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Touché d’Artagnan! Nine/Rose, Jack, Gwen, Ianto, R, 3,011w.
Excerpt: As his eyes adjust, he sees a writhing mass of bodies on the floor, strategically placed on piles of rugs and pillows on the floor. Then, over the din of faceless bodies groaning in ecstasy, he hears the unexpected sharp, tinny sound of metal clanging against metal-and over that, the equally unexpected, yet insistent cry of the Doctor: “Rose! Be careful!”
The sleek black Torchwood SUV pulls the wrong way up a one-way street, weaving around the police and assorted emergency vehicles and comes to a rest in front of the grimy shop. “All right, kiddies-last stop! Last one to find the dead alien bloke is a rotten egg!” Jack shouts as he springs from the driver’s seat of the vehicle, his long blue coat flapping behind him. The three flash their badges-like they need to with that SUV-and saunter into the rickety hockshop.
Gwen reads the vitals off her Blackberry: “Right. Here we have one Wilhelm von Wilstadt. Age, undetermined. Race, undetermined. Report says he was killed in a scuffle with some of the local ASBOs out lookin’ to pocket a quick dosh-“
“I’d say our local miscreants got quite a bit more than they bargained for in this fella,” reasons Ianto. “That sure would ruin your day.”
As Jack ushers the coroner out of the room, Ianto riffles through the books and ledgers on the shelf.
“Well, well! Looks like our chap was quite a naughty boy.” He flashes an ancient looking photo album to Jack, whose cracked pages display two half-naked Victorian women fencing-of all things. Jack’s eyes widen. He grabs the album and stares at the blonde in the white hat in a lunge attack. In one swift move he shuts and pockets it.
“Taking that for your personal collection, are ya?” taunts Gwen cheekily. Jack eyes her, arching one eyebrow. “Hardly. This photo album contains vignette reproductions of alien art and is therefore under our jurisdiction for confiscation.”
Gwen and Ianto exchange looks-how the hell can he tell that from two measly photos?
Ignoring their looks of confusion, he pushes past them. “So. Sounds typical: Mister von Wilstadt was known around the estates as a quiet bloke who kept to himself in his hock shop, but look at some of this stuff. Not exactly from ‘round here, I’d say.” He moves toward the dead alien bloke lying in a pool of his own orange blood in the back of the cramped store and gives him a casual salute. “Well, von Wilstadt-if that is your real name-fancy seeing you again… Looks like you were right after all.”
Some 118 Years Earlier, Somewhere in Bavaria…
The TARDIS doors swing open, as the three are midstream in conversation.
“-All I’m sayin’ is there’d better be naked girls and horses with the amount of hype you’ve been giving this place, Doctor!”
The Doctor mockingly gasps and clamps his hands over Rose’s ears. “Jack! Not in front of the B-A-B-Y!”
Rose swats his hands away as Jack laughs. “I’m not a child, y’know. I have ‘erd of Catherine Deneuve!”
The two men stare at her blankly, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for a beat. Then, the Doctor realises: “Not Catherine Deneuve. Catherine The Great. Infamous Czarina of Russia? And, before you ask-that nasty thing about the horse was just a rumor started by the nobles in her court who were jealous of her.”
“And you would know this, because….” prompts Jack. The Doctor just grins at him. “Oh, brother! Don’t tell me-You were there.” More grinning from the Doctor. “Or, maybe… Were you the horse?”
“Don’t get any funny ideas!” snaps the Doctor. “Catherine was actually very sweet. She died from a stroke. Nothing else!”
“Yeah, sure, Doctor. You have your version of history. I have mine.”
The Doctor shakes his head. “Heh. The World According to Jack. Now, that would be a frightening read, indeed.”
“Helluva lot better than The Boring Adventures of a Celibate Time Monk!”
“All right you two,” chastises Rose, “Am I gonna have to put you in a time ou-Blimey,” she gasps, not finishing the sentence.
The three have reached the crest of the small hill and look below to the imposing white manor house below. Surrounded on its west side by a huge green reflecting pool lined with pot palm plants and a perfectly manicured formal garden on its east side, it looks less like a home and more like some sort of hotel.
