for lightyearsahead Prompt 003.4
Shhh... You have to hide in an elderly woman's house. A friendly elderly woman, who doesn't get much company.
The Doctor's face paled, jaw dropping open as he beheld the creature he'd been tracking for hours. Amy saw the furry thing as well, but didn't seem marginally as impressed as the Doctor did.
"A stoat?" Amy sighed softly, setting her back against the brick wall they were currently hiding behind. "We'd traveled all this way, halfway across the city. For a stoat?"
"It isn't a stoat," he said, filled with a child's unwavering confidence. One quick wave of the sonic screwdriver in the 'stoat's' direction and the Doctor checked the readings. "See?" he said, giving Amy a full view of the screwdriver's readout screen. "It's as much of a stoat as I am."
"Oh, I dunno. You're pretty stoat-ish, from what I can tell..." And those readouts were nothing but a jumbled mess of concentric circles. Useless to her.
"Look closer," he murmured, nodding towards the creature. "What do you see that's different about it?"
Amy rolled her eyes but she stared hard at the stoat. It was doing what animals usually did, sniffing about for food. When it scampered down the pavement, however, Amy let out a gasp. "That's impossible, Doctor."
"Is it? Is it really?"
"It's not casting a shadow. The bins, the cars, the houses. They've all got shadows but the stoat..."
"Which isn't a stoat--"
"Which isn't a stoat, hasn't got a shadow."
"It isn't casting a shadow because it is a shadow. What we've uncovered is a raqti. More specifically, a raqti scout. They exist in the void between the universes, seeking out cracks in reality in order to invade and to hunt. Normally the raqti aren't able to manifest themselves fully in an unfamiliar universe so they simply push their shadows through. Because what weighs less than a shadow?"
"So they're like stoats?"
"In that they're lithe and furry, yes. In that they're usually twenty foot long and come with razor-sharp spikes and fangs dripping with poisonous saliva, no."
"The worst stoats in the universe, then?" Amy asked.
"In the whole of the universes, yes."
"Bad news if we get spotted by it?"
"Incredibly bad news, of the life-threatening variety. If it spots us, we run."
The stoat suddenly trained its eyes directly on the pair.
"Run!" The Doctor sprang from his crouch and broke into a full-on jog, making a desperate grab for Amy's hand as she followed along after him. The stoat scampered after, baring its tiny teeth, but the creature the shadow belonged to let out an earth-shaking roar which effortlessly broached the void.
Not good, the Doctor thought. Incredibly not good. They were in the heart of a residential area. so many warm bodies to feed on, to sup the blood out of, and the only thing which stood between the raqti and complete annihilation of humanity was the Doctor.
Typical Thursday, then.
The Doctor led Amy through back gardens and alleys in a frenzied effort to confuse the raqti. And he was doing a bang-up job of it as well, until Amy started tugging at his arm, and bothering, and making a nuisance of herself just as the Doctor was about to take a sharp turn left.
"What?" he exclaimed finally, exasperated. "I'm trying to get us to safety!"
"So am I!" Amy countered. "I know this place! And I know a person who lives here who can help us." She yanked at him like he was a rebellious boy who wanted to go the opposite direction as Mummy. Eventually, they ran right up to a door, which Amy eagerly knocked upon. The Doctor, meanwhile, kept taking sharp glances behind them, as if the raqti might sprout into this reality at any moment.
The door swung open, revealing a woman with graying hair, and a smile which reached the crinkles of her eyes. "Amy Pond!"
"Hello, Mrs. Pratt."
Pratt. The Doctor stifled a giggle. And he stifled it very very badly, clamping his hand down around his mouth and making odd snoring noises though he was obviously wide awake. He got another yank on his arm for his trouble. And then Amy finally let go of the Doctor's hand, because she'd just realised she was still holding onto it.
The Doctor used the freed hand to give Mrs. Pratt a wave.
"And who might this fellow be?" asked Mrs. Pratt.
"Oh." Amy said. "It's a bit, um, compli--"
"I'm the Doctor."
Mrs. Pratt's face lit up and she gave the Doctor a good, long look. "You're really him! The Raggedy Doctor!"
The Doctor winced, easing towards Amy and getting nose-to-nose with her. "Exactly how many people have you told that story to?"
Mrs. Pratt shook her head. "I thought you'd be cuter."
And the Doctor thought that hiding from the raqti would involve something more than joining an old neighbour of Amy's for tea. He tapped his fingers upon the kitchen table, following a rhythm within his own head. Or maybe he was simply trying to work out the best plan for dealing with the raqti problem before everyone on Earth was made into supper.
But first, tea.
Mrs. Pratt placed a saucer in front of the Doctor. Upon that saucer was a lumpy, golden brownish concoction that he, even with his nearly millennium long existence, hadn't encountered as yet. He set his eyes down at table level, giving the pastry(???) a level of scrutiny which rivaled the one he cast upon the raqti scout.
