the air. "Charley, I think your travels with me might have made you just the slightest bit neurotic. Not everywhere we land is going to have people trying to harm us. Just because that's happened consecutively in the eleven trips before doesn't necessarily mean it's going to happen this time. It's the Olympics. There's nothing here but athletes, cheating athletes, and people from all over the galaxy looking for some friendly competition. Nothing's going to happen when you go outside of the TARDIS, it's perfectly sa-"
"Put your hands up," said a spear in a low authoritative voice as it jabbed into the Doctor's shoulder.
The Doctor shut his mouth quickly before he finished his now completely incorrect statement, following the spear's instructions with the slowest of movements, wincing as Charley's fingers dug sharply into his arm. He wasn't terribly sure whether the nails burrowing into his coat were due to her fury at him for being so insufferably wrong or her consternation for the situation evolving at hand. He hoped the latter, highly suspected the former.
The spear poked at him again, hard enough to hurt, but not enough to go through the fabric of his coat and into him. "All of them," insisted the spear.
The Doctor paused for a moment to consider his next words. "I haven't got any more hands," was his uncertain reply.
"Well what are those then?" The speak was indicating at his feet.
"They're my feet. With a rather nice pair shoes on them, I might add. And a comfortable pair of socks as well, if I'm honest." He wiggled his toes for the effect.
"They look like hands."
"Well then I would suggest against the idea of you opening up an anatomy class on bipedal humanoids."
"Put them up as well!"
"What?" cried the Doctor indignantly, "How?! I'm standing on them, they're my feet!"
"I don't pretend to know how you savages work, put them up!"
"Sava-"
"Put them up!"
There was an extremely irritated huff of air, and even C'rizz, who couldn't see the affronted Time Lord from his position in the TARDIS, got the impression that the Doctor was about to throttle somebody or as close to throttling as he could get without actually hurting anyone, which made the act fairly pointless, but that was the Doctor for you.
The Doctor sat down on the dirt covered ground, arms still raised, then stuck his feet up into the air and gave the guard holding the spear that had been prodding him a look that did not at all suit a man of his position. Literally.
The guard was young, ruddy, and looked the sort who had been born interminably stupid and had proceeded to live his life in such a fashion, with a brain so dull that its nerves were practically unfeeling, unable to determine differences between hot water and cold.
Or, that was what it seemed like to the Doctor. To the Doctor, people like this guard always seemed interminably stupid, particularly when they jabbed him with sticks and told him to stick his feet into the air like an idiot. It was highly probable that it was the guard who had spoken in the first place, he had a mouth after all, the spear did not, but the Doctor was suddenly inclined to believe that it was the spear that had been speaking, despite all scientific proof to the opposite; the young, lumbering man standing over him didn't look like he had enough brain power to move his mouth and tongue into such complicated positions.
"You as well," said the guard, turning to the others. "C'mon, put your hands up."
***
The cell they were put into was dark, dank, and dreary -- not all that creative as far as cells went, but at least it didn't point weapons at them and demand stupid things. The grey and black bricks that made up the walls were smooth and caked in dirt, the floor almost indistinguishable in the combination of straw, ragged blankets, and mud that covered it. It was clear that whatever they were supposed to be doing here, having a good night's sleep was not one of them. Light streamed through the window like water through a dammed river, flickering weakly as the trees outside shifted in the breeze, obscuring the rays as they moved. Dust permeated the parts of the cell that were lit, floating in the air blithely, unaffected by the commotion in their domain and reflecting whatever brightness they could.
It had taken at least the better part of an hour explaining to their guard's supercilious brain that they couldn't walk with their feet in the air and that whatever dump he was planning on throwing them into, he'd have to drag them along to do it unless he let them put their feet down. Having heard this, contemplated it and somewhat grasped the essential idea, he had concluded that letting them put their feet down was too dangerous and had dragged them, face down, to the prison building.
Until he got tired of pulling them along and let them stand up, spluttering as much sand and earth as they could from their lungs.
The Doctor dusted off the dirt on his jacket disgustedly. He didn't mind being locked up in a gaol (again, one could hardly forget the 'again', it was a very important aspect of this situation), that was just a typical day out of the TARDIS, but ruining his jacket? Unfathomable. Inconceivable. Unthinkable. How on several planets was he going to get all of this out of his clothing?
"Well," he said with an attempt at good humour, dropping to the small matting of hay in the corner that had the least amount of loose earth. "At least nothing happened outside of the TARDIS."
"Nothing!" was Charley's cry. "Can you really call this nothing? We've been poked, we've been prodded, and then we've been dragged, quite literally, from the TARDIS."
