Doctor Who Fic: Here Be Dragons
Title: Here Be Dragons
Fandom: Doctor Who
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: The Eleventh Doctor, Amy & Rory
Rating: G
Spoilers: None.
Summary: There’s a world the Doctor knows of where you can buy anything you can imagine…
Word Count: 1156
Written For: falkner’s prompt ‘Doctor Who, any, dragons for sale’ at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
The sign by the side of the dusty dirt road was much like a dozen or more other signs they’d already passed as they’d explored this lazy little community on the edge of one of the galaxy’s most bustling spaceports. It was little more than a flat sheet of simulated wood propped against a fence, the words hand painted on its surface in bold, if rather wonky, capital letters.
What made it stand out from the others was what it was offering.
The Doctor had told Amy and Rory that literally anything they could imagine could be bought here, but they hadn’t really believed him. Until now. They’d seen signs offering various refreshments and services, weapons, technology, supposedly genuine celebrity autographs and memorabilia from a hundred worlds, including earth, and all kinds of transportation, but this was the first one to stop them in their tracks, wondering if the TARDIS could possibly be translating it wrong.
‘DRAGONS FOR SALE’ it read.
“Hold on,” said Rory, “they can’t really mean that, can they? I mean, Dragons aren’t real, right?”
“Oh, no, they’re real.” The Doctor’s expression turned thoughtful. “Or, well, I suppose it depends on your definition of a Dragon. And possibly on your definition of the word ‘real’ too, but that gets into some rather complicated branches of theoretical physics, so probably best to forget about that part.”
“So, Dragons.” Amy looked intrigued. “Are we talking big, scaly, fire-breathing creatures with wings?”
“Well, yes and no. I mean it depends on the species, doesn’t it? Lots of different species of Dragon in the universe. Some breathe fire, some smoke, some steam. There’s one species from a water planet that blows bubbles and another from an ice planet that spits icicles. They can be as big as buildings or small enough to put in your pocket. Not all of them have wings either; a few don’t need them because they can teleport themselves from place to place, and the Mirrimax of Coluddus II inflates internal air sacs and floats through the air like a balloon. It has to be careful of wind direction though. And sharp objects. You wouldn’t want to be near one if it went pop. Very messy.”
Rory blinked at the Doctor. “So, Dragons exist?”
“What have I just been saying? Do keep up, Ponds. Shall we see what they have in stock?” The Doctor bounced on his heels, grinning all over his face.
Amy shrugged. “We’re here, so we might as well. I’ve never seen a Dragon. Lead on!” She grabbed Rory by the hand and followed the Doctor as he strode through the gate and down the path to a cluster of shabby barns.
“Greetings, good people!” The proprietor approached them as they stepped into a sort of barnyard. He was short and wide, with powerfully muscled arms and legs, a square body, and a flattish head with no neck to speak of. He was also scaly, barefoot, and dressed in a rough tunic that came to what passed for his knees. “How can I be of service this fine morning?”
“Just browsing,” the Doctor replied. “Thought we’d see what you’ve got in stock.”
“Feel free to look around, and take your time. I only stock the smaller species here, not much space this close to the city, so if you’re looking for anything bigger, you’ll need to go out to the breeding farm. That’s where I keep the big ones.”
“Oh, no, small is good, we don’t have room for anything too big,” Rory said, already imagining owning an actual Dragon.
“Well, if you’re wanting something for domestic purposes, a Relufex Welwyrm would be your best bet. Make great companions, they do. They’re not the smallest, but they’re the most docile, smart, easily trained, not a fire hazard, unlike some. Excellent with children.” The Dragon seller led them into one of the wide barns. “Got a new batch in a few days ago, they’re one of my best sellers, a real talking point, something to show off to your friends.”
He leant on the fence surrounding a wide, clean, airy pen with litter boxes, well-stocked food and water troughs, fresh sawdust on the floor, and containing some twenty or so small dragons. They were about the size of a spaniel, with four legs, short, stubby wings, long, arrow-tipped tails, and colourful scales. Several of them immediately scampered over to be petted. Others were too busy playing with assorted toys, or rolling around like puppies, pretending to fight each other.
