[DW] BigBang: Dancing Star III
Dancing Star
~TWO~
..............~oOo~..............
~THREE~
The Doctor was not quite sure what he had expected to find in the most notorious pirate harbour of the whole Caribbean, but no doubt it had been something like this, he thought when he ducked away under a bottle crashing through one of the windows. Somehow he doubted that Donna would have been drawn to such a place, but the local pub was always a good source of information, and maybe someone had noticed a strange woman, or a police box.
He stepped into the pub, and was assaulted by the smell that almost made him recoil - almost. It had been quite some time he had met real proper pirates, but he had not yet fully forgotten the experience. Fair enough, the last ones had been space pirates trying to kill him, but it was the same difference, anyway.
The Doctor shifted himself onto a barstool and grinned at the barkeeper, a heavily build giant with a wooden leg. “Hi. I'm the Doctor.”
“Whatever. We're 'n unimaginative lot when it comes t' naming. What can I get ye, mate?”
“Information, I hope. I'm looking for someone.”
“'m not sellin' that. What d'ye want? Rum?”
The Doctor was painfully aware that he didn't carry any money, despite his deep pockets, and even if he uncovered a coin or two, he doubted that it would fit the time period, but he had to find Donna, and this was a better place than most to start. “Fine, Rum. I'm looking for a woman - about this height, brilliant red hair, dressed in... pyjamas, I think. She'd be looking for me.”
“What was ye name again?”
“Just the Doctor. She's Donna.”
The barkeeper slammed a tiny jug of rum down on the counter in front of the Doctor, which caused half the content to slosh over the rim onto the rough wooden surface. “Neve' seen her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you've seen my ship, then?”
“There's been a lot o' ships goin' missin' lately. What's she like?”
“It's a police box. Should have landed somewhere hereabouts...” The TARDIS was programmed to return to dry ground if she crashed into the water, but if she was too badly damaged... “Perhaps washed ashore?”
“You're police?”
“No! I'm just... I'm just looking for a big blue box. Look, real pirate, that's me!” The Doctor flashed his psychic paper, relived that it hadn't gotten wet, and hoped it would come up with something to fool the man.
The barkeeper seemed satisfied. “Well, Doctor, haven't seen yer box, or yer mate, but if I where you, I'd be careful flashing that about - with that kind of award on yer head - no honour among pirates, mate.”
“Why, what does it say?” The Doctor turned the psychic paper around, but as he glanced at it, it was, as ever, blank.
“Can't read, eh? Well, Doc, I'd say with a million sovereigns reward, I'd keep a low profile. You owe me ten shillings for the rum.” The barkeeper held out his hand, which was missing a finger, the scar made even more hideous by the gloomy light.
“Uhm.” The Doctor slowly shifted to his feet. “Sorry to disappoint you, mate...”
“Ye don't wanna pay, eh? Charles, Harry!” Two equally burly men appeared at the door the Doctor had entered through.
The Doctor fiddled in his pocket for his screwdriver. “Rum isn't really my thing, you know?” He backed away, until he was standing right before the broken window, and then let the sonic create a piercing hum that caused confusion even over the general noise of the pub, and darted out of the window and into the night.
~FOUR~