“Rose Tyler, Captain Jack-welcome to the Baron von Wilstadt Estate, known throughout Bavaria for hosting some of the most lavish parties imaginable in it’s time, and perhaps hiding a few bits and bobs that might be alien artifacts… Now, kiddies-eyes on me-we are going in there and we will behave ourselves. Got that? We have a job to do and we’re going to do it, yes? Rose? Repeat after me: No fistfights.”
“No fistfights.”
“Jack: No pilfering, vandalizing or offending his good lady wife-Or-” He points emphatically at him, “propositioning his good lady wife and his fair daughter simultaneously… or, even in successive order. Yes?”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Good. Now let’s try to have a good time.”
The other two groan as they trudge down to the mansion. Thanks to the Doctor, this was going to be no fun at all, now.
The opulence that greets them inside the so-called manor home is astounding. Cavernous room stretches off after cavernous room-each more luxuriously decorated than the last (and-apparent only to Jack and the Doctor-displaying a few obvious off-world goods). Piles of food of every color and delicacy practically drip off the serving dishes and plates; the entire spread inhabits one room that would rival a full brunch spread in a five-diamond hotel. Hundreds of partygoers mill about the main room, extravagantly dressed in costumes of all sorts. People dressed as harlequins, giraffes, donkeys, opera singers, mythical figures and creatures pass by. A dwarf man dressed as Pan suddenly throws a random woman over his shoulder and runs off with her through the crowd, her good natured screaming reverberating off the impressively large gilded mirrors decorating the walls that functionally throw more light into the room. Rose giggles, “It’s like the Masquerade Ball scene in The Phantom Of The Opera!”
“Or my last birthday party,” quips Jack.
“Look over here,” says the Doctor, directing them to a miniature stage of a living tableau. People dressed in costumes look like mannequins as they hold specific poses against beautifully painted backdrops. There are several of them in the hall and many people are circulating around them, admiring them, talking to each other loudly and drinking. The Doctor stops in front of one-a man painted brownish green wearing gold painted chain mail and a handmade, fin-like hat holding a naked woman as though he were carrying her off, her face frozen in terror as she twists away from him. Jack frowns as he stands in front of it.
“You disapprove, Jack?” asks the Doctor. “Who’s the prude, now?”
“It looks like The Rape of The Sabine,” says Jack, “but there’s something wrong with it-it’s an interesting stylistic interpretation but-“
“It’s because it’s alien,” announces Rose.
Jack and the Doctor’s heads turn to face her.
“That one down there,” she points, “big chubby bloke painted bright green, big paper mache head with big black eyes, long claw-like arms? It’s a bit rubbish and homemade, but it’s Slitheen.
“Rose Tyler, will you never cease to amaze me?” The Doctor tweaks her nose, appreciatively. “You’re brilliant, you are.”
Another Pan absconds with another shrieking maiden.
“Alien art?” asks Jack, gobsmacked.
“Yes, Captain. Looks like our host has a bit more up his sleeve than I thought… These are all living reproductions of famous alien artworks.” He indicates the one to his right. “This one here is hanging in the Joor G’ansayz museum on Prassisx 12: Birth of The Face of Boe-it’s their number one draw.”
“So, this guy doesn’t just collect alien artifacts,” begins Jack.
“He is an alien,” finishes Rose, logically.
The Doctor grins at her, all ears. “That means our mission just got a bit trickier. ‘Cause now we have to escort him home. And I don’t expect he’ll come quietly. “
“Not with him enjoying the human high-life, he won’t,” remarks Jack.
“How will we even tell who he is?” asks Rose. “Nobody here even looks human in these get ups.”
“Oh, that’s him, over there.” The Doctor says casually and points to a short, balding, white haired man in his 60s with a pointed goatee beard dressed in traditional late 1700s style: He wears a chartreuse jacquard waistcoat and vest and pink and black striped breeches, white stockings, and high-heeled buckle shoes. He holds an ornate Venetian eye mask on a baton to cover his face and wears an enormous black velvet hat accented with peacock feathers. This Affront To Good Taste Everywhere carries a camera authentic to the time, and moves down the row of tableaus, taking pictures.
“Look at ‘em,” complains the Doctor. “Does anything about that man say ‘human’ to you?”
“Oh, I dunno, Doctor,” drawls Jack, “ya gotta admit-the man has style!”
“For a poof, maybe.”