The Doctor lifted a very smug finger and waggled it very smugly. "Ah, but we weren't outside of the TARDIS when this happened. Since it started more or less while we were still inside, I think you'll find my statement stands."
Charley's hand rose threateningly, ready to swipe right across his face so hard that it would jumble up his synapses to the point that he thought red was blue and that reality shows were actually intelligent, but C'rizz spoke before any physical maiming could begin.
"I'm glad you two are keeping yourselves occupied, but don't you think we should get out of here? They did tell us that they were going to skin us alive and burn us at a stake. And I don't want to be there when they realise we don't like that idea very much and we realise that they do."
"Yes, yes, C'rizz, I completely agree," the Doctor gushed out, quickly ducking under Charley's arm before she could resume her earlier activity and scurrying out of her immediate range like a frightened rabbit. "Unfortunately, they took my sonic screwdriver as soon as we arrived here, so we do have a bit of a problem in that area."
Charley folded her arms, exhaling loudly and deeply through her nose, clearly trying to keep a calm head about the situation and clearly failing. She at least refrained from throwing anything, which was a large improvement from their last visit to a prison cell.
"Can't you just pick it?"
"Miss Pollard, I never expected you of all people to suggest such a low, conniving thing."
"Well, you are a horrible influence, Doctor."
"Horrible in the sense that it's horribly good, I assume. And no, I'm afraid I haven't got a bobby pin. Do you have one I could use?"
"Not one. I've never been a particular fan of them and I wasn't exactly expecting to be thrown in a dungeon today, considering all your efforts to tell us that it wouldn't happen."
"Now, Charley, I thought we sorted that out. I said nothing would happen outside of the TARDIS, and it didn't. Also, it's not a dungeon. Much nicer, less manacles and skeletons. The décor is much lighter, I think you'll find. But it seems as though your lack of bobby pin makes no difference," he added, crouching down to examine the door through the bars that kept them inside, "This lock is years before its time. Looks 19th century, but inside it's the most complicated mechanism I've ever seen. Although... yes, I'm fairly sure that I've seen something even more advanced on the planet of Avealos. Did I ever tell you about them? They're an entire planet of lock pickers, well, more or less, so there's something of an arms race between the lock pickers and the lock makers. Every time the lock makers come out with a new and brilliant design, the lock pickers find a way to open it, which prompts the makers to make something even more brilliant. Needless to say, the entire planet's economy, in the end, is based on home security. Did you know I--"
"Doctor."
"Hmm? Oh! Yes, sorry. Well, as I've said, bobby pins won't do us much good here." He stuck his hand into his pocket. "So let's try a paper clip!"
Charley looked confused, momentarily relieving her of her urges to bash her head against the nearest, most comfortable looking wall. "If a bobby pin wouldn't work, what's to say a paper clip would?"
"What's to say it wouldn't?"
"Logic? Any form of?"
"Oh, logic is overrated."
"I think logic is somewhat underrated when it comes to you, Doctor," C'rizz commented wryly.
"I assure you that I have a perfectly logical reason why. Now where did I put that paper clip? I know I saw one in here somewhere. Some place near my yo-yo, not as far as my recorder. Now where is it?" Face scrunching up in concentration, his arm slowly began to disappear into the confines of the pocket, something that was always interesting to watch and would have been a nice magic trick if he claimed that he didn't like exploiting his jacket in such a base fashion. "Aha!" was his triumphant cry as he brought out the small metal object.
He quickly twisted and bent the metal apart into a line. "Did I ever tell you that I'm very good with locks?"
"That's hardly surprising," Charley muttered, "We have noticed that you are something of a kleptomaniac, Doctor," she added a bit more loudly.
"What!"
"Oh yes," C'rizz cut in. "Don't think we didn't see you on the planet of Eldros. I've been meaning to ask, was that paperweight in your study always yours?"
"... Well..."
"Come on, Doctor," said Charley with a laugh. "First step is admitting you have a problem."
"All right, all right, stop it. Whatever we might have done, have done, or will do, I simply refuse to miss these Olympics just to get burned at a stake, so if you'll both be quiet for just one moment, I'll very happily let all of us out."
The human and the Eutermesan did fall to silence then, albeit having to force a hand over their mouths to muffle the giggles at the Time Lord's clear affronted nature on the subject.
That was when the beeping started.
"... I don't think that's a normal paper clip sound."
"Doctor?"
"No, C'rizz, wait, get ba--"
His voice cut off as an explosion rocked the solitary room, shaking gallons of dust from the ceiling as a cacophony of flashes burst from the lock that the Doctor had been attempting to manoeuvre open. Smoke engulfed the hallway and the cell, covering them all with a thick, unbreathable fog.
