storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2015-02-03 10:20 pm
storypaint) wrote2015-02-03 10:20 pm
[Doctor Who/Thrilling Adventure Hour] showdown at the hypercattle corral (Sparks and Eleven gen)
Title: showdown at the hypercattle corral
Fandom: Doctor Who/Thrilling Adventure Hour
Length: 652 words
Prompt: comment_fic: Doctor Who/Thrilling Adventure Hour, 11th Doctor + Sparks Nevada (+ any), bonding over bowties and robot rogues
Pairing: Sparks, Croach, and Eleven gen
Other: Uses the widely popular fanon that Sparks Nevada wears a bowtie, just like Marc Evan Jackson.
Excerpt: "The mysterious stranger from the blue box is incorrect, Sparks Nevada," Croach breaks in. "Bow ties are not cool."
"I like your bowtie," the stranger says with a rakish grin. "Bowties are cool."
Sparks squints at him and decides to accept the compliment. "Thanks, I guess," he mutters.
"The mysterious stranger from the blue box is incorrect, Sparks Nevada," Croach breaks in. "Bow ties are not cool."
"How would you know? Are you a fashion expert now, Croach?" Sparks asks, more to irritate his companion than to defend his honor. He likes the bowtie, and that's all that matters.
"It's Croach," Croach corrects him for probably the millionth time, and the stranger repeats him.
"Croach?" he says. It sounds just like when Sparks says it, except in his foreign accent, but Croach lights up. Well, it's Croach, so his antennae perk a little, but when you've been riding with a Martian for as long as Sparks has, you learn the signs of his emotions.
"Yes, exactly!" Croach says. Sparks scowls.
"That's it," he says, deciding. "Anyone who can pronounce your name correctly on the first try must be a Jupiter spy. Have you ever seen a spaceship like that?" He points at the blue box, stark against the red plains of Mars. "It's got to belong to a Jupe."
"That's your criteria?" Croach asks, disapproving. The stranger holds up his hands and smiles even brighter at Sparks. He is beginning to dislike that smile.
"Jupiter spy? Oh, not me. Just in the neighborhood, thought I'd pop by," he says. "Mars is such an exciting place in this time period! I can bring my Stetson." He thumbs the rim of his cowboy hat.
Nothing he's said has made Sparks any less suspicious and he's putting on his robot fists when another person emerges from the blue box. It has to be bigger than it looks, he thinks. The woman is dressed in gingham and her curls are neat. Sparks recognizes her immediately.
"River Song," he says, "wanted across the solar system for reasons unknown. Your picture crossed my desk last week." He grins. Here at least is a black-and-white problem he can solve. The Marshal station cell has been looking pretty empty lately.
"Bagropa!" Croach says. "This is the famous Song?"
The stranger sighs heavily. River Song, dangerous outlaw, shrugs, and then winks at him.
"My reputation precedes me," she says, not looking worried at all. Sparks aims to draw on her and Croach does the same.
"I can never take you anywhere," the stranger says, turning and pushing the outlaw into the blue box and following her in. Sparks only gets a glimpse of the inside but it turns his insides green. Something isn't right about the space in there. He rallies from his surprise and bangs on the door to the box. He isn't surprised when there isn't any answer.
He is definitely surprised when he hears a rasping, scraping sound and the box disappears before his very eyes. He stands there staring at it.
"Did that Jupiter spy just go invisible, just like that?" he asks Croach. Croach approaches carefully and then waves a hand through the empty space. It doesn't encounter any invisible objects.
"It seems that they have disappeared entirely, Sparks Nevada," Croach says, looking serious like always. "I should have captured the Human Outlaw Song while we had the chance. My onus to you has been increased."
"I should have fired," Sparks says. It has been a while since he's had to shoot anyone really humanoid and he guesses he must be out of practice. Robots don't bleed, and he doesn't cotton to bleeding much.
"It was a glorious failure," Croach says, and he climbs onto his hoversaddle. After passing his hand again through the empty space that had briefly contained a weird blue box, Sparks mounts up as well. They ride on, but Sparks strains his eyes looking for the box shape stark against the horizon. He'll be ready next time, for sure.