“Youngsters,” the seller grinned toothily, scratching the nearest ones under their chins and making them purr. “Only six months old, not fully grown yet but they won’t get that much bigger. About so high.” He held one hand out to indicate a height of about seventy-five centimetres.
“How long do they live?” Amy wanted to know.
“Fifty, sixty years, sometimes longer. Become part of the family, they do. You have one of these, you’ll soon be wondering how you ever lived without him.”
It was tempting, oh so tempting, but they couldn’t take a Dragon home with them, and they doubted the Doctor would want something aboard the TARDIS that he’d have to remember to feed and exercise. Nevertheless, they spent several happy hours learning about all the different species in stock and playing with the little Welwyrms. Watching her husband, Amy decided they’d have to come back here someday.
“Shame we couldn’t have one,” Rory sighed as they left. “I always wanted a dog, but I reckon a Dragon would be even better.”
“Just imagine the looks on the neighbours’ faces when we took it for a walk.” Amy squeezed Rory’s hand.
Trailing behind his friends, the Doctor looked back over his shoulder, wondering, but he shook his head. The life he lived was no life for a Dragon. Much too dangerous. People could decide to put themselves in danger, but it wasn’t fair to drag an innocent creature along for the ride. He faced front again and hurried to catch up with his companions, squeezing in between them and throwing an arm around each of them.
“Right then, Ponds, where to next? We could go to Taxilotlotlotlotl…” he made a quick count on his fingers “…otl. Great place, inhabited by giant worms, surprisingly civilised for creatures with no hands. Or how about Quizdic Major? The clouds there are made of candy floss and get caught on the trees. Takes a bit of climbing to get at them if you want to pick your own, but the locals do most of the harvesting….”
With the Doctor jabbering away a mile a minute, they headed back towards where they’d left the TARDIS. It almost didn’t matter where they went from here; they’d already seen real, living Dragons, among other wonders, so they knew by now that anywhere the Doctor took them was bound to be an adventure unlike anything they could imagine!
The End
Fandom: Doctor Who
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: The Eleventh Doctor, Amy & Rory
Rating: G
Spoilers: None.
Summary: There’s a world the Doctor knows of where you can buy anything you can imagine…
Word Count: 1156
Written For: falkner’s prompt ‘Doctor Who, any, dragons for sale’ at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
The sign by the side of the dusty dirt road was much like a dozen or more other signs they’d already passed as they’d explored this lazy little community on the edge of one of the galaxy’s most bustling spaceports. It was little more than a flat sheet of simulated wood propped against a fence, the words hand painted on its surface in bold, if rather wonky, capital letters.
What made it stand out from the others was what it was offering.
The Doctor had told Amy and Rory that literally anything they could imagine could be bought here, but they hadn’t really believed him. Until now. They’d seen signs offering various refreshments and services, weapons, technology, supposedly genuine celebrity autographs and memorabilia from a hundred worlds, including earth, and all kinds of transportation, but this was the first one to stop them in their tracks, wondering if the TARDIS could possibly be translating it wrong.
‘DRAGONS FOR SALE’ it read.
“Hold on,” said Rory, “they can’t really mean that, can they? I mean, Dragons aren’t real, right?”
“Oh, no, they’re real.” The Doctor’s expression turned thoughtful. “Or, well, I suppose it depends on your definition of a Dragon. And possibly on your definition of the word ‘real’ too, but that gets into some rather complicated branches of theoretical physics, so probably best to forget about that part.”
“So, Dragons.” Amy looked intrigued. “Are we talking big, scaly, fire-breathing creatures with wings?”
“Well, yes and no. I mean it depends on the species, doesn’t it? Lots of different species of Dragon in the universe. Some breathe fire, some smoke, some steam. There’s one species from a water planet that blows bubbles and another from an ice planet that spits icicles. They can be as big as buildings or small enough to put in your pocket. Not all of them have wings either; a few don’t need them because they can teleport themselves from place to place, and the Mirrimax of Coluddus II inflates internal air sacs and floats through the air like a balloon. It has to be careful of wind direction though. And sharp objects. You wouldn’t want to be near one if it went pop. Very messy.”