"Doctor? C'rizz? Are you all right!?"
"I'm fine, Charley, what about you?"
"Oh, don't worry about me, I wasn't anywhere close to... to... What about the Doctor? Oh, trust him to keep an explosive around in his pocket!"
A hacking cough came from the floor in defenceless reply, a hand sifting through the air, revealing the Doctor sprawled on his back. "I'm all right, I'm all right. Just a little singed." He quickly patted the sleeves his jacket to remove the last vestiges of the fire that had caught against them, paying no attention to Charley's muttered remarks about how he wouldn't be all right when she got through with him. The velvet cloth that hung from his shoulders was now little more than just that, and was almost impossibly stained with dirt and mud, the arms now almost half gone, frayed and charred where the unexpected fire had eaten through.
"Oh...," Charley said weakly through the smoke, trying to inhale as little of it as possible. "What happened?"
The Doctor sat up abruptly at her question, examining the melted metal twisted before him. "The paper clip I found. It seems as though it wasn't an actual paper clip." He sighed, scratching his head in confusion and slight exasperation. "I don't understand. That explosive is illegal on almost every civilised planet in this galaxy. How did it get into my pocket?"
"Is it dangerous?"
The Doctor shrugged non-committally, still focused on the charred remains of the lock. "Not particularly, it's just that people are very, very stupid. A lot of them kept mistaking the explosives for actual paper clips and then found they were losing an arm or two when they tried to hand in their paperwork. Not very pretty, but cleared up paperwork in record time. Don't know what I was doing with it." His head shot up in realisation. "Oh."
"What?"
"I was swindled out of a perfectly good paper clip," he said, his voice strangely disheartened at the idea. Exhaling loudly, he stood up, brushing himself off as quickly as possible and looking ridiculous as he did so, his arms sticking abruptly out of where his jacket sleeves now ended. "Look at this! Absolutely ruined. Massacred. Duke of Wellington couldn't have done a better job and I know you've met him. I really liked this jacket as well, best I've had in at least a few regenerations. Come on," he added, pulling open the mangled door. "Illegal explosive inexplicably being in my pockets or not, the door's open, I suggest we make our grand exit." He quickly ushered his companions outside.
But it was too late. The clanking of armour greeted them with clashes of pots and pans as the guards ran into view.
"Where did they go!?" one of them demanded loudly, apparently not recognising the three.
"That way!" The Doctor pointed down another corridor. The guards quickly thanked him and ran off.
"Well, that was easy," Charley said as the loud footsteps faded away. "Shall we go?" she prodded at the two stunned aliens who were staring vacantly at the corridor the guards had just walked away.
"I didn't think that would work," the Doctor said, blinking.
"Well, clearly it did. Come on, Doctor, let's go."
"Uhm... right, right, yes. The guards came from... that direction, I believe. I suggest we try that way first."
The Eutermesan gave him an odd look and for a moment looked like he was about to object. "Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"Your hair's on fire."
"What? Oh. Ah!"
***
Their trek to the TARDIS was done in silence, not due to any animosity, but because they were too tired to do much else other than walk. Attempts at small talk fell short in any attempt, whether it was about the implications of string theory and it's effect of the universe or cheese. They simply continued to move, on and on, until a large flash of blue flooded their vision, and then suddenly all three were running towards the TARDIS in wild abandon and giddy relief, not even noticing the impossible amount of obstacles that sprung quickly in their way like a spry Hungarian dancer.
And then, equally suddenly, just before they reached the doors of the ship, they were accosted by streamers and balloons.
There was an abrupt and wild burst of panic as they all started, arms flying up, shielding themselves from the confetti flying around them as though they were explosives (but then, who knew what was explosive nowadays).
When they finally concluded that the falling pieces of paper were exactly that, not the dangerous products of a weapon, they began to walk in a daze towards the TARDIS. They all were beleaguered by random people and aliens, limbs of all colours and types reaching out to shake hands, legs, or heads in congratulations, some screaming that they knew they'd win, others saying that it had clearly been luck.
All of it only served to confuse the three even more as they walked towards the blue box standing in the middle of the crowd in almost serene incomprehension.
The man who came to greet them when they finally arrived at the ship was, surprisingly, the same man who had started this whole thing in the first place, although now his face was idiotic and smiling, rather than idiotic and acting like his cat had just been eaten by a rhinoceros.
"Congratulations!" he yelled over the cries of onlookers, grinning in a way that simply could not be natural without the use of several metal contraptions and a cucumber. "You've won!"
