Another drabble
Nov. 7th, 2009 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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jestana, who wanted Eighth Doctor/Bush, prompt = doppelganger.
It was good to be back on earth. And in England.
The Doctor strolled along the sunlit esplanade, watching the tall ships caressing the Solent’s waves – it didn’t get much better than this. His rapture was broken by a sharp tug to his arm and a stinging slap to his face.
“Excuse me, madam, I’m not sure I…”
“Don’t you give me any of that fancy talk, William, you bastard.” The plump little doxy was a small ball of rouged and powdered fury. “I’ve heard it all before. I was your ‘only true love’, remember? True love my arse.” She flounced off, leaving the Doctor to rub his cheek.
Doubles. Doppelgangers. He’d been mistaken for them before – given the vast distances and eras he travelled it was almost inevitable. Still, a slap from a doxy wasn’t that bad – not compared to the time he’d been on the Western front and nearly shot as a mutineer. He walked on, passing a pair of handsome ladies – real ladies this time, out with a chaperone.
“Don’t even look at him, Helena,” the blonde one whispered to her friend, a whisper loud enough to be heard at Spitbank, “Lieutenant Bush is no gentleman.”
The Doctor walked on again, glad to have escaped with only a tongue lashing; whoever this Bush was, he’d got himself a reputation. An officer approached, commander by the look of his jacket, with a stern face and unruly locks under his scraper.
“Ah, Lieutenant.”
The Doctor prepared himself for another tirade.
“We board again tomorrow.”
The Doctor nodded, waiting for the rather taciturn officer to continue.
“I have taken a room at the Lamb. Should you require a lodging for the night…” The officer drew closer, “the usual arrangements will apply.” He leered, touched his hat and walked on.
The Doctor pondered the words ‘usual arrangements’, remembered the lascivious grin and turned about. Portsmouth could wait another hundred years for a visit; he was getting the hell out of the place.
jestana, who wanted Eighth Doctor/Bush, prompt = doppelganger.It was good to be back on earth. And in England.
The Doctor strolled along the sunlit esplanade, watching the tall ships caressing the Solent’s waves – it didn’t get much better than this. His rapture was broken by a sharp tug to his arm and a stinging slap to his face.
“Excuse me, madam, I’m not sure I…”
“Don’t you give me any of that fancy talk, William, you bastard.” The plump little doxy was a small ball of rouged and powdered fury. “I’ve heard it all before. I was your ‘only true love’, remember? True love my arse.” She flounced off, leaving the Doctor to rub his cheek.
Doubles. Doppelgangers. He’d been mistaken for them before – given the vast distances and eras he travelled it was almost inevitable. Still, a slap from a doxy wasn’t that bad – not compared to the time he’d been on the Western front and nearly shot as a mutineer. He walked on, passing a pair of handsome ladies – real ladies this time, out with a chaperone.
“Don’t even look at him, Helena,” the blonde one whispered to her friend, a whisper loud enough to be heard at Spitbank, “Lieutenant Bush is no gentleman.”
The Doctor walked on again, glad to have escaped with only a tongue lashing; whoever this Bush was, he’d got himself a reputation. An officer approached, commander by the look of his jacket, with a stern face and unruly locks under his scraper.
“Ah, Lieutenant.”
The Doctor prepared himself for another tirade.
“We board again tomorrow.”
The Doctor nodded, waiting for the rather taciturn officer to continue.
“I have taken a room at the Lamb. Should you require a lodging for the night…” The officer drew closer, “the usual arrangements will apply.” He leered, touched his hat and walked on.
The Doctor pondered the words ‘usual arrangements’, remembered the lascivious grin and turned about. Portsmouth could wait another hundred years for a visit; he was getting the hell out of the place.
