(no subject)
"I didn't order this."
The Doctor looks up from his bowl of pretzel snacks and little crackers and spies a large, faintly glowing drink being placed in front of Mickey. The bartender smiles with all three of her mouths and gestures down the bar. "The, ah-- It said to send it over." The it in question is a medium-sized tank of purple something placed haphazardly a few chairs down. It seems to gloop in acknowledgement of this statement. Mickey is turning a choice shade himself, and the Doctor grins at him. "Don't be rude. Bottom's up!"
---
"I didn't think it'd keep sending them over," the Doctor grumbles an hour later, brow furrowed with concentration as he drags Mickey through the TARDIS door and drops him on the ramp. He brushes off his hands and mentally ticks off the options available. Head for somewhere else, good. But there's no point doing it until Mickey sobers up, because he can't take him anywhere in this state and leaving him here, alone, is out of the question. Nothing to do then but-- The TARDIS rumbles and he strokes one of her columns idly. “Don’t worry, old girl. We’ll find him a bucket first.”
Yet again, as inspired by derogative
Comm: muse_shuffle
Prompt: I know the truth is in between // the 1st and the 40th drink (Tori Amos - ‘Concertina’)
Word Count: 201
The Doctor looks up from his bowl of pretzel snacks and little crackers and spies a large, faintly glowing drink being placed in front of Mickey. The bartender smiles with all three of her mouths and gestures down the bar. "The, ah-- It said to send it over." The it in question is a medium-sized tank of purple something placed haphazardly a few chairs down. It seems to gloop in acknowledgement of this statement. Mickey is turning a choice shade himself, and the Doctor grins at him. "Don't be rude. Bottom's up!"
---
"I didn't think it'd keep sending them over," the Doctor grumbles an hour later, brow furrowed with concentration as he drags Mickey through the TARDIS door and drops him on the ramp. He brushes off his hands and mentally ticks off the options available. Head for somewhere else, good. But there's no point doing it until Mickey sobers up, because he can't take him anywhere in this state and leaving him here, alone, is out of the question. Nothing to do then but-- The TARDIS rumbles and he strokes one of her columns idly. “Don’t worry, old girl. We’ll find him a bucket first.”
Yet again, as inspired by derogative
Comm: muse_shuffle
Prompt: I know the truth is in between // the 1st and the 40th drink (Tori Amos - ‘Concertina’)
Word Count: 201