“Oi!”
“All right, all right. An alien poof!”
“Although,” interjects Rose, “the sideburns are kinda nice… You should grow some.”
“Ya think?” asks the Doctor, rubbing his face.
“Yeah! They’d hide your ears,” Jack jokes.
“Oi! Are we quite finished?” The Doctor grouses as the others giggle. “All right, you two, that’s quite enough laughter at my expense. Thanking you…”
With that, the Doctor heads off to follow von Wilstadt. Rose eyes the bar.
“I’ll bet you a tenner I can hold m’liquor better than you!”
“You’re on, Blondie!”
Twenty minutes later, they are both hammered and the Doctor is nowhere in sight.
“Damn! It’s not just his taste in art that’s alien,” slurs Jack, “I haven’t had Zyprexxian Ale in forever!” Jack looks at Rose “So, whatzzup? You’ve been kinda quiet lately.”
“Oh, I dunno. Just thinkin’, I guess.”
“About anyone in particular?”
She fingers her drink. “Oh, not really...” she hedges.
“You know you’re not fooling me,” he says softly. “When are the two of you gonna get it together?”
She sighs. “Oh, Jack. I dunno. I don’t think he really cares about me like that. I mean you tease him all the time about being a monk-maybe he just-”
He cuts her off. “No, Rose. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know blokes and I know he’s got it bad for you. I’m on your side, y’know. If you need my help, I’ll be happy to be your wingman. Just say the word.”
“So that’ll make me the captain and you the co-pilot, then?” she teases.
“For you, I’d demote myself. It’d be worth it. Whatever you need, Rose. Just ask.”
“Thanks, Jack. You’re a peach…”
“Together, we’re a pear,” he finishes.
She laughs. “I’m gonna go look for the Doctor. I’ll be ok alone,” she says, and she totters off.
“Remember-no fistfights!” He calls after her.
Rose gives a short, backhanded wave as she disappears into the crowd. Jack turns back to survey the bar, and while he hears the barman greet a good looking young blonde man with a square jaw as “Mister von Wilstadt,” he does not notice the surprised scream of yet another maiden, carried off by Pan.
Well, thinks Jack, the Doctor never forbade me to try to pull the son…
Twenty minutes and one slap later, Jack feels significantly more sober. Although it could have been that the booze wore off, as Zyprexxian Ale tended to do once it got old… But he’s sober enough to notice that it’s been quite awhile since he’s seen the Doctor or Rose. What kind of trouble have they found now? He wonders and moves through the crowd. As he does, he catches sight of one of those little people dressed as Pan stalking a young woman on her own, viewing a tableau. Jack stops in front of him, filling his line of vision, and flashes him his brightest smile. “Hi, I’m Captain Jack Harkness…”
Pan does not look impressed. Jack shrugs. So far his luck today has been nil.
“So tell me,” asks Jack, “where do you take all your young, nubile victims?”
“My Master requires them at the Bacchanalia in The Depravity Chamber…”
Jack’s eyes light up. “Depravity Chamber?? Why on Earth didn’t you tell me that before?! Take me to your Master, wee willy winkie!”
He’s led into a smaller, dimly lit room off the main rooms.
He hears the “party” before he sees it. I know that sound, thinks Jack, his mouth practically watering in anticipation of the orgy that awaits him. Surely, Rose and the Doctor won’t miss him for an hour-or at least a few minutes…
As his eyes adjust, he sees a writhing mass of bodies on the floor, strategically placed on piles of rugs and pillows on the floor. Then, over the din of faceless bodies groaning in ecstasy, he hears the unexpected sharp, tinny sound of metal clanging against metal-and over that, the equally unexpected, yet insistent cry of the Doctor: “Rose! Be careful!”
Suddenly, flash powder lights up a surreal tableau indeed: A half-naked Rose, sword fighting another half-naked brunette in a large black hat. Behind them is the Doctor, hog-tied (sans gag) and balanced precariously on a black velvet chaise lounge.
“Daddy, make him kiss me!” screeches the woman fencing Rose.
“I told you, sweetheart,” growls Rose through her teeth, “You touch him, you DIE!”
“You touch a hair on her head and you shall be sorry!” Yells von Wilstadt from the sidelines, yet curiously he makes no move to help and actually gets off another photo.
