TROUSERBUTT/DOCTOR WHO by Nathan @Baboonicorn

I wasn’t sure how to conclude this, so I didn’t. Imagine that it’s one of the weaker old Who storylines where everything spans over about thirty episodes and they spend a significant chunk of them just running about. I’ve deliberately tried not to specify which Doctor – any clues are entirely accidental.

With a harsh grinding whine, the battered blue box materialised on a crumbling stone bridge, sending a few scattered pebbles down into the thicket of thorns and briars that scratched and scraped at the high stone walls below.

Two figures emerged from within, one male, one female.

“Where are we, Doctor?” asked the woman, with an almost practised level of wonderment.

The one known as the Doctor waved a glowing wand about his environs, before matter-of-factly stating,

“Certainly not Imperial Vienna. It’s still Earth… but… it’s 1330 and we’re in Dornröschen Castle, in what you’d now call southern Germany. Oddly enough, things seem awfully quiet,”

He was not wrong – no sentries patrolled the walls and no guards had rushed to intercept the strangers.

“Where is everyone?” asked the Doctor’s companion,

“Well, they’re alive, the TARDIS picked up multiple life signs inside the keep on the way down.”

The pair picked their way along the battlements and into a guardroom inside one of the turrets. There, they were confronted by a most odd sight – an entire garrison of men-at-arms clad in their heraldic gear, snoring in an undignified heap on the flagstones, propped up sleeping against walls or slumped unconscious against their arrowslits, crossbows slipped from their slumbering fingers.

“Mass narcolepsy! There is normally an explanation for this sort of thing, and I intend to find it!”

Running up and down the corridors, they entered another room, and another, each one filled with liveried servants, cooks, cleaners, flunkies and sundry, all trapped in an unwakeable sleep. In one room, a spinning wheel sat unattended, the needle slightly bloodied. Dumped unceremoniously on the floor lay a pair of pantaloons, the trouser-butt ripped and in need of repair. And in another, a canopied bed in which a finely-garbed teenage girl lay in silent repose.

“Do you know what’s causing it, Doctor?”

“There are two morphic fields at play here! But that doesn’t seem likely. Why would someone do this twice? And, while such a thing is relatively easy to reverse – with the right frequency – it’s almost impossible to determine what collapsing one field will do to the other”

“Any clue who’s behind it?”

“Not without some sort of motive. And for that, we’d  need to find somebody who can actually hold a conversation…”

~ Nathan @baboonicorn 2015


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