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fandomweekly2017-02-18 01:04 am
but_can_i_be_trusted) wrote in fandomweekly2017-02-18 01:04 am
Entry tags:
[#033] Slip-Slidin' Away (Doctor Who)
Theme Prompt: #033: Jury's Out
Title: Slip-Slidin' Away
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: G; no warnings
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 616
Summary: "Does this really seem like the ideal time to play with your food, Doctor?"
"So. That's that, then." Clara slumped onto the floor of the cell. "The jury is out."
"Well, it was less a jury, and more a council of elders," the Doctor pointed out helpfully--or, rather, not so helpfully.
Clara let out a groan, leaning her head against the wall. "Please, Doctor, no technicalities. I'm not in the mood for them."
"Fine," he muttered. "No technicalities. At least they fed us," he added, plunking down beside her and holding out a clay bowl.
Reluctantly, Clara took it from him, eyeing the poi-like substance it held with considerable suspicion. "How do we know it isn't drugged," she asked, tilting the bowl and watching its viscous contents slowly crawl down the side.
"How do we know it isn't poisoned," the Doctor returned, taking a large gulp from his own bowl. "Relax," he added in reply to her horrified gasp. "I've already scanned it for toxins; it came up clear. Perfectly healthy."
"That's not very reassuring," she told him. "It still looks disgusting."
"Doesn't taste much better either, to be perfectly honest with you. I don't recommend it as a local delicacy. But it'll keep us alive."
"Long enough for them to execute us."
"Oh, Clara. Be optimistic. They're not going to execute us."
"You don't know that," she insisted. "Optimism is all fine and dandy, Doctor, but only under the right circumstances!"
"And these aren't the right circumstances?"
Clara shot him an aggravated glare.
Flinching, the Doctor sighed. "Very much not the right circumstances," he muttered into his bowl. He glanced at her own still-untouched bowl, frowning. "Aren't you going to have yours," he asked worriedly.
She set the bowl down, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm not eating that."
"Fine." Taking it up, the Doctor rose. "I'll just call the guard, and have him come take it away. Mind, Clara, this isn't a restaurant. You're not likely to get seconds."
"I don't care." She stretched her legs out in front of her, trying to get more comfortable on the cold stone floor. She let out a protesting yelp as the oblivious Doctor proceeded to trip over her, both bowls dropping from his hands as he fought to keep his balance. "Oi! Watch where you're going!"
"Sorry! I wasn't trying to trip; it's your own fault!" Dismayed, the Doctor stared down at the shattered bowls, the slimy gruel they'd once held now pooling on the floor in front of the door.
Clara let out a disbelieving laugh. "My fault? I didn't make you a hopeless klutz, Doctor; that's your own doing."
He ignored her, the toe of one boot dipping carefully into the once edible glop. To his surprise, his foot began to slide. A slow grin formed on his face.
Perplexed, Clara gawked at him. "Does this really seem like the ideal time to play with your food, Doctor?"
"Frightfully slippery stuff," he mused softly. He looked over at her, eyebrows raising over a smile that was loaded with meaning. "Don't you think so, Clara? Wouldn't it be terrible if someone--a guard, perhaps--were to step in it and lose his footing?"
Catching on, she jumped to her feet, eyes wide and sparkling. "Oh, that'd be a shame," she agreed. "Best call someone and have it cleaned up. Before people get it into their heads to take unfair advantage of the situation."
He nodded. "Of course. You're perfectly right. Can't let that happen. Absolutely not. Oh, guard," he called as loudly as he could--not quite loudly enough to drown out Clara's snickering. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he held up a hand, fingers crossed. "Guard, could you come and give us a hand, please...?"
Title: Slip-Slidin' Away
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: G; no warnings
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 616
Summary: "Does this really seem like the ideal time to play with your food, Doctor?"
"So. That's that, then." Clara slumped onto the floor of the cell. "The jury is out."
"Well, it was less a jury, and more a council of elders," the Doctor pointed out helpfully--or, rather, not so helpfully.
Clara let out a groan, leaning her head against the wall. "Please, Doctor, no technicalities. I'm not in the mood for them."
"Fine," he muttered. "No technicalities. At least they fed us," he added, plunking down beside her and holding out a clay bowl.
Reluctantly, Clara took it from him, eyeing the poi-like substance it held with considerable suspicion. "How do we know it isn't drugged," she asked, tilting the bowl and watching its viscous contents slowly crawl down the side.
"How do we know it isn't poisoned," the Doctor returned, taking a large gulp from his own bowl. "Relax," he added in reply to her horrified gasp. "I've already scanned it for toxins; it came up clear. Perfectly healthy."
"That's not very reassuring," she told him. "It still looks disgusting."
"Doesn't taste much better either, to be perfectly honest with you. I don't recommend it as a local delicacy. But it'll keep us alive."
"Long enough for them to execute us."
"Oh, Clara. Be optimistic. They're not going to execute us."
"You don't know that," she insisted. "Optimism is all fine and dandy, Doctor, but only under the right circumstances!"
"And these aren't the right circumstances?"
Clara shot him an aggravated glare.
Flinching, the Doctor sighed. "Very much not the right circumstances," he muttered into his bowl. He glanced at her own still-untouched bowl, frowning. "Aren't you going to have yours," he asked worriedly.
She set the bowl down, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm not eating that."
"Fine." Taking it up, the Doctor rose. "I'll just call the guard, and have him come take it away. Mind, Clara, this isn't a restaurant. You're not likely to get seconds."
"I don't care." She stretched her legs out in front of her, trying to get more comfortable on the cold stone floor. She let out a protesting yelp as the oblivious Doctor proceeded to trip over her, both bowls dropping from his hands as he fought to keep his balance. "Oi! Watch where you're going!"
"Sorry! I wasn't trying to trip; it's your own fault!" Dismayed, the Doctor stared down at the shattered bowls, the slimy gruel they'd once held now pooling on the floor in front of the door.
Clara let out a disbelieving laugh. "My fault? I didn't make you a hopeless klutz, Doctor; that's your own doing."
He ignored her, the toe of one boot dipping carefully into the once edible glop. To his surprise, his foot began to slide. A slow grin formed on his face.
Perplexed, Clara gawked at him. "Does this really seem like the ideal time to play with your food, Doctor?"
"Frightfully slippery stuff," he mused softly. He looked over at her, eyebrows raising over a smile that was loaded with meaning. "Don't you think so, Clara? Wouldn't it be terrible if someone--a guard, perhaps--were to step in it and lose his footing?"
Catching on, she jumped to her feet, eyes wide and sparkling. "Oh, that'd be a shame," she agreed. "Best call someone and have it cleaned up. Before people get it into their heads to take unfair advantage of the situation."
He nodded. "Of course. You're perfectly right. Can't let that happen. Absolutely not. Oh, guard," he called as loudly as he could--not quite loudly enough to drown out Clara's snickering. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he held up a hand, fingers crossed. "Guard, could you come and give us a hand, please...?"
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