“Wa-hey, Doctor!” teases Jack, “I take it all back-lookit you, you kinky old badger, you! You’ve managed to find us Adult Disneyland of the 1800s! Or, rather I should say the Playboy Mansion of the 1800s. It’s even got its own indoor grotto, from what I hear... This place is AWESOME!” Jack moves towards the Doctor and handily begins to untie him, continuing his prattle, “Oh, and by the way, I think you need to start following your own rules that you give us-von Wilstadt’s teenaged daughter? You old dog…”
“Rose needs help first!” barks the Doctor.
“Naw, I think she’s doing just fine-you’re doing fine, Rose! Aren’t cha?”
“I’d be doin’ much better if this Page Three slag would piss off!” Rose yells between the clanging of swords.
“Rose, I take back what I said-fistfighting’s allowed!”
In the semi-darkness, a wet smacking sound precedes a yowl and a dull thud. They can practically hear Rose smiling as well. “Well, that’s her sorted!” she brags as she steps over to them, rubbing her hitting hand.
“Just who are you people to trespass on my grounds, invade my private party and harm my beautiful daughter?!” yells von Wilstadt, finally getting involved. “You will leave my grounds AT ONCE!”
“Sorry. No can do, Bubba,” says Jack.
The Doctor addresses von Wilstadt: “Baron Wilhelm von Wilstadt, according to Article Nine of the Shadow Proclamation, I hereby banish you from Sol 3 and impound your alien contraband-“
“In other words,” translates Jack helpfully, “We’re kickin’ your alien butt off this rock and takin’ all your wacky junk.”
“Oh, and I’ll have the cameras and the photos as well,” announces the Doctor.
“Over my dead body,” taunts von Wilstadt.
“That can be arranged,” sneers Jack, suddenly training his squareness gun on the old man.
“Where the hell did you keep that??” hollers the Doctor.
Jack winks at him. “Doctor, you really don’t wanna know…”
However, in the time it takes for the quip, von Wilstadt turns tail and scarpers.
“Oi! Liberace! Come back here!” the Doctor hollers after him, but he’s gone. In fact, everybody is. The room is now a ghost town, having cleared out in a hurried, panicked flash after Jack pulled the gun-or just about…
“You’ve ruined my party!” shrieks the topless brunette, picking herself off the floor. She makes a run for Rose, bearing her teeth and growling inhumanly, but before she can take another step, Rose flicks her sword, which catches up her voluminous skirts and effectively pins her to the walnut floorboards. Still running pell-mell for her, the girl doesn’t notice until she quickly uses up the rest of the slack of her dress and ends up face first on the floor with a sickening crunch.
“Touché d’Artagnan!” The Doctor exclaims as Rose wipes her hands on her skirts. “Now let’s do a bunk before any more of his barmy family decide to have a go at us!” The Doctor covers half-naked Rose with his jacket, hoists her up over his shoulder, and they leg it back to the TARDIS.
“Your carriage awaits, milady…” The Doctor says a few minutes later as he puts Rose down, giving her a flourishing bow. She pulls his jacket closer around her and smiles at him, curtsying. “And by the way, Rose, good job,” the Doctor grins at her as he unlocks the TARDIS. “Catherine Deneuve couldn’t have done any better! I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She grins again and he smiles back.
Jack points approvingly at the Doctor. “Well, Doctor, there weren’t any horses, but that was one kick ass party! For an ancient codger, you still have a few tricks up your sleeve! You sure keep me guessing!” Jack then turns and gives Rose a wicked smile, “Oh yeah, and Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“Since I couldn’t mention it earlier: Nice rack!” He blurts out and quickly runs inside.
“Oi!! I was kidnapped by a hairy munchkin and forced into that outfit, you arse!!” she yells as she chases him inside.
“Say, Rose?” asks the Doctor as he follows them in, “Were you serious about the sideburns…?”
The doors of the TARDIS close. The dematerialization engines wheeze to life and the TARDIS disappears.
Back in 2008
Gwen and Ianto finish loading up the SUV with the last of the confiscated alien contraband and climb into the car. Jack climbs up into the driver’s seat, patting the album, safely tucked inside the breast pocket of his coat. If he ever got to see him again, he knew one man in pinstripes who would be glad to have these photos.
