It was too early for this.
I took off my glasses and set them on my desk, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The chair in which I should have been sitting, working on my latest novel, lay demolished in a pile of splinters on the floor, and the culprit stood beside me, looking sheepish.
“Eight,” I groaned, “is such destruction even possible?” The Doctor (one of a few incarnations who’d invited themselves in and occasionally popped in, necessitating that we number them and breaking the first law of time–fortunately with impunity, unless the effects on me prove detrimental to the universe at large,) scuffed his shoes along the floor, looking like a guilty child.
“Theoretically…” he began. I held up a hand.
“Don’t say it.” I sighed. It has only been two weeks, and already this incarnation of the Doctor had managed to break a picture frame, the ugly vase which no one knew where it came from and which was rumored to be cursed (curses are no match for a ditzy Time Lord), a watering can, the horrific statue that has been traumatizing the children ever since Bruck Chun painted that terrible clown face on it, and the fireplace that had once belonged to Madame du Pompadour, which should not have been in my mind palace but for some reason it was, and the resident Time Lords had not had a chance to explain why before one of them broke it.
To be fair about that last one, he had actually fallen into the fireplace, and there was a fire lit. I nearly had a heart attack.
And to be fair to him, I think he’s not really neglectful or careless, more he simply forgets that human things are not made to the standard the ones he tried to smash as a child were.
Just then, Bruck Chun came rushing in in a fury. “All right, own up. Who did it? Who broke my statue?” he demanded angrily, giving us both the Sith eyes. I would kick him out of the mind palace, except I can’t. He’s a recurring villain for one of my latest Star Wars stories.
Slowly, the Doctor raised his hand. “That would be me.” Bruck eyed him coldly.
“And who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m the Doctor.” Bruck shook his head.
“Can’t be. That’s the spiky-haired skinny guy.” I facepalmed. The Doctor grinned widely.
“That’s me in my personal future,” he explained cheerfully. Bruck just looked annoyed.
“Well, you broke the statue,” he growled and swung at the Doctor. It has been a long time since I’d seen someone so humiliated in under thirty seconds, and it ended with the Doctor, using that literally inhuman strength deliberately for once, hurling Bruck bodily out the door.
As we headed outside to play in the newly-fallen snow, he leaned over conspiratorially, “Do you think it’ll stick?” I shook my head.
“He’s an idiot.” The Doctor grinned mischievously.
“Might have to up my game. Next time he’ll expect the Force-opaque effect.” We shared a private giggle and spent the next hour throwing snowballs at each other and sledding down the hill on the backs of our coats.
The Upstairs Archives 