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I swear the medication is making me dull-witted. Whenever I try to write D/R stuff, it's all extremely boring. It probably doesn't help that I'm in the middle of reading those Lord Peter/Harriet Vane books, so maybe I'm in that mindset.
Doctor: My darling dearest Rose, would you marry me?
Rose: Absolutely not. But listen, those space slugs have given us a horrible time about their alibis, what?
Doctor: Quite. But they say alibis are made to be broken. And I've determined to break theirs, given that I do not believe, as someone would have us to, that the giraffeabear committed suicide.
Me: [STARES]
ETA:
"I don't mean to make myself a nuisance," the Doctor prattled, "but I was hoping we could dine together this evening. Have no fear, I shall be the perfect gentleman in all regards, and you only have to tell me to 'naff off,' as they say, and I'll be gone from your sight."
Rose pondered for a moment. On the one hand, she hated terribly the thought that the Doctor would only gain encouragement from such an outing. But on the other hand, she seemed oddly drawn to his hair.
Rose met the Doctor at The Montague at 7 p.m. sharp, and found him annoyingly attentive. When he asked her to dance, she deferred to her lacking skill, to which he tutted with a, "Nonsense. To dance with you squashing my feet would be heaven itself."
Blast the man!
"My darling Rose, will you marry me?" he asked, as they took a turn near the band. "You will note that it's been a fortnight since I've made a mention of it, and so it should be within propriety. So?"
"Of course not, you idiot," Rose said, unable to help but notice the Doctor was much more muscular than his wiry frame let on.
Returning to their table, the Doctor moved on to other, less awkward matters.
"You really must tell me all about this mystery you've run into in the country. And, I should point out, that I feel a bit wounded I had to read about your activities in the paper instead of hearing about it first-hand."
Rose felt slightly ashamed. After all, the Doctor did deserve to hear directly from her in a matter like this. "It seemed like such a trifling thing at first, nothing to concern yourself with, and next thing I'm suddenly wanted as a witness in the inquest of a giraffeabear. I'd only seen the poor wretch for a moment, but apparently I was the last to see him alive."
"The last, save for the murderer."
"So you don't believe the call of suicide?"
"My dear Rose, why would a giraffeabear ever commit suicide? For love or money, is why. And as I'm told, this particular giraffeabear had none of the former, nor had prospects in that regard, and was well situated in the latter, not a debt in sight."
"The space slugs said as much."
"Space slugs? Why didn't anyone say there were space slugs?! Blast these infernal newspapers, always mixing up the important things. Don't you realize this solves everything? I could kiss you, but don't worry, I won't offend your sensibilities. But this does call for celebration! Rose, please marry me!"
"Don't be ridiculous. We just sat down with brandies."
The following morning, Rose took the Doctor's offer to drive her back to the country village where she'd spent the last few weeks trying very hard to forget everything about the Doctor. It had been a miserable attempt, as he'd crept into her thoughts at the most inconvenient times.
The drive was agreeable enough, and passed without any proposals of marriage, mainly due to the fact that the Doctor took the opportunity to hear every last detail of her encounter with the giraffeabear, and any other observations she had made.
"See here, Rose. You say that the space slugs claim to have been in the Salthead Pub at 1:45, precisely when the...let's call it 'murder' for now. Precisely when the murder is to have taken place. And the coroner is committed to the time of death?"
"Yes, quite. It would seem that giraffeabears' spots fade after death, and judging from when he was found, they placed the time then, give or take five minutes. Do you think the time of death could be off?"
"No, I'm quite certain it should be accurate. Spots are impossible to fake. I've seen it tried before, and it's never believable. No, love of my life, I think the space slugs are lying."
"But why...of course! A space slug would never go to the Salthead Pub! Not with the floors being made of salt!"
"Precisely. It'd make them queasy. But they were banking on the fact that no one would be aware of this trait," he said, pulling into the quaint village.
"But hold on, they were seen in the pub by many credible witnesses."
"Ah, yes. There's the problem. One I hope to make short work of. Oh, look here! Is that Jack and Ianto? How spiffing of them to come down on the case. And there are two people who are proof that marriage can be an agreeable state, and not at all a bore."
"They do seem to be the exception of a very dreary rule."
"There can be other exceptions, you know. I won't trouble you to ask you to marry me again, but I can't help but wonder if you might have a different answer upon seeing fine representatives of matrimonial bliss."
"Don't be silly."
"I thought not, but hello. Here are the space slugs!"
The Doctor jumped out of the car with the spryness in a man half his age, and approached the slugs who were attempting to dodge him in a very unsuccessful manner.
"What ho! Now there's no use in trying to get around it, space slugs. I know about the salamanders you hired to impersonate you. They had an unseemly flash of conscious when I sent my man Brigadier around to them last night."
Rose marvelled, and not for the first time, that in his position, the Doctor had so many connections to the underworld. And was a bit annoyed with him for not sharing his plan about the Brigadier after he'd chastised her for something similar.
"You'll never prove it!" a space slug cried.
They attempted to wiggle off once more, but were intercepted by the Chief Inspector and a very familiar-looking giraffeabear.
"Bad luck for you," the Chief Inspector told them. "You murdered the wrong giraffeabear. He was, in fact, his identical twin, and had been on his way to see his brother when he caught sight of you murdering the poor blighter. The shock was such that he went into a coma, only to awake just now."
"Well, that's a quick end of that!" Rose exclaimed.
"Too true. What's say we join Jack and Ianto for a spot of tea and matrimony? I hear the Hampshire Inn does them both quite well."
Rose considered. "You are a fool, you know that? But yes. Let's."