Continued on in, Gifts From Yesterday
Excerpt: As his eyes adjust, he sees a writhing mass of bodies on the floor, strategically placed on piles of rugs and pillows on the floor. Then, over the din of faceless bodies groaning in ecstasy, he hears the unexpected sharp, tinny sound of metal clanging against metal-and over that, the equally unexpected, yet insistent cry of the Doctor: “Rose! Be careful!”
The sleek black Torchwood SUV pulls the wrong way up a one-way street, weaving around the police and assorted emergency vehicles and comes to a rest in front of the grimy shop. “All right, kiddies-last stop! Last one to find the dead alien bloke is a rotten egg!” Jack shouts as he springs from the driver’s seat of the vehicle, his long blue coat flapping behind him. The three flash their badges-like they need to with that SUV-and saunter into the rickety hockshop.
Gwen reads the vitals off her Blackberry: “Right. Here we have one Wilhelm von Wilstadt. Age, undetermined. Race, undetermined. Report says he was killed in a scuffle with some of the local ASBOs out lookin’ to pocket a quick dosh-“
“I’d say our local miscreants got quite a bit more than they bargained for in this fella,” reasons Ianto. “That sure would ruin your day.”
As Jack ushers the coroner out of the room, Ianto riffles through the books and ledgers on the shelf.
“Well, well! Looks like our chap was quite a naughty boy.” He flashes an ancient looking photo album to Jack, whose cracked pages display two half-naked Victorian women fencing-of all things. Jack’s eyes widen. He grabs the album and stares at the blonde in the white hat in a lunge attack. In one swift move he shuts and pockets it.
“Taking that for your personal collection, are ya?” taunts Gwen cheekily. Jack eyes her, arching one eyebrow. “Hardly. This photo album contains vignette reproductions of alien art and is therefore under our jurisdiction for confiscation.”
Gwen and Ianto exchange looks-how the hell can he tell that from two measly photos?
Ignoring their looks of confusion, he pushes past them. “So. Sounds typical: Mister von Wilstadt was known around the estates as a quiet bloke who kept to himself in his hock shop, but look at some of this stuff. Not exactly from ‘round here, I’d say.” He moves toward the dead alien bloke lying in a pool of his own orange blood in the back of the cramped store and gives him a casual salute. “Well, von Wilstadt-if that is your real name-fancy seeing you again… Looks like you were right after all.”
Some 118 Years Earlier, Somewhere in Bavaria…
The TARDIS doors swing open, as the three are midstream in conversation.
“-All I’m sayin’ is there’d better be naked girls and horses with the amount of hype you’ve been giving this place, Doctor!”
The Doctor mockingly gasps and clamps his hands over Rose’s ears. “Jack! Not in front of the B-A-B-Y!”
Rose swats his hands away as Jack laughs. “I’m not a child, y’know. I have ‘erd of Catherine Deneuve!”
The two men stare at her blankly, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for a beat. Then, the Doctor realises: “Not Catherine Deneuve. Catherine The Great. Infamous Czarina of Russia? And, before you ask-that nasty thing about the horse was just a rumor started by the nobles in her court who were jealous of her.”
“And you would know this, because….” prompts Jack. The Doctor just grins at him. “Oh, brother! Don’t tell me-You were there.” More grinning from the Doctor. “Or, maybe… Were you the horse?”
“Don’t get any funny ideas!” snaps the Doctor. “Catherine was actually very sweet. She died from a stroke. Nothing else!”
“Yeah, sure, Doctor. You have your version of history. I have mine.”
The Doctor shakes his head. “Heh. The World According to Jack. Now, that would be a frightening read, indeed.”
“Helluva lot better than The Boring Adventures of a Celibate Time Monk!”
“All right you two,” chastises Rose, “Am I gonna have to put you in a time ou-Blimey,” she gasps, not finishing the sentence.
The three have reached the crest of the small hill and look below to the imposing white manor house below. Surrounded on its west side by a huge green reflecting pool lined with pot palm plants and a perfectly manicured formal garden on its east side, it looks less like a home and more like some sort of hotel.