"Is it...edible?" he asked in a low, whispery voice, as if the thing on the saucer could understand English and would be roundly offended at any suggestion that it might not be food.
"Doctor," Amy said, giving him a stern look. "Be polite. This looks absolutely lovely, Mrs. Pratt."
"Thank you dear. Old family recipe, you know. Won't find anything like it anywhere else."
"Thank heaven for that," muttered the Doctor. He suddenly got a knee to the shin and tried very hard not to crumple in his discomfort. Oh, no. It had gone far beyond discomfort now. Right into pain, it was. And since the violent exchange occurred beneath the table, it didn't catch the attention of Mrs. Pratt herself.
The Doctor's nose was pressed right up against the thing that dared pretend it was food. "You scoff at fish custard and you still expect me to stomach that?" And he took a sniff of it, a mighty one, so mighty that he drew up crumbs right into his nose.
But there was something else.
He planted the side of his head on the table and took another deep sniff. "Interesting."
Mrs. Pratt's smile was still as pleasant as ever but her eyes looked a little strained. "Is he alright, dear?" she asked, mouth barely moving.
"He's fine," said Amy. "He gets like this a lot. Distracted, I mean. Best let him alone to do what he needs to do."
Another series of sniffs, of the table, of the chair he sat in, of Amy's teacup, and of his. Of even Mrs. Pratt's globular pastry-like thing. All of it culminated in the Doctor leaping up onto the table, planting his boots firmly upon the wooden top, and then straining to reach the hanging lamp above them.
"He's unscrewing my lightbulb," said Mrs. Pratt.
"He's, ah, very environmentally conscious. Very green. Checking for what sort of bulb you're using..." Amy said.
"Exactly!" exclaimed the Doctor, wriggling that bulb free and touching it against his sonic screwdriver. The bulb then lit up on its own, with the Doctor giving it a surprised stare. "Never been able to do that before! Think I'll keep this one." And he pocketed his screwdriver, patting said pocket fondly. "Now! Amy?" he called, taking a tumble off the table and managing a landing without cracking his skull open.
"Yes, Doctor?" Amy said.
"Mrs. Pratt?"
"Doctor?"
"I want you to shut your eyes. Shut them as tight as you can. Press your palms against your eyes if you need to. You know that moment when your eyes are closed so tightly that you see sparks? I want you both to do that. On three. Ready?"
"No?" said Amy, still confused about the purpose of this.
"Ah, well. First time for everything," the Doctor said. "One. Two. Three! Shut them now!"
Amy did as the Doctor asked. She shut her eyes tightly, so tightly she saw those red and gold sparks on the backs of her eyelids. She waited for what would happen next, for the moment the Doctor told them that it was alright to open their eyes, but seconds passed, and the Doctor said nothing. Worried, she ventured a "Doctor?"
"Tch, tch, tch," came the Doctor's voice. "Not yet. Nearly there, must get your visual cortex accustomed to the right stimulus. The human optic nerve is just so...feeble! It needs more preparation before it's ready. Right. Now."
"Now?" asked Mrs. Pratt.
"Yes, now! When I said now I meant now!"
Amy's eyes flew open, and at first, all she could see, as usual, were the brilliant sparks blazing away at her vision, but then she saw...other things. Shifts in the walls, fissures zig-zagging through space. Amy shuddered slightly; they all reminded her of that crack in her bedroom wall.
"We're sitting right atop a fracture in the fabric of space-time," said the Doctor, his demeanor calm, collected, and soft. He swung the lightbulb in his hand, focusing its glow on the various rifts in the kitchen. "The raqti's been drawn to this place because of the weakness. Mrs. Pratt, you've got a raqti infestation."
"Oh, dear. Shall I ring up the exterminators?"
"It's not the sort of infestation that can be managed with a bit of pesticide," sighed the Doctor. "We'll have to close the cracks, mend them. I've got some helpful equipment in the TARDIS."
"Oooh! Is that the blue box?" Mrs. Pratt asked excitedly. "Remember, Amy? You had that shed you'd painted up blue and little Rory and you used to play in it for hours..."
The Doctor rounded on Amy. "Honestly. How many people have you told that story to?"
Amy gave a helpless little shrug. "Sorry?"
Without another word, the Doctor set out back to the TARDIS. Of course, he'd have to evade the raqti which were already prowling the streets of the city, ready to consume unsuspecting humans, and he'd have to keep tabs on both Amy and Mrs. Pratt. All in the name of trying to keep Earth from being invaded by blood-thirsty aliens.
How he loved Thursdays.