Rory blinked at the Doctor. “So, Dragons exist?”
“What have I just been saying? Do keep up, Ponds. Shall we see what they have in stock?” The Doctor bounced on his heels, grinning all over his face.
Amy shrugged. “We’re here, so we might as well. I’ve never seen a Dragon. Lead on!” She grabbed Rory by the hand and followed the Doctor as he strode through the gate and down the path to a cluster of shabby barns.
“Greetings, good people!” The proprietor approached them as they stepped into a sort of barnyard. He was short and wide, with powerfully muscled arms and legs, a square body, and a flattish head with no neck to speak of. He was also scaly, barefoot, and dressed in a rough tunic that came to what passed for his knees. “How can I be of service this fine morning?”
“Just browsing,” the Doctor replied. “Thought we’d see what you’ve got in stock.”
“Feel free to look around, and take your time. I only stock the smaller species here, not much space this close to the city, so if you’re looking for anything bigger, you’ll need to go out to the breeding farm. That’s where I keep the big ones.”
“Oh, no, small is good, we don’t have room for anything too big,” Rory said, already imagining owning an actual Dragon.
“Well, if you’re wanting something for domestic purposes, a Relufex Welwyrm would be your best bet. Make great companions, they do. They’re not the smallest, but they’re the most docile, smart, easily trained, not a fire hazard, unlike some. Excellent with children.” The Dragon seller led them into one of the wide barns. “Got a new batch in a few days ago, they’re one of my best sellers, a real talking point, something to show off to your friends.”
He leant on the fence surrounding a wide, clean, airy pen with litter boxes, well-stocked food and water troughs, fresh sawdust on the floor, and containing some twenty or so small dragons. They were about the size of a spaniel, with four legs, short, stubby wings, long, arrow-tipped tails, and colourful scales. Several of them immediately scampered over to be petted. Others were too busy playing with assorted toys, or rolling around like puppies, pretending to fight each other.
“Youngsters,” the seller grinned toothily, scratching the nearest ones under their chins and making them purr. “Only six months old, not fully grown yet but they won’t get that much bigger. About so high.” He held one hand out to indicate a height of about seventy-five centimetres.
“How long do they live?” Amy wanted to know.
“Fifty, sixty years, sometimes longer. Become part of the family, they do. You have one of these, you’ll soon be wondering how you ever lived without him.”
It was tempting, oh so tempting, but they couldn’t take a Dragon home with them, and they doubted the Doctor would want something aboard the TARDIS that he’d have to remember to feed and exercise. Nevertheless, they spent several happy hours learning about all the different species in stock and playing with the little Welwyrms. Watching her husband, Amy decided they’d have to come back here someday.
“Shame we couldn’t have one,” Rory sighed as they left. “I always wanted a dog, but I reckon a Dragon would be even better.”
“Just imagine the looks on the neighbours’ faces when we took it for a walk.” Amy squeezed Rory’s hand.
Trailing behind his friends, the Doctor looked back over his shoulder, wondering, but he shook his head. The life he lived was no life for a Dragon. Much too dangerous. People could decide to put themselves in danger, but it wasn’t fair to drag an innocent creature along for the ride. He faced front again and hurried to catch up with his companions, squeezing in between them and throwing an arm around each of them.
“Right then, Ponds, where to next? We could go to Taxilotlotlotlotl…” he made a quick count on his fingers “…otl. Great place, inhabited by giant worms, surprisingly civilised for creatures with no hands. Or how about Quizdic Major? The clouds there are made of candy floss and get caught on the trees. Takes a bit of climbing to get at them if you want to pick your own, but the locals do most of the harvesting….”
With the Doctor jabbering away a mile a minute, they headed back towards where they’d left the TARDIS. It almost didn’t matter where they went from here; they’d already seen real, living Dragons, among other wonders, so they knew by now that anywhere the Doctor took them was bound to be an adventure unlike anything they could imagine!
The End