Again a not-college post, which I'll be posting sometime anyways so keep your pants on. Was kind of "tagged" by Trip to do this and was on a roll up until I had to write Sherlock. AGH.
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“How good’s your French?”
“My what?”
“Well it doesn’t even matter, because the TARDIS does auto-translate anyway!”
“Doc, what –”
The Doctor grabbed his companion’s arm and flung out the doors of the TARDIS, grinning in delight. It soon fell, however, with one simple glance around.
Tati picked up on his emotions by the very deafening silence. “Missed it, huh.”
“Yes. Well, no. Well, hard to say if missed is the proper word.” He sniffed. “Certainly the right decade…”
“It’s 2010.”
“How’d you –”
“August 15th.”
“- figure that out?”
The pickpocket pointed to a sign outside of a shop. “I love people who give out dates, especially when they tell me what food they’re serving.”
The Doctor sighed. “Well, no use in hanging around here – the Olympics are two years away, that’s where we wa -”
“Oi, I’m starving!” She grabbed his hand and forcibly dragged him down the sidewalk. “Food first, then uncertain travel.”
“Alright alright, fine, but do you have to make this a spectacle?”
“Yes,” she answered almost immediately. “Otherwise my stomach is going to win the fight against the rest of my organs and eat them.”
“Oh come on, that doesn’t ha – well, wait, that actually does, to the Voonards in the opposite arm of the Milky Way…”
---
“…What is this?”
“Fish and chips, like you ordered.”
“How was I sup – what is – these are fries.”
The Doctor reclined in the rickety diner chair, his shoulder blades pressing rather uncomfortably into the top corners of the backing. “Chips are fries. It’s British. You’re eating very British food.”
“Mmmf – tastes like cod and potatoes to me.”
“I think you’re forgetting the not-so-ancestral roots of Mericzech…”
“Well, so long as you don’t forget to pay, I think we’re good.”
With another sigh, the Doctor bent his head back completely, staring out the front window of the diner and observing the very average streets of London. It wasn’t like he didn’t mind taking a break every now and then, and food was indeed a good reason for such things, but it was the fact that he was eager to leave that got him. He had missed his target and intended to fix that immediately, but Tati being hungry and rather forcible threw a wrench into that.
The Doctor moved his gaze to the inhabitants of the diner. There weren’t very many, but enough. Average, normal people. A variety of social classes, through a distinct air of lower-middle. Age skewed a bit older, with his companion easily vying for the spot of “youngest”.
At this point, a pair of adult men entered, one wearing a sport jacket despite the heat, the other in an Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled-up. The one in the jacket seemed to pause right as the door closed behind him, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room before joining the other man at a table that sat one row away.
Tati herself took note of the men. “Be careful,” she said quietly between bites. “Cheekbones there is a bit too twitchy.”
“Oh?” The Doctor looked at Tati with a slight sense of bemusement. “Wot’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a sign of a thief. He isn’t looking at the other guy, he’s looking around, he’s observing. And he looks like he’s ready to move at any instant.”
“You don’t?”
She looked at him, insulted but also amused. “Have you seen me?”
“Yeah, and you’re kinda twitchy sometimes.”
“When I want to move, sure, but –”
“Who’s to say he isn’t the same way?”
“Why come here if you’re a grown man but not going to get something to eat?”
“Maybe he’s forced to look after that man like I’m chained to you…”
“Hey!”
“I’m joking, it was a joke, calm down.”
“Ugh – and – anyway – no, Bags there is too normal.”
The Doctor slid his eyes to observe the two men as inconspicuously as possible. “Cheekbones” sat rigid in his seat, hands folded and resting on the table, his face unemotional. His thoughts were scatted, it seemed, by the way his eyes were jerking around. “Bags” was ignoring the man completely, munching down on his own order of fish and chips with quiet satisfaction.
The Time Lord couldn’t help but notice that Tati and “Bags” behaved in a similar manner, though for different reasons. The former was suspicious of the men and ate without ceremony, while the latter seemed the reserved type who just ate normally.
“Doc,” Tati said suddenly, and rather loudly. “Why are they called chips?”
“Eh – wot? Why’s what called –”
“Oi, sir,” she said, leaning out of her seat and waving her hand at “Bags”. “Do you know?”
“Huh?” He looked at her with wide-eyed curiosity before chuckling. “Why? I don’t understand why you call them ‘fries’.”
“How do you know I call them that?”
“You’re an American.”
“I’m a what?”
“Oh – uh – oh, sorry! You’re Canadian, then?”
“Wait, what’s –”
“It’s the simple etymology of the word,” the Doctor cut in above the two, tapping Tati’s wrist to get her attention. “’Chips’ refers to the thickly-cut potatoes you’re eating, fries refers to the ones you get at fast-food restaurants and became popularized with the influx of American fast food and their use of the term.”