Fandom: Doctor Who/Thrilling Adventure Hour
Length: 652 words
Prompt: comment_fic: Doctor Who/Thrilling Adventure Hour, 11th Doctor + Sparks Nevada (+ any), bonding over bowties and robot rogues
Pairing: Sparks, Croach, and Eleven gen
Other: Uses the widely popular fanon that Sparks Nevada wears a bowtie, just like Marc Evan Jackson.
Excerpt: "The mysterious stranger from the blue box is incorrect, Sparks Nevada," Croach breaks in. "Bow ties are not cool."
"I like your bowtie," the stranger says with a rakish grin. "Bowties are cool."
Sparks squints at him and decides to accept the compliment. "Thanks, I guess," he mutters.
"The mysterious stranger from the blue box is incorrect, Sparks Nevada," Croach breaks in. "Bow ties are not cool."
"How would you know? Are you a fashion expert now, Croach?" Sparks asks, more to irritate his companion than to defend his honor. He likes the bowtie, and that's all that matters.
"It's Croach," Croach corrects him for probably the millionth time, and the stranger repeats him.
"Croach?" he says. It sounds just like when Sparks says it, except in his foreign accent, but Croach lights up. Well, it's Croach, so his antennae perk a little, but when you've been riding with a Martian for as long as Sparks has, you learn the signs of his emotions.
"Yes, exactly!" Croach says. Sparks scowls.
"That's it," he says, deciding. "Anyone who can pronounce your name correctly on the first try must be a Jupiter spy. Have you ever seen a spaceship like that?" He points at the blue box, stark against the red plains of Mars. "It's got to belong to a Jupe."
"That's your criteria?" Croach asks, disapproving. The stranger holds up his hands and smiles even brighter at Sparks. He is beginning to dislike that smile.
"Jupiter spy? Oh, not me. Just in the neighborhood, thought I'd pop by," he says. "Mars is such an exciting place in this time period! I can bring my Stetson." He thumbs the rim of his cowboy hat.
Nothing he's said has made Sparks any less suspicious and he's putting on his robot fists when another person emerges from the blue box. It has to be bigger than it looks, he thinks. The woman is dressed in gingham and her curls are neat. Sparks recognizes her immediately.
"River Song," he says, "wanted across the solar system for reasons unknown. Your picture crossed my desk last week." He grins. Here at least is a black-and-white problem he can solve. The Marshal station cell has been looking pretty empty lately.
"Bagropa!" Croach says. "This is the famous Song?"
The stranger sighs heavily. River Song, dangerous outlaw, shrugs, and then winks at him.
"My reputation precedes me," she says, not looking worried at all. Sparks aims to draw on her and Croach does the same.
"I can never take you anywhere," the stranger says, turning and pushing the outlaw into the blue box and following her in. Sparks only gets a glimpse of the inside but it turns his insides green. Something isn't right about the space in there. He rallies from his surprise and bangs on the door to the box. He isn't surprised when there isn't any answer.
He is definitely surprised when he hears a rasping, scraping sound and the box disappears before his very eyes. He stands there staring at it.
"Did that Jupiter spy just go invisible, just like that?" he asks Croach. Croach approaches carefully and then waves a hand through the empty space. It doesn't encounter any invisible objects.
"It seems that they have disappeared entirely, Sparks Nevada," Croach says, looking serious like always. "I should have captured the Human Outlaw Song while we had the chance. My onus to you has been increased."
"I should have fired," Sparks says. It has been a while since he's had to shoot anyone really humanoid and he guesses he must be out of practice. Robots don't bleed, and he doesn't cotton to bleeding much.
"It was a glorious failure," Croach says, and he climbs onto his hoversaddle. After passing his hand again through the empty space that had briefly contained a weird blue box, Sparks mounts up as well. They ride on, but Sparks strains his eyes looking for the box shape stark against the horizon. He'll be ready next time, for sure.