The Doctor slowly began his transition from being more than just merely confused into something infinitely more. "Won... what, exactly?"
"The Olympics 'Confusing and Inexplicably Dangerous Situation' Relay! You've come first!"
The three time-travellers stared at the guard-who-was-not-a-guard for a moment, then did the same to each other, with matching blank expressions, unable to choose an emotion to start with or even think of a proper response. 'Thank you', perhaps? 'We're very grateful?' 'You bloody half-brained twit, I hope you get run over by a stampede of ravenous hippos?'
"Do you mean to tell me," the Doctor started slowly, eyes closing and fingers pressing against his temple in the classic form of 'oh dear, this headache is going to get much worse', "That the last few.... Agonising. Exhaustive. Psychologically painful hours was done as an Olympic event that I neither knew about nor agreed to take part in?"
"Yes! Did you know that this is the first Gold the planet Gallifrey's ever won? They never compete."
"Oh, I'm sure the CIA will be ecstatic, wouldn't they, Doctor?"
He wasn't listening.
"Wait until I tell Romana!"
"Doctor!"
"What?"
Charley placed her fists on her hips and shot him a look.
The crowd cheered their overwhelming, mind-blowing happiness and excitement for the three all over again, throwing even more colours into the air and nearly falling over each other in their delirious mob euphoria.
"With that said, we do believe that we really must be going," Charley piped up, adding emphasis none too subtly by jamming an elbow into the Doctor's ribs.
He let out a mangled combination of a weak cough and a whimper of pain as a sort of instinctive response.
"Leaving so soon? But you haven't even seen the rest of the Olympics!"
"Weeeell, I suppose we could stay for a few of the games, eh, Charley? C'rizz? I mean, we might as well, shouldn't we?"
Her glare should have, in all sense of proper physics, imploded his head, but he was saved when the guard spoke again.
"That said, will you all pee into this cup?"
They left.
The Eighth Doctor
Doctor Who
4039 words
[OOC: Thanks very very very muchly to brigadiertardis for her beta and encouragement, and both galeforcehero and clever_wanderer for putting up with my incessant wittering and whining and reassuring to me that it wasn't all crap. Jeez. No more epic prompts for me.]
"The 92/apple/gamma/24 Olympics!" the Doctor gushed with ebullient flourish, throwing open the doors of the TARDIS in the grand way that put trumpets on a red carpet to shame.
Charley poked her head into the almost florescent sunlight, squinting and clearly not understanding the full grandeur of his flourishes. "The what?"
"The Olympics! Well, not exactly the Olympics as you remember them, they’ve obviously added a few little games here and there over the billions of years, took a few out because of the unfair advantages towards bipedal species, but it’s still the Olympics." He glanced, grinning, at Charley, a cheerful countenance that faded a little as his words received only the blankest of looks from his female companion. He continued eagerly on despite, hoping to engage at least some of the enthusiasm that this event deserved. "'Citius, Altius, Fortius'? 'Faster, Higher, Stronger'?"
Charley continued to stare at him in calm, serene, and exasperating bewilderment.
"Oh Charley, you must know. The first proper Winter Olympics was in 1928, in St. Moritz, and the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris before that. And then there were the Berlin Games in 1934, of course-“
"Berlin!"
"--But that’s a few years after we met, so I can't expect you to know about that. Maybe we'll take a visit there as well, but later! Right now, we're at one of grandest Olympics in the history of the… the universe, Charley. It’s magnificent! And I mean that quite literally. They're holding the games at New New Earth this year, so it's a particularly mad celebration, to be going to the games on the original planet. Or something as close to. The entire planet's gone into an almost devastating economical crisis over it, but they'll pull through. Humans are rather stubborn like that. Where's C'rizz? C'rizz?” The Doctor bounded to the door and stuck his head in, forcing Charley back inside so as to not knock heads. "C'rizz, are you coming? It’ll be wonderful, they've got the best Old Earth historians working on this event, so there'll be ice cream and... and... candy floss! I love candy floss, brilliant invention. Melts right on your tongue and you can use it to stuff your pillows at night. Oh come on, C'rizz. You’ll fit right in amongst the crowds of the purple-spotted land squids from Altrinous 7!"
"I fit in everywhere, Doctor. People do tell me that I tend to go well with the furniture. But I hope you're not implying that I look like a purple-spotted land squid."
Blithe charm flowed from the Doctor with ease. "Not at all. You look positively dashing. Don't you think so, Charley?"
"Oh yes, Doctor. Almost princely, I'd say."
"Yes, haha, very funny, you two."
