MORE TIME MOPPET FIC!
Jun. 17th, 2006 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizbeeDidn't I promise it would be continued?
Cheer Up, Emo Time Moppet
Chapter 1.5: Pregnant Pause
Summary: Put on some flashback music as we step back in time! In a fic based on a time-travel series, shocking, I know.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of the BBC, except for K9, who kindly donated his time to the show but later demanded hookers as payment.
Notes: Still oppressing, after all these days.
Chapter 1 is here.
Cheer Up, Emo Time Moppet
Chapter One point Five: Pregnant Pause
Approximately fifteen years and nine months earlier, give or take however much time you feel appropriate for Gallifreyan gestation
“That can't possibly be right.”
“Double-checking results,” said K9. “Probability of error zero point zero zero zero zero--”
“Run a diagnostic on your sensors,” Romana ordered. K9 did so with an injured chitter, even though both of them knew there was no point.
“I can't possibly have a baby,” she said. “I'm only one hundred and twenty-seven! I have a whole species to liberate.” She sank into a dusty chair and stared bleakly out at the unreal landscape of the Tharils' dimensional territory. “I'm not even in the right universe!”
“Diagnostic complete. This unit is functioning normally.”
“Oh,” said Romana. “Good.”
On the other hand, there were worse places than E-space to deal with unscheduled procreation. Gallifrey, for example. Now that would be embarrassing. Unmanaged uterine reproduction was purely for the less evolved kinds of aliens. So messy. So undignified. The unspeakable Angiratalor would be impossibly smug; she never had forgiven Romana for getting that Triple First and claiming the top rank in their class.
And that was without contending with the Doctor, who would no doubt see this as a grand opportunity to pass on his own particular brand of chaos. Not that it wasn't a lovely kind of chaos, but children needed structure in their lives, not weekly encounters with Daleks and Cybermen and giant tentacle creatures. At home, this structure was provided by trained specialists, who supervised the child-rearing process from the construction of the genetic material to preparations for entrance to the Academy. The system was safe and predictable, carefully designed to create well-adjusted and socially functional Time Lords. It was all terribly sensible, although Romana occasionally wondered if something had gone horribly wrong with the Doctor's generation. Some kind of genetic experiment, perhaps, or maybe the specialists had been using mind-altering chemicals. On themselves or the children.
E-space was looking better and better every day.
“I don't suppose you have any suggestions for names, K9?”
“This unit is familiar with the naming traditions of thirty-two billion, eighty--”
“Never mind. 'Fred' will do.”
“Mistress?”
An awful thought struck her. “K9? How am I supposed to give birth here?”
K9 chittered hopefully. “I am familiar with Gallifreyan physiology, Mistress.”
Romana stared at him.
“K9,” she said, “you don't have hands.”
K9's tail sensor drooped.
To be continued!
Cheer Up, Emo Time Moppet
Chapter 1.5: Pregnant Pause
Summary: Put on some flashback music as we step back in time! In a fic based on a time-travel series, shocking, I know.
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of the BBC, except for K9, who kindly donated his time to the show but later demanded hookers as payment.
Notes: Still oppressing, after all these days.
Chapter 1 is here.
Chapter One point Five: Pregnant Pause
Approximately fifteen years and nine months earlier, give or take however much time you feel appropriate for Gallifreyan gestation
“That can't possibly be right.”
“Double-checking results,” said K9. “Probability of error zero point zero zero zero zero--”
“Run a diagnostic on your sensors,” Romana ordered. K9 did so with an injured chitter, even though both of them knew there was no point.
“I can't possibly have a baby,” she said. “I'm only one hundred and twenty-seven! I have a whole species to liberate.” She sank into a dusty chair and stared bleakly out at the unreal landscape of the Tharils' dimensional territory. “I'm not even in the right universe!”
“Diagnostic complete. This unit is functioning normally.”
“Oh,” said Romana. “Good.”
On the other hand, there were worse places than E-space to deal with unscheduled procreation. Gallifrey, for example. Now that would be embarrassing. Unmanaged uterine reproduction was purely for the less evolved kinds of aliens. So messy. So undignified. The unspeakable Angiratalor would be impossibly smug; she never had forgiven Romana for getting that Triple First and claiming the top rank in their class.
And that was without contending with the Doctor, who would no doubt see this as a grand opportunity to pass on his own particular brand of chaos. Not that it wasn't a lovely kind of chaos, but children needed structure in their lives, not weekly encounters with Daleks and Cybermen and giant tentacle creatures. At home, this structure was provided by trained specialists, who supervised the child-rearing process from the construction of the genetic material to preparations for entrance to the Academy. The system was safe and predictable, carefully designed to create well-adjusted and socially functional Time Lords. It was all terribly sensible, although Romana occasionally wondered if something had gone horribly wrong with the Doctor's generation. Some kind of genetic experiment, perhaps, or maybe the specialists had been using mind-altering chemicals. On themselves or the children.
E-space was looking better and better every day.
“I don't suppose you have any suggestions for names, K9?”
“This unit is familiar with the naming traditions of thirty-two billion, eighty--”
“Never mind. 'Fred' will do.”
“Mistress?”
An awful thought struck her. “K9? How am I supposed to give birth here?”
K9 chittered hopefully. “I am familiar with Gallifreyan physiology, Mistress.”
Romana stared at him.
“K9,” she said, “you don't have hands.”
K9's tail sensor drooped.
To be continued!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 12:25 am (UTC)That's just classic.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 12:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 12:57 am (UTC)Oh man, the comedy potential of K-9 as a midwife... "Breathe, mistress!"
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 05:01 am (UTC)K9 chittered hopefully. “I am familiar with Gallifreyan physiology, Mistress.”
Romana stared at him.
“K9,” she said, “you don't have hands.”
K9's tail sensor drooped.
WIN!
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 05:53 am (UTC)omg why do you rule so much?
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 06:21 am (UTC)You write horribly amusing things.
Really, being a very very new(as-of-the-past-two-weeks) Who convert, I shouldn't even be getting these jokes. Yet I am grinning. *bows to you*
no subject
Date: 2006-06-17 10:57 pm (UTC)Oh, poor disappointed K9. *giggles madly*
no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 12:08 am (UTC)...I do get this horrible image, though, of K-9 extending that suction cup (sensor?) on his forehead and hauling.
Not sure if he'd be able to get sufficient traction, though.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 02:26 am (UTC)Of course K9 would be disappointed.
This story is kind of incredibly enjoyable.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 03:31 am (UTC)'Fred'.
Hee!
no subject
Date: 2006-06-18 07:16 pm (UTC)Laughing. Too. Hard.
More Time Moppet please!
Date: 2006-06-19 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-21 05:13 pm (UTC)And for the record, also thank you for attemtping to beat/oppress/destroy the damn Chippies into submission.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 10:55 am (UTC)This made me laugh so much. I think it's the eagerness to get his, err, little sensor thing dirty...
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 01:32 pm (UTC)*SNERT*! =:o>
no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 12:54 pm (UTC)K9's tail sensor drooped.
AWWWWW!!!!! Poor K9!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 07:54 am (UTC)