“Rose Tyler, Captain Jack-welcome to the Baron von Wilstadt Estate, known throughout Bavaria for hosting some of the most lavish parties imaginable in it’s time, and perhaps hiding a few bits and bobs that might be alien artifacts… Now, kiddies-eyes on me-we are going in there and we will behave ourselves. Got that? We have a job to do and we’re going to do it, yes? Rose? Repeat after me: No fistfights.”
“No fistfights.”
“Jack: No pilfering, vandalizing or offending his good lady wife-Or-” He points emphatically at him, “propositioning his good lady wife and his fair daughter simultaneously… or, even in successive order. Yes?”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Good. Now let’s try to have a good time.”
The other two groan as they trudge down to the mansion. Thanks to the Doctor, this was going to be no fun at all, now.
The opulence that greets them inside the so-called manor home is astounding. Cavernous room stretches off after cavernous room-each more luxuriously decorated than the last (and-apparent only to Jack and the Doctor-displaying a few obvious off-world goods). Piles of food of every color and delicacy practically drip off the serving dishes and plates; the entire spread inhabits one room that would rival a full brunch spread in a five-diamond hotel. Hundreds of partygoers mill about the main room, extravagantly dressed in costumes of all sorts. People dressed as harlequins, giraffes, donkeys, opera singers, mythical figures and creatures pass by. A dwarf man dressed as Pan suddenly throws a random woman over his shoulder and runs off with her through the crowd, her good natured screaming reverberating off the impressively large gilded mirrors decorating the walls that functionally throw more light into the room. Rose giggles, “It’s like the Masquerade Ball scene in The Phantom Of The Opera!”
“Or my last birthday party,” quips Jack.
“Look over here,” says the Doctor, directing them to a miniature stage of a living tableau. People dressed in costumes look like mannequins as they hold specific poses against beautifully painted backdrops. There are several of them in the hall and many people are circulating around them, admiring them, talking to each other loudly and drinking. The Doctor stops in front of one-a man painted brownish green wearing gold painted chain mail and a handmade, fin-like hat holding a naked woman as though he were carrying her off, her face frozen in terror as she twists away from him. Jack frowns as he stands in front of it.
“You disapprove, Jack?” asks the Doctor. “Who’s the prude, now?”
“It looks like The Rape of The Sabine,” says Jack, “but there’s something wrong with it-it’s an interesting stylistic interpretation but-“
“It’s because it’s alien,” announces Rose.
Jack and the Doctor’s heads turn to face her.
“That one down there,” she points, “big chubby bloke painted bright green, big paper mache head with big black eyes, long claw-like arms? It’s a bit rubbish and homemade, but it’s Slitheen.
“Rose Tyler, will you never cease to amaze me?” The Doctor tweaks her nose, appreciatively. “You’re brilliant, you are.”
Another Pan absconds with another shrieking maiden.
“Alien art?” asks Jack, gobsmacked.
“Yes, Captain. Looks like our host has a bit more up his sleeve than I thought… These are all living reproductions of famous alien artworks.” He indicates the one to his right. “This one here is hanging in the Joor G’ansayz museum on Prassisx 12: Birth of The Face of Boe-it’s their number one draw.”
“So, this guy doesn’t just collect alien artifacts,” begins Jack.
“He is an alien,” finishes Rose, logically.
The Doctor grins at her, all ears. “That means our mission just got a bit trickier. ‘Cause now we have to escort him home. And I don’t expect he’ll come quietly. “
“Not with him enjoying the human high-life, he won’t,” remarks Jack.
“How will we even tell who he is?” asks Rose. “Nobody here even looks human in these get ups.”
“Oh, that’s him, over there.” The Doctor says casually and points to a short, balding, white haired man in his 60s with a pointed goatee beard dressed in traditional late 1700s style: He wears a chartreuse jacquard waistcoat and vest and pink and black striped breeches, white stockings, and high-heeled buckle shoes. He holds an ornate Venetian eye mask on a baton to cover his face and wears an enormous black velvet hat accented with peacock feathers. This Affront To Good Taste Everywhere carries a camera authentic to the time, and moves down the row of tableaus, taking pictures.
“Look at ‘em,” complains the Doctor. “Does anything about that man say ‘human’ to you?”
“Oh, I dunno, Doctor,” drawls Jack, “ya gotta admit-the man has style!”
“For a poof, maybe.”
“Oi!”
“All right, all right. An alien poof!”