Character: The Eleventh Doctor, feat. Amy
Wordcount: 1759
Notes: This actually went a little more pear-shaped than I'd first intended, but I hope it still follows the spirit of the prompt
The Doctor's face paled, jaw dropping open as he beheld the creature he'd been tracking for hours. Amy saw the furry thing as well, but didn't seem marginally as impressed as the Doctor did.
"A stoat?" Amy sighed softly, setting her back against the brick wall they were currently hiding behind. "We'd traveled all this way, halfway across the city. For a stoat?"
"It isn't a stoat," he said, filled with a child's unwavering confidence. One quick wave of the sonic screwdriver in the 'stoat's' direction and the Doctor checked the readings. "See?" he said, giving Amy a full view of the screwdriver's readout screen. "It's as much of a stoat as I am."
"Oh, I dunno. You're pretty stoat-ish, from what I can tell..." And those readouts were nothing but a jumbled mess of concentric circles. Useless to her.
"Look closer," he murmured, nodding towards the creature. "What do you see that's different about it?"
Amy rolled her eyes but she stared hard at the stoat. It was doing what animals usually did, sniffing about for food. When it scampered down the pavement, however, Amy let out a gasp. "That's impossible, Doctor."
"Is it? Is it really?"
"It's not casting a shadow. The bins, the cars, the houses. They've all got shadows but the stoat..."
"Which isn't a stoat--"
"Which isn't a stoat, hasn't got a shadow."
"It isn't casting a shadow because it is a shadow. What we've uncovered is a raqti. More specifically, a raqti scout. They exist in the void between the universes, seeking out cracks in reality in order to invade and to hunt. Normally the raqti aren't able to manifest themselves fully in an unfamiliar universe so they simply push their shadows through. Because what weighs less than a shadow?"
"So they're like stoats?"
"In that they're lithe and furry, yes. In that they're usually twenty foot long and come with razor-sharp spikes and fangs dripping with poisonous saliva, no."
"The worst stoats in the universe, then?" Amy asked.
"In the whole of the universes, yes."
"Bad news if we get spotted by it?"
"Incredibly bad news, of the life-threatening variety. If it spots us, we run."
The stoat suddenly trained its eyes directly on the pair.
"Run!" The Doctor sprang from his crouch and broke into a full-on jog, making a desperate grab for Amy's hand as she followed along after him. The stoat scampered after, baring its tiny teeth, but the creature the shadow belonged to let out an earth-shaking roar which effortlessly broached the void.
Not good, the Doctor thought. Incredibly not good. They were in the heart of a residential area. so many warm bodies to feed on, to sup the blood out of, and the only thing which stood between the raqti and complete annihilation of humanity was the Doctor.
Typical Thursday, then.
The Doctor led Amy through back gardens and alleys in a frenzied effort to confuse the raqti. And he was doing a bang-up job of it as well, until Amy started tugging at his arm, and bothering, and making a nuisance of herself just as the Doctor was about to take a sharp turn left.
"What?" he exclaimed finally, exasperated. "I'm trying to get us to safety!"
"So am I!" Amy countered. "I know this place! And I know a person who lives here who can help us." She yanked at him like he was a rebellious boy who wanted to go the opposite direction as Mummy. Eventually, they ran right up to a door, which Amy eagerly knocked upon. The Doctor, meanwhile, kept taking sharp glances behind them, as if the raqti might sprout into this reality at any moment.
The door swung open, revealing a woman with graying hair, and a smile which reached the crinkles of her eyes. "Amy Pond!"
"Hello, Mrs. Pratt."
Pratt. The Doctor stifled a giggle. And he stifled it very very badly, clamping his hand down around his mouth and making odd snoring noises though he was obviously wide awake. He got another yank on his arm for his trouble. And then Amy finally let go of the Doctor's hand, because she'd just realised she was still holding onto it.
The Doctor used the freed hand to give Mrs. Pratt a wave.
"And who might this fellow be?" asked Mrs. Pratt.
"Oh." Amy said. "It's a bit, um, compli--"
"I'm the Doctor."
Mrs. Pratt's face lit up and she gave the Doctor a good, long look. "You're really him! The Raggedy Doctor!"
The Doctor winced, easing towards Amy and getting nose-to-nose with her. "Exactly how many people have you told that story to?"
Mrs. Pratt shook her head. "I thought you'd be cuter."
And the Doctor thought that hiding from the raqti would involve something more than joining an old neighbour of Amy's for tea. He tapped his fingers upon the kitchen table, following a rhythm within his own head. Or maybe he was simply trying to work out the best plan for dealing with the raqti problem before everyone on Earth was made into supper.
But first, tea.
Mrs. Pratt placed a saucer in front of the Doctor. Upon that saucer was a lumpy, golden brownish concoction that he, even with his nearly millennium long existence, hadn't encountered as yet. He set his eyes down at table level, giving the pastry(???) a level of scrutiny which rivaled the one he cast upon the raqti scout.