"Funny? I was being perfectly serious. Although, I assume you could look like a purple-spotted land squid if you wanted to, unless I've missed something. I think you'd look rather splendid in the colour. What do you think?"
Charley's amused giggles burst from inside at the mental image, threading in alongside C'rizz's withered sigh.
"No, thank you, Doctor."
"Well all right then, if you insist on being so boring. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be. Is there any way to be ready when we go anywhere in the TARDIS?"
"I suppose not. Right then, let's go!" The worn shoe-clad foot sticking out of the TARDIS moved back, leading the Time Lord's body out of the ship and into near blinding daylight.
"Wait, Doctor, just a moment." Charley's hand grabbed the soft fabric of his jacket, keeping him agitatedly in place as he hopped on his feet with childish and frenetic enthusiasm.
"Oh, what is it?" he asked earnestly, bobbing desperately to keep his shoes occupied, "Whatever it is, do make it quick? We'll miss the opening ceremonies at this rate -- the best, most magnificent, the most outdoing-themselves-in-the history-of-outdoing-things opening ceremonies ever! The one that I've told myself I'd never, ever, forgive if I missed it. And if I do, it'll nag at the back of my mind forever. At least for a few lives. I mean it'll really be fantastic! It'll have lights and... and... well, more lights, but they'll be really pretty lights with flashes and bangs. It'll be the most amazing thing you've ever seen." He gestured happily and fervently with his hands, arms stretching out across the over-saturated blue sky that panned out over equally saturated shopping stalls (whatever this event was, Charley thought, it clearly drew a lot of people and potential costumers) as he envisioned the fireworks in his mind, ignoring the comments from C'rizz about how he'd said the exact same thing last week, probably about a cabbage.
"Well, I might have a bit of a hard time deciding," he called to the Eutermesan still in the ship. "They're all really rather quite splendid. The things we've seen, I mean. Not the cabbages. And that was a very unique flower we saw, C'rizz, don't go undermining it. You were one in a billion to have seen it after most of them were wiped out."
"It's not really anything, Doctor," Charley continued, drawing his attention back to her. "But... there isn't anything that's going to... happen, is there?"
"Happen? Happen? That's very vague. What do you mean... 'happen'?"
"I mean like getting kidnapped or being thrown into a dungeon somewhere. While I do like travelling with you, Doctor, I would prefer much it if we could get better scenery than the walls of our cell."
The Doctor sniffed shortly, nose rising a little into the air. "Charley, I think your travels with me might have made you just the slightest bit neurotic. Not everywhere we land is going to have people trying to harm us. Just because that's happened consecutively in the eleven trips before doesn't necessarily mean it's going to happen this time. It's the Olympics. There's nothing here but athletes, cheating athletes, and people from all over the galaxy looking for some friendly competition. Nothing's going to happen when you go outside of the TARDIS, it's perfectly sa-"
"Put your hands up," said a spear in a low authoritative voice as it jabbed into the Doctor's shoulder.
The Doctor shut his mouth quickly before he finished his now completely incorrect statement, following the spear's instructions with the slowest of movements, wincing as Charley's fingers dug sharply into his arm. He wasn't terribly sure whether the nails burrowing into his coat were due to her fury at him for being so insufferably wrong or her consternation for the situation evolving at hand. He hoped the latter, highly suspected the former.
The spear poked at him again, hard enough to hurt, but not enough to go through the fabric of his coat and into him. "All of them," insisted the spear.
The Doctor paused for a moment to consider his next words. "I haven't got any more hands," was his uncertain reply.
"Well what are those then?" The speak was indicating at his feet.
"They're my feet. With a rather nice pair shoes on them, I might add. And a comfortable pair of socks as well, if I'm honest." He wiggled his toes for the effect.
"They look like hands."
"Well then I would suggest against the idea of you opening up an anatomy class on bipedal humanoids."
"Put them up as well!"
"What?" cried the Doctor indignantly, "How?! I'm standing on them, they're my feet!"
"I don't pretend to know how you savages work, put them up!"
"Sava-"
"Put them up!"
There was an extremely irritated huff of air, and even C'rizz, who couldn't see the affronted Time Lord from his position in the TARDIS, got the impression that the Doctor was about to throttle somebody or as close to throttling as he could get without actually hurting anyone, which made the act fairly pointless, but that was the Doctor for you.
The Doctor sat down on the dirt covered ground, arms still raised, then stuck his feet up into the air and gave the guard holding the spear that had been prodding him a look that did not at all suit a man of his position. Literally.
The guard was young, ruddy, and looked the sort who had been born interminably stupid and had proceeded to live his life in such a fashion, with a brain so dull that its nerves were practically unfeeling, unable to determine differences between hot water and cold.