“Although,” interjects Rose, “the sideburns are kinda nice… You should grow some.”
“Ya think?” asks the Doctor, rubbing his face.
“Yeah! They’d hide your ears,” Jack jokes.
“Oi! Are we quite finished?” The Doctor grouses as the others giggle. “All right, you two, that’s quite enough laughter at my expense. Thanking you…”
With that, the Doctor heads off to follow von Wilstadt. Rose eyes the bar.
“I’ll bet you a tenner I can hold m’liquor better than you!”
“You’re on, Blondie!”
Twenty minutes later, they are both hammered and the Doctor is nowhere in sight.
“Damn! It’s not just his taste in art that’s alien,” slurs Jack, “I haven’t had Zyprexxian Ale in forever!” Jack looks at Rose “So, whatzzup? You’ve been kinda quiet lately.”
“Oh, I dunno. Just thinkin’, I guess.”
“About anyone in particular?”
She fingers her drink. “Oh, not really...” she hedges.
“You know you’re not fooling me,” he says softly. “When are the two of you gonna get it together?”
She sighs. “Oh, Jack. I dunno. I don’t think he really cares about me like that. I mean you tease him all the time about being a monk-maybe he just-”
He cuts her off. “No, Rose. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know blokes and I know he’s got it bad for you. I’m on your side, y’know. If you need my help, I’ll be happy to be your wingman. Just say the word.”
“So that’ll make me the captain and you the co-pilot, then?” she teases.
“For you, I’d demote myself. It’d be worth it. Whatever you need, Rose. Just ask.”
“Thanks, Jack. You’re a peach…”
“Together, we’re a pear,” he finishes.
She laughs. “I’m gonna go look for the Doctor. I’ll be ok alone,” she says, and she totters off.
“Remember-no fistfights!” He calls after her.
Rose gives a short, backhanded wave as she disappears into the crowd. Jack turns back to survey the bar, and while he hears the barman greet a good looking young blonde man with a square jaw as “Mister von Wilstadt,” he does not notice the surprised scream of yet another maiden, carried off by Pan.
Well, thinks Jack, the Doctor never forbade me to try to pull the son…
Twenty minutes and one slap later, Jack feels significantly more sober. Although it could have been that the booze wore off, as Zyprexxian Ale tended to do once it got old… But he’s sober enough to notice that it’s been quite awhile since he’s seen the Doctor or Rose. What kind of trouble have they found now? He wonders and moves through the crowd. As he does, he catches sight of one of those little people dressed as Pan stalking a young woman on her own, viewing a tableau. Jack stops in front of him, filling his line of vision, and flashes him his brightest smile. “Hi, I’m Captain Jack Harkness…”
Pan does not look impressed. Jack shrugs. So far his luck today has been nil.
“So tell me,” asks Jack, “where do you take all your young, nubile victims?”
“My Master requires them at the Bacchanalia in The Depravity Chamber…”
Jack’s eyes light up. “Depravity Chamber?? Why on Earth didn’t you tell me that before?! Take me to your Master, wee willy winkie!”
He’s led into a smaller, dimly lit room off the main rooms.
He hears the “party” before he sees it. I know that sound, thinks Jack, his mouth practically watering in anticipation of the orgy that awaits him. Surely, Rose and the Doctor won’t miss him for an hour-or at least a few minutes…
As his eyes adjust, he sees a writhing mass of bodies on the floor, strategically placed on piles of rugs and pillows on the floor. Then, over the din of faceless bodies groaning in ecstasy, he hears the unexpected sharp, tinny sound of metal clanging against metal-and over that, the equally unexpected, yet insistent cry of the Doctor: “Rose! Be careful!”
Suddenly, flash powder lights up a surreal tableau indeed: A half-naked Rose, sword fighting another half-naked brunette in a large black hat. Behind them is the Doctor, hog-tied (sans gag) and balanced precariously on a black velvet chaise lounge.
“Daddy, make him kiss me!” screeches the woman fencing Rose.
“I told you, sweetheart,” growls Rose through her teeth, “You touch him, you DIE!”
“You touch a hair on her head and you shall be sorry!” Yells von Wilstadt from the sidelines, yet curiously he makes no move to help and actually gets off another photo.