“But I just call them fries.”
“Yes.” He paused for a beat before remembering to add, “Because you’re an American.”
“I’m a wh –”
“You can cut the show,” “Cheekbones” said, sounding dull and unimpressed. “Honestly, you thought I was suspicious? You couldn’t be more out of place if you tried.”
Tati scrunched up her nose in annoyance. “Oh? Why do you say that, Cheekbones?”
“You’re wearing a jacket, a hooded sweatshirt, meant to keep you warm, not just for show, meaning you didn’t know what the temperature was going to be. You’re not from here and I’m not sure how, but you got here not knowing the weather. You’re not an American either, using words like ‘oi’ juxtaposed with ‘fries’, but it also doesn’t make you Canadian. You’re a pickpocket, judging by the sleeves of your jacket. There are no cuffs, giving an opening and an easy place to hide things in there after a swipe. The bottoms of your jeans are frayed and your shoes are worn out, meaning you walk around a lot. Disheveled by the looks of it, you’re from the streets. Two belts, both in half the loops, meaning they’re hard to remove unless you want them to be. You wear them as a last line of protection. First line is the knife you have clipped in the back. You’re slouching in the chair to avoid the discomfort it causes when sitting in most hard chairs.”
Had she not had her wits about her, Tati would’ve lost the mouthful of fish she had stuffed in her mouth. After a few seconds of chewing and swallowing, she replied with a smirk. “You must have so much time on your hands to learn to observe these things.”
The Doctor sighed. “Tati…”
She shot him an annoyed glance. “I don’t just say these things. It’s true.”
“You’re not a closed book yourself,” “Cheekbones” continued, glancing towards the Doctor, who cocked his head in response. “You’re a novel compared to her.”
“…You calling me a kid’s book?”
“Exactly.”
The Doctor cleared his throat, tapping his companion’s wrist again. She looked at him, annoyed, but he shook his head.
“You’re a complex man yourself,” the Time Lord said, shifting in his pose to face the other man more directly. “Must be a detective, with your perception and intellect. Any other job would bore you. In fact, you border on sociopathic…But you aren’t one because crime is too easy and living in secrecy is no fun.”
“Whereas you, on the contrary, are fine hiding your accomplishments in the shadows.”
“And you don’t treat your friend there all that well.”
“Bags” perked to attention. “What are you –”
“You treat yours too well.”
“Oi –”
“Good companions are meant to be treated well,” the Doctor said, now sounding a touch offended for being called out on his hospitality.
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” The man smirked, swinging his left foot to his right knee.
And while the Doctor was left bewildered, Tati was quick to offend, wasting no time in whipping a chip to the man’s head. He caught it mid-flight before popping it in his mouth.
“Strong reaction,” he went on to say. “Denial.”
“Is a river in Africa,” the Doctor couldn’t help but add, a slight grin coming to his face.
Changing moods in an instant, Tati looked at him, now the bewildered one. “Denial is…where’s Africa? Why does it have -”
“It’s a pun, denial, ‘de Nile’, ‘the’…Nile is the name of a river in Africa, a continent south of here.”
“Oh…”
“Bags” stared at the two, clearly confused on the whole matter. “You’ve…never heard of Africa?”
Before the Doctor could rein her in, Tati looked to the man and shrugged. “Not really.”
“You uh…speak English?”
“Obviously.”
“Your first language?”
“Pretty sure it’s the only one.”
He scanned her again, thoughts running a mile a minute. “You know, you…never told me where you’re from.”
She jerked her head back. “I’m not telling you.”
“What, is there something wrong with me?”
“Other than being suspicious?”
“How am I suspicious?”
“Prying into information about me, for starters.”
“What, that’s just –”
“Enough,” the Doctor intervened, swiping his head through the two’s line of vision. He turned to “Bags” and smiled apologetically. “We’d much rather not discuss our private affairs in the open, if that’s alright with you.”
“Yeah but – I’m just – nevermind.”
“Lay off it John, you would’ve never guessed anyway.”
Tati perked up, turning to him and grinning. “So your name’s John, huh? Good, that’s better than ‘Bags’.”
“Yeah, well I – wait, ‘Bags’, you were calling me ‘Bags’?!”
“Well, you know…” She drew sagging lines under her eyes with her fingers.
“You’re aliens,” the other man said rather forcibly over the two’s conversation. But all three stared at him, though with varying degrees of horror, confusion, and annoyance.
“…You can’t be serious,” John was the first to say, trying to smirk but finding it hard to summon the effort. “You’re just…Oh God, you are. You’re serious, aren’t you Sherlock?”
“Wait, Sherlock?” The Doctor held in a laugh. “Your name is Sherlock, really? Some fans, your parents must’ve been.”