"Is it...edible?" he asked in a low, whispery voice, as if the thing on the saucer could understand English and would be roundly offended at any suggestion that it might not be food.
"Doctor," Amy said, giving him a stern look. "Be polite. This looks absolutely lovely, Mrs. Pratt."
"Thank you dear. Old family recipe, you know. Won't find anything like it anywhere else."
"Thank heaven for that," muttered the Doctor. He suddenly got a knee to the shin and tried very hard not to crumple in his discomfort. Oh, no. It had gone far beyond discomfort now. Right into pain, it was. And since the violent exchange occurred beneath the table, it didn't catch the attention of Mrs. Pratt herself.
The Doctor's nose was pressed right up against the thing that dared pretend it was food. "You scoff at fish custard and you still expect me to stomach that?" And he took a sniff of it, a mighty one, so mighty that he drew up crumbs right into his nose.
But there was something else.
He planted the side of his head on the table and took another deep sniff. "Interesting."
Mrs. Pratt's smile was still as pleasant as ever but her eyes looked a little strained. "Is he alright, dear?" she asked, mouth barely moving.
"He's fine," said Amy. "He gets like this a lot. Distracted, I mean. Best let him alone to do what he needs to do."
Another series of sniffs, of the table, of the chair he sat in, of Amy's teacup, and of his. Of even Mrs. Pratt's globular pastry-like thing. All of it culminated in the Doctor leaping up onto the table, planting his boots firmly upon the wooden top, and then straining to reach the hanging lamp above them.
"He's unscrewing my lightbulb," said Mrs. Pratt.
"He's, ah, very environmentally conscious. Very green. Checking for what sort of bulb you're using..." Amy said.
"Exactly!" exclaimed the Doctor, wriggling that bulb free and touching it against his sonic screwdriver. The bulb then lit up on its own, with the Doctor giving it a surprised stare. "Never been able to do that before! Think I'll keep this one." And he pocketed his screwdriver, patting said pocket fondly. "Now! Amy?" he called, taking a tumble off the table and managing a landing without cracking his skull open.
"Yes, Doctor?" Amy said.
"Mrs. Pratt?"
"Doctor?"
"I want you to shut your eyes. Shut them as tight as you can. Press your palms against your eyes if you need to. You know that moment when your eyes are closed so tightly that you see sparks? I want you both to do that. On three. Ready?"
"No?" said Amy, still confused about the purpose of this.
"Ah, well. First time for everything," the Doctor said. "One. Two. Three! Shut them now!"
Amy did as the Doctor asked. She shut her eyes tightly, so tightly she saw those red and gold sparks on the backs of her eyelids. She waited for what would happen next, for the moment the Doctor told them that it was alright to open their eyes, but seconds passed, and the Doctor said nothing. Worried, she ventured a "Doctor?"
"Tch, tch, tch," came the Doctor's voice. "Not yet. Nearly there, must get your visual cortex accustomed to the right stimulus. The human optic nerve is just so...feeble! It needs more preparation before it's ready. Right. Now."
"Now?" asked Mrs. Pratt.
"Yes, now! When I said now I meant now!"
Amy's eyes flew open, and at first, all she could see, as usual, were the brilliant sparks blazing away at her vision, but then she saw...other things. Shifts in the walls, fissures zig-zagging through space. Amy shuddered slightly; they all reminded her of that crack in her bedroom wall.
"We're sitting right atop a fracture in the fabric of space-time," said the Doctor, his demeanor calm, collected, and soft. He swung the lightbulb in his hand, focusing its glow on the various rifts in the kitchen. "The raqti's been drawn to this place because of the weakness. Mrs. Pratt, you've got a raqti infestation."
"Oh, dear. Shall I ring up the exterminators?"
"It's not the sort of infestation that can be managed with a bit of pesticide," sighed the Doctor. "We'll have to close the cracks, mend them. I've got some helpful equipment in the TARDIS."
"Oooh! Is that the blue box?" Mrs. Pratt asked excitedly. "Remember, Amy? You had that shed you'd painted up blue and little Rory and you used to play in it for hours..."
The Doctor rounded on Amy. "Honestly. How many people have you told that story to?"
Amy gave a helpless little shrug. "Sorry?"
Without another word, the Doctor set out back to the TARDIS. Of course, he'd have to evade the raqti which were already prowling the streets of the city, ready to consume unsuspecting humans, and he'd have to keep tabs on both Amy and Mrs. Pratt. All in the name of trying to keep Earth from being invaded by blood-thirsty aliens.
How he loved Thursdays.
Character: The Eleventh Doctor, feat. Amy
Wordcount: 1759
Notes: This actually went a little more pear-shaped than I'd first intended, but I hope it still follows the spirit of the prompt