Or, that was what it seemed like to the Doctor. To the Doctor, people like this guard always seemed interminably stupid, particularly when they jabbed him with sticks and told him to stick his feet into the air like an idiot. It was highly probable that it was the guard who had spoken in the first place, he had a mouth after all, the spear did not, but the Doctor was suddenly inclined to believe that it was the spear that had been speaking, despite all scientific proof to the opposite; the young, lumbering man standing over him didn't look like he had enough brain power to move his mouth and tongue into such complicated positions.
"You as well," said the guard, turning to the others. "C'mon, put your hands up."
***
The cell they were put into was dark, dank, and dreary -- not all that creative as far as cells went, but at least it didn't point weapons at them and demand stupid things. The grey and black bricks that made up the walls were smooth and caked in dirt, the floor almost indistinguishable in the combination of straw, ragged blankets, and mud that covered it. It was clear that whatever they were supposed to be doing here, having a good night's sleep was not one of them. Light streamed through the window like water through a dammed river, flickering weakly as the trees outside shifted in the breeze, obscuring the rays as they moved. Dust permeated the parts of the cell that were lit, floating in the air blithely, unaffected by the commotion in their domain and reflecting whatever brightness they could.
It had taken at least the better part of an hour explaining to their guard's supercilious brain that they couldn't walk with their feet in the air and that whatever dump he was planning on throwing them into, he'd have to drag them along to do it unless he let them put their feet down. Having heard this, contemplated it and somewhat grasped the essential idea, he had concluded that letting them put their feet down was too dangerous and had dragged them, face down, to the prison building.
Until he got tired of pulling them along and let them stand up, spluttering as much sand and earth as they could from their lungs.
The Doctor dusted off the dirt on his jacket disgustedly. He didn't mind being locked up in a gaol (again, one could hardly forget the 'again', it was a very important aspect of this situation), that was just a typical day out of the TARDIS, but ruining his jacket? Unfathomable. Inconceivable. Unthinkable. How on several planets was he going to get all of this out of his clothing?
"Well," he said with an attempt at good humour, dropping to the small matting of hay in the corner that had the least amount of loose earth. "At least nothing happened outside of the TARDIS."
"Nothing!" was Charley's cry. "Can you really call this nothing? We've been poked, we've been prodded, and then we've been dragged, quite literally, from the TARDIS."
The Doctor lifted a very smug finger and waggled it very smugly. "Ah, but we weren't outside of the TARDIS when this happened. Since it started more or less while we were still inside, I think you'll find my statement stands."
Charley's hand rose threateningly, ready to swipe right across his face so hard that it would jumble up his synapses to the point that he thought red was blue and that reality shows were actually intelligent, but C'rizz spoke before any physical maiming could begin.
"I'm glad you two are keeping yourselves occupied, but don't you think we should get out of here? They did tell us that they were going to skin us alive and burn us at a stake. And I don't want to be there when they realise we don't like that idea very much and we realise that they do."
"Yes, yes, C'rizz, I completely agree," the Doctor gushed out, quickly ducking under Charley's arm before she could resume her earlier activity and scurrying out of her immediate range like a frightened rabbit. "Unfortunately, they took my sonic screwdriver as soon as we arrived here, so we do have a bit of a problem in that area."
Charley folded her arms, exhaling loudly and deeply through her nose, clearly trying to keep a calm head about the situation and clearly failing. She at least refrained from throwing anything, which was a large improvement from their last visit to a prison cell.
"Can't you just pick it?"
"Miss Pollard, I never expected you of all people to suggest such a low, conniving thing."
"Well, you are a horrible influence, Doctor."
"Horrible in the sense that it's horribly good, I assume. And no, I'm afraid I haven't got a bobby pin. Do you have one I could use?"
"Not one. I've never been a particular fan of them and I wasn't exactly expecting to be thrown in a dungeon today, considering all your efforts to tell us that it wouldn't happen."
"Now, Charley, I thought we sorted that out. I said nothing would happen outside of the TARDIS, and it didn't. Also, it's not a dungeon. Much nicer, less manacles and skeletons. The décor is much lighter, I think you'll find. But it seems as though your lack of bobby pin makes no difference," he added, crouching down to examine the door through the bars that kept them inside, "This lock is years before its time. Looks 19th century, but inside it's the most complicated mechanism I've ever seen. Although... yes, I'm fairly sure that I've seen something even more advanced on the planet of Avealos. Did I ever tell you about them? They're an entire planet of lock pickers, well, more or less, so there's something of an arms race between the lock pickers and the lock makers. Every time the lock makers come out with a new and brilliant design, the lock pickers find a way to open it, which prompts the makers to make something even more brilliant. Needless to say, the entire planet's economy, in the end, is based on home security. Did you know I--"
"Doctor."