“My parents were not fans of anything,” Sherlock replied with a snap. “Sherlock Holmes, you’ve got a problem with that?”
“Pretty kickass name, Cheekbones,” Tati said. The Doctor stared at her in despair.
“Tati, didn’t you read any of the – oh – oh no, you haven’t…”
“Read any of the…what?”
The Doctor flailed his hands to accentuate his speech. “Sherlock Holmes is a detective from a book series written in the late 1800s about a detective and his assis…tant…” He slowly looked over at John. “You’re…John Watson?”
“Uh – yes.” He tilted his head. “How did you know that?”
“…You know what?” The Doctor ran a hand down his face, sighing, eyeing the two men, then Tati. “Just…forget it.”
“You not reacting to the ‘alien’ accusation isn’t helping your case,” Sherlock mumbled, switching the position of his feet.
“Oh, it’s because we are.” He grinned. “We’re not from Britain, you see, and –”
“I might buy that if I was an idiot in the case of your companion…but not for you.”
The Doctor’s grin fell a little. “Is that so?”
“When I say alien, I’m speaking of the version of the term that means ‘not from Earth’.”
“And you say that be –”
“Look, do I have to spell it out for you?” Sherlock snapped, nostrils flaring in lean tolerance. “One look at your little friend there says everything – you don’t see yellow eyes on humans, not those kinds. Those bloody things belong on a cat, not a girl.”
Tati exhaled through her nose, propping her head on her hand and nibbling at a piece of fried fish. “I’m getting tired of being compared to cats…I don’t really like them that much…”
John leaned, rather conspicuously, over his table, attempting to get a better angle on her. “Blimey…you really do…Why didn’t I see that before?”
“The mind doesn’t want to see abnormalities, it wants to see the average,” Sherlock answered. “You can’t think them possible, so the mind fills them in.” He paused before slightly raising his eyebrow while looking at the Doctor. “Care to counter?”
After a moment’s silence, the Time Lord closed his eyes, shook his head, and smirked. “No, not really. This is a game of truths, isn’t it? Trying to dig out things about the other? I’m not here to defend myself.”
“Then what do you call what you were doing?”
He chuckled. “Being polite.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes while John held in a laugh. He was about to say something but suddenly jerked upwards, surprised by a noise from his pocket. He with drew a cell phone, tapping the screen to unlock it before his eyebrows perked and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Sarah,” he said to Sherlock, who ignored the comment and instead stared at the Doctor with subtle annoyance. Tati, however, took interest – though not in the same thing.
“What is that?” she asked, pointing to his phone. “A comms? Are you rich or something?”
“Hardly.”
“So…what is it?”
“A mobile. Um – cell phone.”
“You’ve gotta have money. Nobody has one of those without serious cash.”
“Afraid not.”
Tati stared at the device a few moments longer before sighing. “Right. I forgot.” She turned to the Doctor and tapped his wrist (for a change of pace). “You need to tell me these things.”
“How am I supposed to know what you’ll start poking at?!” he said to her, exasperated by the development. “I’d be telling you everything if that was the case!”
“Better get talking then…”
The Doctor smacked a palm to his forehead before bolting up. “I think we’re done here.”
“Yes, by all means, flee,” Sherlock said with a fleeting smirk. “I’d advise you to try and get a better grip on your, shall we say, companion there. She makes you far too obvious.”
This earned the man one more chip to the head, which successfully hit its mark this time. John snorted but stared down at his food to try and hide it. He looked up again when Tati tapped on his shoulder before he was enveloped in an awkward flurry of blue fabric and black hair.
“What’s she doing?” he squeaked, eyeing the Doctor in a desperate bid for an answer.
He shrugged. “She’s a very huggy person.”
Tati flung herself back and smiled at the man before swiping up her empty food basket. Before she could do anything else, the Doctor snatched it from her hands, tossing it in the trash bin behind them, then grabbing her wrist and dragging her towards the door.
“See ya later Bags, Cheekbones.”
“Uh – right. Bye.”
John watched the two as they exited, somehow going from being dragged to holding hands in the process. Sherlock was watching them as well, letting a bullet of air exhale from his nose.
“’Companion’ for sure…”
Suddenly, she bolted from his grasp, though only got a few paces away before he snatched her by the lower of her two belts from behind. John let out a small laugh as she proceeded to smack his hand away when the two finally vanished from sight.
---
“Can I get a coffee?”
“Wot, really, are you serious?”
“Well, that wasn’t exactly an enjoyable experience. I’d like to end this on a high note.”
The Doctor edged his eyes at her, grinning. “You wouldn’t call that a high note?”
“What? Well, no, not for me at least, you probably liked the…thing...whatever it is you were doing with what’s-his-face-Cheekbones.”
“Really? Nothing for you?”
“No.”
“Tati…have you ever heard of the term ‘cougar’?”
