eleventh_doctor: (silhouette of a lie)
Now, come over here and listen to your old Gran for a minute. You may think I spent my whole life sitting in this old house doing my knitting and cleaning up after your dad, but I’ve got news for you: I used to be quite the adventurer, back in the old days. You don’t believe me, but I’ve had more amazing experiences than you could dream of, and if you’ll sit still a minute, I’ll tell you one.

It was back when I was doing work with the Institute, hunting down legendary treasures with a crack squad of adventurers. You should’ve seen all the trouble we got ourselves into--

All right, Miss Smarty, you have me. Mostly, I did paper work: following trails of clues, solving ancient riddles, researching long-lost civilizations. No, I didn’t get into the field much, but neither would my team if it hadn’t been for me. If you’re quite done with your questions, I’d like to continue.

Thank you.

We’d just got wind of something amazing, a mythical ancient box filled with the mysteries of the universe. For the longest time, nobody had the faintest idea where it was hidden, but we received word it could be found in a recently-discovered set of catacombs deep in the Great Mountains, and you can bet we were on it in a thrice. The Institute even brought in a specialist, a Dr. Susan Jane Smith, to join the team. It wasn’t often then that you found a woman in the business those days. Maybe it was because of her I convinced the higher-ups to let me have a go in the field- )


Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 230 - Black and White
Word Count: 1240
Author's Note: In my head, the (younger version of!) narrator is played by Rachel Weisz ala The Mummy (nudge nudge wink wink [livejournal.com profile] girl_doctor.
eleventh_doctor: (the neutral icon)
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It was a dark night- moonless, foggy. The kind of night where you could barely see your flipper two inches from your face, even if you were wearing one of those radioactive Hawaiian shirts. The kind of night for whispered secrets and mysterious packages handed off by tall men in overcoats.

My name is Frobisher. The sign on my office door says ‘Prvt nvstgtr’. It would say Private Investigator, but my last case didn’t go so well and I had to hock a few vowels.

Private investigator’s the dressed-up job description. What I am is a spy, a snoop, a bloodhound of the underworld, a penguin with pizzazz. When Little Bo Beep lost her sheep, I’m the guy she went to. When Little Red Riding Hood needed someone to look into the untimely death of her dear old grandmother, she came to me. And when you need someone to ferret through your trash cans, I’m the PI who’ll ferret for clues- for the right price.

That’s what I was doing that night. Ferreting through a trash can. It’s not what you’d call a glamourous job, but someone’s gotta do it. )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 203 - Intrigue
Word Count: 876
Note: ...Part 2/?.
eleventh_doctor: (the neutral icon)
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket


It was a cold night; just right for a penguin like me. It was raining outside. It didn’t make for a pretty picture, but I can’t complain: it’s the only time my office gets a little wash.

I’m Frobisher. Frobisher to my friends, Mr. Frobisher to my enemies. I’m a private investigator. I’m the guy you go to when the chips are down, when the cows make it home, when the pickle jar won’t open and you can almost taste the cucumber-y goodness inside. It’s not the glamourous life you see in the movies. I spend a lot of time chasing runaways, hiding in alleys, and ferreting through trash cans. You name it, I’ll do it. For the right price.

I was having a slow day. It was just about time to close up the office, and I had just poured my last glass of bourbon. Then she walked in. Five-foot-nine inches, and all of it was legs. I couldn’t have kept my eyes off her if I tried. She took one look at the chair growing three kinds of bacteria, then sat down on one of the few clean spots on my desk. She was a smart dame as well as a classy one; the things that had sat on that chair, no dame deserved to see. The minute I could talk without my voice going up an octave, I offered her my last drink.


Dial P for Penguin )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] oncoming_storms
Prompt: 1.9 - I will remember this moment forever
Word Count: 743
eleventh_doctor: (the time lady icon)
It was sunny and nauseatingly bright outside. He shifted his position on the bench. He should’ve told Shana he was sick. It wouldn’t have been a lie; his head hurt like the morning after. He thought wistfully that a night before would have been fun, but he was sure there hadn’t been one to speak of. He had very clear memories of a night spent hitting the books with a cup of coffee and a lamp with a bulb that kept burning out for his company.

Just a bloody headache, run-of-the-mill and average. He clutched his head. ‘Take your niece out for a walk to the park, Mike.’ Right, Shan, he thought bitterly. Take your little monster out of the flat for you so you can spend some quality time with your pig of a boyfriend.

Where was Alice, anyway? He squinted at the playground. Who let all the kids in? How was he supposed to tell which was his? Where the hell had she got to? He left the bench behind, searching the recreation ground and panicking. She wasn’t on the slides, the seesaw, or the monkey bars. He pictured her wandering into the street to play, easy prey for a passing car. He resisted the urge to randomly grab kids and spin them around so he could see their faces. Wouldn’t look good.

Want another sweetie!” screeched a voice pitched high enough to shatter nearby windows. He clutched his head again and ran towards the voice. Alice.

Random Encounters of the Third Kind )


Community: [livejournal.com profile] oncoming_storms
Prompt: 1.5, Appearances Can Be Deceiving
Word Count: 775
Warning: There be a bit of swearing here.
eleventh_doctor: (the oncoming storm)
The room is darkened, the only light centred on the storyteller’s face. His audience, mostly children, gather around him, in chairs and on the ground. The one adult woman in the room sits cross-legged in the back of the room, waiting patiently for the tale to begin.

“I will tell you the story of the most dangerous of all the gods,” the storyteller announces. He takes his time preparing himself, letting the anticipation grow. “Once upon a time,”


Once upon a time, very long ago, when even your fathers’ mothers and fathers were not yet born, the kingdom was peaceful. It was ruled by a kind and just king and his beautiful queen. They had alliances with their neighbouring countries, and all was well with the land.

On the Day of Feasting, when all the land was rejoicing in its prosperity, the king and queen sponsored a great festival for their subjects. Children marched throughout the land waving banners and singing songs, and the people competed in tournaments to show off their courage and skill.

As the day reached the mid point, a mighty wind shook the festival, and the most terrible sounds overtook the singing. A blue box, taller than even I, appeared in the festival. The king and the queen were overjoyed, thinking that it was the chariot of the gods, and that perhaps even the High god himself had come to partake in the festivities. Out of the chariot walked a giant.


Under Cut )


Community: [livejournal.com profile] oncoming_storms
Prompt: 1.1, The Most Dangerous
Word Count: 879
Rating: G
eleventh_doctor: (Default)
There are names for you. Stories. )


Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Eleven, Unnamed Speaker
Prompt: Storm
Word Count: 350
Rating: G
Author's Notes: ...It doesn’t really fit ‘storm’ anymore, does it? It did originally. It’s sort of morphed since then, but storm was the prompt. So I feel mostly completely justified in using the storm prompt.

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