"Hmm? Oh! Yes, sorry. Well, as I've said, bobby pins won't do us much good here." He stuck his hand into his pocket. "So let's try a paper clip!"
Charley looked confused, momentarily relieving her of her urges to bash her head against the nearest, most comfortable looking wall. "If a bobby pin wouldn't work, what's to say a paper clip would?"
"What's to say it wouldn't?"
"Logic? Any form of?"
"Oh, logic is overrated."
"I think logic is somewhat underrated when it comes to you, Doctor," C'rizz commented wryly.
"I assure you that I have a perfectly logical reason why. Now where did I put that paper clip? I know I saw one in here somewhere. Some place near my yo-yo, not as far as my recorder. Now where is it?" Face scrunching up in concentration, his arm slowly began to disappear into the confines of the pocket, something that was always interesting to watch and would have been a nice magic trick if he claimed that he didn't like exploiting his jacket in such a base fashion. "Aha!" was his triumphant cry as he brought out the small metal object.
He quickly twisted and bent the metal apart into a line. "Did I ever tell you that I'm very good with locks?"
"That's hardly surprising," Charley muttered, "We have noticed that you are something of a kleptomaniac, Doctor," she added a bit more loudly.
"What!"
"Oh yes," C'rizz cut in. "Don't think we didn't see you on the planet of Eldros. I've been meaning to ask, was that paperweight in your study always yours?"
"... Well..."
"Come on, Doctor," said Charley with a laugh. "First step is admitting you have a problem."
"All right, all right, stop it. Whatever we might have done, have done, or will do, I simply refuse to miss these Olympics just to get burned at a stake, so if you'll both be quiet for just one moment, I'll very happily let all of us out."
The human and the Eutermesan did fall to silence then, albeit having to force a hand over their mouths to muffle the giggles at the Time Lord's clear affronted nature on the subject.
That was when the beeping started.
"... I don't think that's a normal paper clip sound."
"Doctor?"
"No, C'rizz, wait, get ba--"
His voice cut off as an explosion rocked the solitary room, shaking gallons of dust from the ceiling as a cacophony of flashes burst from the lock that the Doctor had been attempting to manoeuvre open. Smoke engulfed the hallway and the cell, covering them all with a thick, unbreathable fog.
"Doctor? C'rizz? Are you all right!?"
"I'm fine, Charley, what about you?"
"Oh, don't worry about me, I wasn't anywhere close to... to... What about the Doctor? Oh, trust him to keep an explosive around in his pocket!"
A hacking cough came from the floor in defenceless reply, a hand sifting through the air, revealing the Doctor sprawled on his back. "I'm all right, I'm all right. Just a little singed." He quickly patted the sleeves his jacket to remove the last vestiges of the fire that had caught against them, paying no attention to Charley's muttered remarks about how he wouldn't be all right when she got through with him. The velvet cloth that hung from his shoulders was now little more than just that, and was almost impossibly stained with dirt and mud, the arms now almost half gone, frayed and charred where the unexpected fire had eaten through.
"Oh...," Charley said weakly through the smoke, trying to inhale as little of it as possible. "What happened?"
The Doctor sat up abruptly at her question, examining the melted metal twisted before him. "The paper clip I found. It seems as though it wasn't an actual paper clip." He sighed, scratching his head in confusion and slight exasperation. "I don't understand. That explosive is illegal on almost every civilised planet in this galaxy. How did it get into my pocket?"
"Is it dangerous?"
The Doctor shrugged non-committally, still focused on the charred remains of the lock. "Not particularly, it's just that people are very, very stupid. A lot of them kept mistaking the explosives for actual paper clips and then found they were losing an arm or two when they tried to hand in their paperwork. Not very pretty, but cleared up paperwork in record time. Don't know what I was doing with it." His head shot up in realisation. "Oh."
"What?"
"I was swindled out of a perfectly good paper clip," he said, his voice strangely disheartened at the idea. Exhaling loudly, he stood up, brushing himself off as quickly as possible and looking ridiculous as he did so, his arms sticking abruptly out of where his jacket sleeves now ended. "Look at this! Absolutely ruined. Massacred. Duke of Wellington couldn't have done a better job and I know you've met him. I really liked this jacket as well, best I've had in at least a few regenerations. Come on," he added, pulling open the mangled door. "Illegal explosive inexplicably being in my pockets or not, the door's open, I suggest we make our grand exit." He quickly ushered his companions outside.
