ficlet + not-a-drabble
Basically, these are some kind of comment!prompt!fic, related to ' Almost Expected'. Can be read on their own, though.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood.
'Rescued'. John Hart, Jack, River. Rated G-ish [warning: implied violence]. 286 words.
firefly124 wanted to see how the rest of the night went.
I’m afraid I have to admit defeat, as this isn’t any more enlightening. Sorry!
John Hart was the centre of the party. Granted, it wasn’t the most desired position, at this point, but it’s not like he was surprised.
He had prepared himself for a long night, and his hosts certainly seemed ambitious.
And then someone came to his rescue; heart-warming.
A tiny tiny cube slid across the floor. It gave off a shrill shriek that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, his muscles spasm, and what possibly was the very marrow of his bones quiver. When it shut up, when he could breathe properly again, there were red-varnished nails on his arm and the other ‘guests’ had been turned away. Literally. Space had been bent.
“Oh!” he said, stretching the best he could with his wrists bound. “Illegal.”
His rescuers both moved to glare at him. Jack had that contrary air about him. His trigger-finger wasn’t as relaxed as John would have liked, either. River was... generally disapproving.
John forced his lips into a facsimile of a smile and put some twinkle into his eye out of sheer stubbornness. He really was very tired. And very thirsty. “So, how about a drink?”
“Sure,” said Jack, grabbing the handcuff chain and yanking him to his feet. “But first you’re going to help us, in turn. Information. You’ve got it, spit it out.”
John stomped his feet to get the circulation going again, probed a cut on his lip with the tip of his tongue. “And I thought you came because you cared.”
“That, too,” said River.
He couldn’t quite decide whether she was sarcastically sweet or sweetly sarcastic. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
He felt her lipstick leave a mark.
~
'Art'. Eleven, River. Rated G. 60 words.
cinderbella333 mentioned wondering what River meant with "someone thought it would make a smashing part of a warship console".
Now, I freely admit I had imagined something cleverer. Still, this is how it was in my head. Obviously my head thought some Eleven was needed. Some silly!Eleven.
“I!” announced the Doctor, using his most boisterous voice and gaudy mannerisms. “Bring you art! Console art!”
River faked awe.
The warship crew still looked decidedly murderous.
The Doctor presented River’s scanner, twirled over to the console, placed it on a nice-looking spot. “Art! Now, I’ll just connect this, press this, these and that and the rest is a surprise!”
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Torchwood.
'Rescued'. John Hart, Jack, River. Rated G-ish [warning: implied violence]. 286 words.
firefly124 wanted to see how the rest of the night went.
I’m afraid I have to admit defeat, as this isn’t any more enlightening. Sorry!
John Hart was the centre of the party. Granted, it wasn’t the most desired position, at this point, but it’s not like he was surprised.
He had prepared himself for a long night, and his hosts certainly seemed ambitious.
And then someone came to his rescue; heart-warming.
A tiny tiny cube slid across the floor. It gave off a shrill shriek that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, his muscles spasm, and what possibly was the very marrow of his bones quiver. When it shut up, when he could breathe properly again, there were red-varnished nails on his arm and the other ‘guests’ had been turned away. Literally. Space had been bent.
“Oh!” he said, stretching the best he could with his wrists bound. “Illegal.”
His rescuers both moved to glare at him. Jack had that contrary air about him. His trigger-finger wasn’t as relaxed as John would have liked, either. River was... generally disapproving.
John forced his lips into a facsimile of a smile and put some twinkle into his eye out of sheer stubbornness. He really was very tired. And very thirsty. “So, how about a drink?”
“Sure,” said Jack, grabbing the handcuff chain and yanking him to his feet. “But first you’re going to help us, in turn. Information. You’ve got it, spit it out.”
John stomped his feet to get the circulation going again, probed a cut on his lip with the tip of his tongue. “And I thought you came because you cared.”
“That, too,” said River.
He couldn’t quite decide whether she was sarcastically sweet or sweetly sarcastic. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
He felt her lipstick leave a mark.
~
'Art'. Eleven, River. Rated G. 60 words.
cinderbella333 mentioned wondering what River meant with "someone thought it would make a smashing part of a warship console".
Now, I freely admit I had imagined something cleverer. Still, this is how it was in my head. Obviously my head thought some Eleven was needed. Some silly!Eleven.
“I!” announced the Doctor, using his most boisterous voice and gaudy mannerisms. “Bring you art! Console art!”
River faked awe.
The warship crew still looked decidedly murderous.
The Doctor presented River’s scanner, twirled over to the console, placed it on a nice-looking spot. “Art! Now, I’ll just connect this, press this, these and that and the rest is a surprise!”