Doctor Who ficlet: Bric-a-brac | Eight | G
Title: Bric-a-brac
Author: rustydog
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Eighth Doctor, reference to earlier companion
Rating/warnings: G
Words: 663
Beta: mad_jaks
Notes: Written for Day Four of consci_fan_mo and "B" for my alphabet prompt table.
"Now... if I were a coral ball-joint orb... where would I be?" The Doctor talked to himself often; where else could he find such a skilled conversationalist?
The orb, though; it was hard to remember sometimes that while the TARDIS's internal size and configurations were practically infinite, her contents were not. It was actually possible for something in the universe to not be here.
Possible but... unlikely, for one of the lesser known natural laws was, 'Things Acculmulate Over Time.' Given the number of times, places, and people he and the old girl had visited and been visited by over the years, it was hard to imagine any reasonably sized object in the cosmos not making its way on board eventually. What was more, while he liked to think he was not sentimental about objects - not in this regeneration, anyway - he never seemed to get around to throwing anything away.
He had checked a lot of rooms, but having a ship who occasionally amused herself by rearranging her own furniture could make locating hypothetical objects exponentially more challenging. Finally, when he opened the fourteenth door in the sixth corridor to the left, he had a good feeling.
There was instantly something familiar about the room. He'd never been here, he was sure, but the decor was distinctly Three Regenerations Ago. That stark white, those abrupt angles, that obscenely bright, harlequin bed cover - and hello, that mauve blazer hanging on a hook would have been just about the right size for...
Tegan. The Doctor smiled. Lived-in rooms had personalities, too, and this one was all mouth.
Remembering his purpose, the Doctor glanced around the room for any places a ball-joint orb might be hiding. A shelf on the wall across from the bed looked like a good place to start. He crossed to it and stood in surprise for a moment. There were so many objects! So many little pieces of meaningless flotsam. Though he supposed they must have had meaning to Tegan. There was a necklace with pretty, semiprecious stones flanking what Tegan probably hadn't known was the fang of a Chplaxian cliff frog. Nearby, folded neatly, was a handkerchief of neo-Venusian linen with health charms embroidered in the corner. A shallow biscuit tin made of 30th century preservative alloy held a pearl button, earth origin, and a piece of wergerwood root in the shape of - a man? The Doctor turned over the root to check. Oh yes, definitely a man. Now, that was unusual; these fertility fetishes weren't often given to women. "Perhaps the Werg people assumed no female could be so loud," he murmured to the room.
Behind the biscuit tin stood a carved stone ox, which was weighing down a piece of brown paper with scribble on it. He gently moved the ox and picked up the paper to read it. Equations. Adric, it had to be. He'd rarely seen the boy write, there had never been much need with computers available, but no one else would have written this. The equations had long ago been put to use; the paper had no purpose anymore, but still it was a rare object indeed. And Tegan had saved it.
But none of this was what he needed. Unless... He picked up the embroidered handkerchief and shook it out. Nothing. Of course not. Then suddenly there was a metallic sound of rolling and the click of something coming to rest. He peered over the lip of the biscuit tin lid, tilting his head to see into the corner, where there rested... "Ah, yes!" he exclaimed. It was a small greenish-brown orb, not much to look at, mottled and with only the faintest glow, but it was undoubtedly a coral ball-joint orb.
"Tegan Jovanka, you little pack rat." The Doctor aimed a grin in the general direction of the blazer on the hook. Departed friends could still help him - especially the ones who never threw anything away.
Author: rustydog
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Eighth Doctor, reference to earlier companion
Rating/warnings: G
Words: 663
Beta: mad_jaks
Notes: Written for Day Four of consci_fan_mo and "B" for my alphabet prompt table.
"Now... if I were a coral ball-joint orb... where would I be?" The Doctor talked to himself often; where else could he find such a skilled conversationalist?
The orb, though; it was hard to remember sometimes that while the TARDIS's internal size and configurations were practically infinite, her contents were not. It was actually possible for something in the universe to not be here.
Possible but... unlikely, for one of the lesser known natural laws was, 'Things Acculmulate Over Time.' Given the number of times, places, and people he and the old girl had visited and been visited by over the years, it was hard to imagine any reasonably sized object in the cosmos not making its way on board eventually. What was more, while he liked to think he was not sentimental about objects - not in this regeneration, anyway - he never seemed to get around to throwing anything away.
He had checked a lot of rooms, but having a ship who occasionally amused herself by rearranging her own furniture could make locating hypothetical objects exponentially more challenging. Finally, when he opened the fourteenth door in the sixth corridor to the left, he had a good feeling.
There was instantly something familiar about the room. He'd never been here, he was sure, but the decor was distinctly Three Regenerations Ago. That stark white, those abrupt angles, that obscenely bright, harlequin bed cover - and hello, that mauve blazer hanging on a hook would have been just about the right size for...
Tegan. The Doctor smiled. Lived-in rooms had personalities, too, and this one was all mouth.
Remembering his purpose, the Doctor glanced around the room for any places a ball-joint orb might be hiding. A shelf on the wall across from the bed looked like a good place to start. He crossed to it and stood in surprise for a moment. There were so many objects! So many little pieces of meaningless flotsam. Though he supposed they must have had meaning to Tegan. There was a necklace with pretty, semiprecious stones flanking what Tegan probably hadn't known was the fang of a Chplaxian cliff frog. Nearby, folded neatly, was a handkerchief of neo-Venusian linen with health charms embroidered in the corner. A shallow biscuit tin made of 30th century preservative alloy held a pearl button, earth origin, and a piece of wergerwood root in the shape of - a man? The Doctor turned over the root to check. Oh yes, definitely a man. Now, that was unusual; these fertility fetishes weren't often given to women. "Perhaps the Werg people assumed no female could be so loud," he murmured to the room.
Behind the biscuit tin stood a carved stone ox, which was weighing down a piece of brown paper with scribble on it. He gently moved the ox and picked up the paper to read it. Equations. Adric, it had to be. He'd rarely seen the boy write, there had never been much need with computers available, but no one else would have written this. The equations had long ago been put to use; the paper had no purpose anymore, but still it was a rare object indeed. And Tegan had saved it.
But none of this was what he needed. Unless... He picked up the embroidered handkerchief and shook it out. Nothing. Of course not. Then suddenly there was a metallic sound of rolling and the click of something coming to rest. He peered over the lip of the biscuit tin lid, tilting his head to see into the corner, where there rested... "Ah, yes!" he exclaimed. It was a small greenish-brown orb, not much to look at, mottled and with only the faintest glow, but it was undoubtedly a coral ball-joint orb.
"Tegan Jovanka, you little pack rat." The Doctor aimed a grin in the general direction of the blazer on the hook. Departed friends could still help him - especially the ones who never threw anything away.