“Wa-hey, Doctor!” teases Jack, “I take it all back-lookit you, you kinky old badger, you! You’ve managed to find us Adult Disneyland of the 1800s! Or, rather I should say the Playboy Mansion of the 1800s. It’s even got its own indoor grotto, from what I hear... This place is AWESOME!” Jack moves towards the Doctor and handily begins to untie him, continuing his prattle, “Oh, and by the way, I think you need to start following your own rules that you give us-von Wilstadt’s teenaged daughter? You old dog…”
“Rose needs help first!” barks the Doctor.
“Naw, I think she’s doing just fine-you’re doing fine, Rose! Aren’t cha?”
“I’d be doin’ much better if this Page Three slag would piss off!” Rose yells between the clanging of swords.
“Rose, I take back what I said-fistfighting’s allowed!”
In the semi-darkness, a wet smacking sound precedes a yowl and a dull thud. They can practically hear Rose smiling as well. “Well, that’s her sorted!” she brags as she steps over to them, rubbing her hitting hand.
“Just who are you people to trespass on my grounds, invade my private party and harm my beautiful daughter?!” yells von Wilstadt, finally getting involved. “You will leave my grounds AT ONCE!”
“Sorry. No can do, Bubba,” says Jack.
The Doctor addresses von Wilstadt: “Baron Wilhelm von Wilstadt, according to Article Nine of the Shadow Proclamation, I hereby banish you from Sol 3 and impound your alien contraband-“
“In other words,” translates Jack helpfully, “We’re kickin’ your alien butt off this rock and takin’ all your wacky junk.”
“Oh, and I’ll have the cameras and the photos as well,” announces the Doctor.
“Over my dead body,” taunts von Wilstadt.
“That can be arranged,” sneers Jack, suddenly training his squareness gun on the old man.
“Where the hell did you keep that??” hollers the Doctor.
Jack winks at him. “Doctor, you really don’t wanna know…”
However, in the time it takes for the quip, von Wilstadt turns tail and scarpers.
“Oi! Liberace! Come back here!” the Doctor hollers after him, but he’s gone. In fact, everybody is. The room is now a ghost town, having cleared out in a hurried, panicked flash after Jack pulled the gun-or just about…
“You’ve ruined my party!” shrieks the topless brunette, picking herself off the floor. She makes a run for Rose, bearing her teeth and growling inhumanly, but before she can take another step, Rose flicks her sword, which catches up her voluminous skirts and effectively pins her to the walnut floorboards. Still running pell-mell for her, the girl doesn’t notice until she quickly uses up the rest of the slack of her dress and ends up face first on the floor with a sickening crunch.
“Touché d’Artagnan!” The Doctor exclaims as Rose wipes her hands on her skirts. “Now let’s do a bunk before any more of his barmy family decide to have a go at us!” The Doctor covers half-naked Rose with his jacket, hoists her up over his shoulder, and they leg it back to the TARDIS.
“Your carriage awaits, milady…” The Doctor says a few minutes later as he puts Rose down, giving her a flourishing bow. She pulls his jacket closer around her and smiles at him, curtsying. “And by the way, Rose, good job,” the Doctor grins at her as he unlocks the TARDIS. “Catherine Deneuve couldn’t have done any better! I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She grins again and he smiles back.
Jack points approvingly at the Doctor. “Well, Doctor, there weren’t any horses, but that was one kick ass party! For an ancient codger, you still have a few tricks up your sleeve! You sure keep me guessing!” Jack then turns and gives Rose a wicked smile, “Oh yeah, and Rose?”
“Yeah?”
“Since I couldn’t mention it earlier: Nice rack!” He blurts out and quickly runs inside.
“Oi!! I was kidnapped by a hairy munchkin and forced into that outfit, you arse!!” she yells as she chases him inside.
“Say, Rose?” asks the Doctor as he follows them in, “Were you serious about the sideburns…?”
The doors of the TARDIS close. The dematerialization engines wheeze to life and the TARDIS disappears.
Back in 2008
Gwen and Ianto finish loading up the SUV with the last of the confiscated alien contraband and climb into the car. Jack climbs up into the driver’s seat, patting the album, safely tucked inside the breast pocket of his coat. If he ever got to see him again, he knew one man in pinstripes who would be glad to have these photos.
Continued on in, Gifts From Yesterday