"The tea or the matrimony?"
"Why not both?"
"Darling Rose! Do you mean it?"
"I suppose I must."
Doctor: My darling dearest Rose, would you marry me?
Rose: Absolutely not. But listen, those space slugs have given us a horrible time about their alibis, what?
Doctor: Quite. But they say alibis are made to be broken. And I've determined to break theirs, given that I do not believe, as someone would have us to, that the giraffeabear committed suicide.
Me: [STARES]
ETA:
"I don't mean to make myself a nuisance," the Doctor prattled, "but I was hoping we could dine together this evening. Have no fear, I shall be the perfect gentleman in all regards, and you only have to tell me to 'naff off,' as they say, and I'll be gone from your sight."
Rose pondered for a moment. On the one hand, she hated terribly the thought that the Doctor would only gain encouragement from such an outing. But on the other hand, she seemed oddly drawn to his hair.
Rose met the Doctor at The Montague at 7 p.m. sharp, and found him annoyingly attentive. When he asked her to dance, she deferred to her lacking skill, to which he tutted with a, "Nonsense. To dance with you squashing my feet would be heaven itself."
Blast the man!
"My darling Rose, will you marry me?" he asked, as they took a turn near the band. "You will note that it's been a fortnight since I've made a mention of it, and so it should be within propriety. So?"
"Of course not, you idiot," Rose said, unable to help but notice the Doctor was much more muscular than his wiry frame let on.
Returning to their table, the Doctor moved on to other, less awkward matters.
"You really must tell me all about this mystery you've run into in the country. And, I should point out, that I feel a bit wounded I had to read about your activities in the paper instead of hearing about it first-hand."
Rose felt slightly ashamed. After all, the Doctor did deserve to hear directly from her in a matter like this. "It seemed like such a trifling thing at first, nothing to concern yourself with, and next thing I'm suddenly wanted as a witness in the inquest of a giraffeabear. I'd only seen the poor wretch for a moment, but apparently I was the last to see him alive."
"The last, save for the murderer."
"So you don't believe the call of suicide?"
"My dear Rose, why would a giraffeabear ever commit suicide? For love or money, is why. And as I'm told, this particular giraffeabear had none of the former, nor had prospects in that regard, and was well situated in the latter, not a debt in sight."
"The space slugs said as much."
"Space slugs? Why didn't anyone say there were space slugs?! Blast these infernal newspapers, always mixing up the important things. Don't you realize this solves everything? I could kiss you, but don't worry, I won't offend your sensibilities. But this does call for celebration! Rose, please marry me!"
"Don't be ridiculous. We just sat down with brandies."
The following morning, Rose took the Doctor's offer to drive her back to the country village where she'd spent the last few weeks trying very hard to forget everything about the Doctor. It had been a miserable attempt, as he'd crept into her thoughts at the most inconvenient times.
The drive was agreeable enough, and passed without any proposals of marriage, mainly due to the fact that the Doctor took the opportunity to hear every last detail of her encounter with the giraffeabear, and any other observations she had made.
"See here, Rose. You say that the space slugs claim to have been in the Salthead Pub at 1:45, precisely when the...let's call it 'murder' for now. Precisely when the murder is to have taken place. And the coroner is committed to the time of death?"
"Yes, quite. It would seem that giraffeabears' spots fade after death, and judging from when he was found, they placed the time then, give or take five minutes. Do you think the time of death could be off?"
"No, I'm quite certain it should be accurate. Spots are impossible to fake. I've seen it tried before, and it's never believable. No, love of my life, I think the space slugs are lying."
"But why...of course! A space slug would never go to the Salthead Pub! Not with the floors being made of salt!"
"Precisely. It'd make them queasy. But they were banking on the fact that no one would be aware of this trait," he said, pulling into the quaint village.
"But hold on, they were seen in the pub by many credible witnesses."
"Ah, yes. There's the problem. One I hope to make short work of. Oh, look here! Is that Jack and Ianto? How spiffing of them to come down on the case. And there are two people who are proof that marriage can be an agreeable state, and not at all a bore."
"They do seem to be the exception of a very dreary rule."
"There can be other exceptions, you know. I won't trouble you to ask you to marry me again, but I can't help but wonder if you might have a different answer upon seeing fine representatives of matrimonial bliss."
"Don't be silly."
"I thought not, but hello. Here are the space slugs!"
The Doctor jumped out of the car with the spryness in a man half his age, and approached the slugs who were attempting to dodge him in a very unsuccessful manner.
"What ho! Now there's no use in trying to get around it, space slugs. I know about the salamanders you hired to impersonate you. They had an unseemly flash of conscious when I sent my man Brigadier around to them last night."
Rose marvelled, and not for the first time, that in his position, the Doctor had so many connections to the underworld. And was a bit annoyed with him for not sharing his plan about the Brigadier after he'd chastised her for something similar.
"You'll never prove it!" a space slug cried.
They attempted to wiggle off once more, but were intercepted by the Chief Inspector and a very familiar-looking giraffeabear.
"Bad luck for you," the Chief Inspector told them. "You murdered the wrong giraffeabear. He was, in fact, his identical twin, and had been on his way to see his brother when he caught sight of you murdering the poor blighter. The shock was such that he went into a coma, only to awake just now."
"Well, that's a quick end of that!" Rose exclaimed.
"Too true. What's say we join Jack and Ianto for a spot of tea and matrimony? I hear the Hampshire Inn does them both quite well."
Rose considered. "You are a fool, you know that? But yes. Let's."
"The tea or the matrimony?"
"Why not both?"
"Darling Rose! Do you mean it?"
"I suppose I must."