Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum

It's Very Superstitious


“Against my better judgment, friend, I brought you a new change of clothes,” someone says.

It’s the man from the Unicorn, Jack marvels absently to himself as the gun he didn’t remember drawing to point at Pond’s head lowers the space of a fingernail. Then it lowers some more.

A package slides into Benjamin Pond’s hip. He smiles again, although his eyes are beginning to want to roll…

“Well, you know me. Always with the blondes and parties. Are you going to help me play teacher, or just scream like a little girl in pigtails and a frilly skirt?” says Benjamin, scrubbing his face with a dirty hand while the man from the bar in the green velvet coat snakes his fingers around Jack’s weapon and slides the gun away.

Green Coat smirks, then turns and uses the butt of the gun to knock on the green jade doors he’s just come out of. They slowly, carefully begin to creak out the way. He tosses the firearm inside a greenish goldish room full of stairs and wood panels. The doors close again.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always had a thing about rats. Speaking of relations, I brought Emily. Infernal woman.”

“Infernal is right. Even the Daleks fear her, after what she did.” Jack mutters under his breath. His lungs are constricting, like crumpled oxygen bags; they feel old and used. The man’s time capsule is right there. He came out of her. Green Coat must be a Time Lord… but, which faction? It won’t detract from his revenge to watch this particular side show play out. He laughs to himself; he didn’t used to be so unattached. He used to be…

“Ignore him, Eight.” Benjamin quips with a wince as he reaches under Jack’s foot to rub his stomach. He looks up, and his peridot eyes are dark on Green Coat’s face. “How… how long since…?”

Green Coat’s youngish, roundish, thinnish, sharpish, owlish face drops suddenly at that, grey-blue eyes staring like ghost lights, but then a red-nailed hand pops out of his pagoda-shaped ship’s double doors with a robin’s egg blue teacup on a saucer for him. Without turning, he spins an arm about to take it, in a whirl of greenish bluish velvet coat flaps.

Benjamin, still on the floor, is dragged away from Jack and up into a chair by Martha while Mickey grabs the mug of tea and holds it to his lips, minus the rug burn he got through the tear in his trousers, which is already healing. “So, old friend, the tea is drunk, the beds are warm, and we are again without a paddle. Par for the course. Do be nice to that one, will you? He’s a favorite of mine.”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to. And do pardon the mess. As for this one, I’ll do my best. You’re still bleeding from this little stunt, or I’d spank you too... Mister Pond. As for you, Captain,” Green Coat stabs a long finger at the Time Agent’s shoulder, bringing him down with a single pressure point jab. “…come into my parlor. If you’re very quiet, I’ll show you why they call me the Hitchemus Devil.” Then he grins like a monstrous midnight crocodile, teeth all shining with promise, pearls in the inky dark as he picks Jack up by the seat of his mundane grey trousers and pitches him into the strange TARDIS like a sack of potatoes.

A feminine laugh echoes from beyond the mini-capsule’s doors, and then the light goes out again. Good old Sweetie, of course, Benjamin thinks as Martha Jones reaches across his chest to shear off the bloody bit of shirt near his stabbed shoulder. Mickey has a warm wet sponge and is busy dabbing at the torn flesh.

Somewhere between warm water and the natural progression of sponge toward cake, Benjamin Pond’s head lolls, and he drifts.

But before his head can hit the table, the Green Pagoda materializes around him and is off again, taking a squarish, labyrinthine, Mandarin Screen bite out of Mickey’s nice new wood table.

The teacup is gone, too… but there is a blue note, stuck to an inside corner.

‘I did say it. The hologram cut out on the letter L because the sun burned out and I had no more power or will to make a second pass through to Pete’s World. Anyway, as always, my favorite idiot, you make the most excellent tea. Proud of you both.’

- Ɵ Ʃ

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