But it was too late. The clanking of armour greeted them with clashes of pots and pans as the guards ran into view.
"Where did they go!?" one of them demanded loudly, apparently not recognising the three.
"That way!" The Doctor pointed down another corridor. The guards quickly thanked him and ran off.
"Well, that was easy," Charley said as the loud footsteps faded away. "Shall we go?" she prodded at the two stunned aliens who were staring vacantly at the corridor the guards had just walked away.
"I didn't think that would work," the Doctor said, blinking.
"Well, clearly it did. Come on, Doctor, let's go."
"Uhm... right, right, yes. The guards came from... that direction, I believe. I suggest we try that way first."
The Eutermesan gave him an odd look and for a moment looked like he was about to object. "Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"Your hair's on fire."
"What? Oh. Ah!"
***
Their trek to the TARDIS was done in silence, not due to any animosity, but because they were too tired to do much else other than walk. Attempts at small talk fell short in any attempt, whether it was about the implications of string theory and it's effect of the universe or cheese. They simply continued to move, on and on, until a large flash of blue flooded their vision, and then suddenly all three were running towards the TARDIS in wild abandon and giddy relief, not even noticing the impossible amount of obstacles that sprung quickly in their way like a spry Hungarian dancer.
And then, equally suddenly, just before they reached the doors of the ship, they were accosted by streamers and balloons.
There was an abrupt and wild burst of panic as they all started, arms flying up, shielding themselves from the confetti flying around them as though they were explosives (but then, who knew what was explosive nowadays).
When they finally concluded that the falling pieces of paper were exactly that, not the dangerous products of a weapon, they began to walk in a daze towards the TARDIS. They all were beleaguered by random people and aliens, limbs of all colours and types reaching out to shake hands, legs, or heads in congratulations, some screaming that they knew they'd win, others saying that it had clearly been luck.
All of it only served to confuse the three even more as they walked towards the blue box standing in the middle of the crowd in almost serene incomprehension.
The man who came to greet them when they finally arrived at the ship was, surprisingly, the same man who had started this whole thing in the first place, although now his face was idiotic and smiling, rather than idiotic and acting like his cat had just been eaten by a rhinoceros.
"Congratulations!" he yelled over the cries of onlookers, grinning in a way that simply could not be natural without the use of several metal contraptions and a cucumber. "You've won!"
The Doctor slowly began his transition from being more than just merely confused into something infinitely more. "Won... what, exactly?"
"The Olympics 'Confusing and Inexplicably Dangerous Situation' Relay! You've come first!"
The three time-travellers stared at the guard-who-was-not-a-guard for a moment, then did the same to each other, with matching blank expressions, unable to choose an emotion to start with or even think of a proper response. 'Thank you', perhaps? 'We're very grateful?' 'You bloody half-brained twit, I hope you get run over by a stampede of ravenous hippos?'
"Do you mean to tell me," the Doctor started slowly, eyes closing and fingers pressing against his temple in the classic form of 'oh dear, this headache is going to get much worse', "That the last few.... Agonising. Exhaustive. Psychologically painful hours was done as an Olympic event that I neither knew about nor agreed to take part in?"
"Yes! Did you know that this is the first Gold the planet Gallifrey's ever won? They never compete."
"Oh, I'm sure the CIA will be ecstatic, wouldn't they, Doctor?"
He wasn't listening.
"Wait until I tell Romana!"
"Doctor!"
"What?"
Charley placed her fists on her hips and shot him a look.
The crowd cheered their overwhelming, mind-blowing happiness and excitement for the three all over again, throwing even more colours into the air and nearly falling over each other in their delirious mob euphoria.
"With that said, we do believe that we really must be going," Charley piped up, adding emphasis none too subtly by jamming an elbow into the Doctor's ribs.
He let out a mangled combination of a weak cough and a whimper of pain as a sort of instinctive response.
"Leaving so soon? But you haven't even seen the rest of the Olympics!"
"Weeeell, I suppose we could stay for a few of the games, eh, Charley? C'rizz? I mean, we might as well, shouldn't we?"
Her glare should have, in all sense of proper physics, imploded his head, but he was saved when the guard spoke again.
"That said, will you all pee into this cup?"
They left.
The Eighth Doctor
Doctor Who
4039 words
[OOC: Thanks very very very muchly to brigadiertardis for her beta and encouragement, and both galeforcehero and clever_wanderer for putting up with my incessant wittering and whining and reassuring to me that it wasn't all crap. Jeez. No more epic prompts for me.]