Inachronistic Danger, the Innocent Wheat and the Magic Sock Appeal

Yes, I survived yesterday (mostly)!  And now, continuing onto the Adventurous Time Adventures!


‘What was that, Wilburforce?’ Doctor When turned to ask, just in time to see the Dwarf lay a solid punch onto his reptilian enemy, helped by his spiked leaden knuckles. With the hiss of metal she drew her rapier from its sheath, and the Spaghetti Sisters behind her conjured daggers in each hand. Before them, a horde of anachronistic predators gained ground.

‘I take it this is your anomaly?’ Vermacelli shouted over the sound of a dozen sharp claws tearing soil.

‘Ingeborg’s anomaly,’ the Chrononaut corrected the Sister. ‘But yes, this is surely it.’

Then the time for conversation was past and they were concerned with other matters, such as razor-sharp teeth and not dying upon them.

‘On your left, Doctor!’ Rigatoni warned from behind, and in due course the air beside Doctor When’s left cheek whizzed with the passage of a dagger. It hit a crouching dinosaur where it had sneaked towards them, unseen until that moment. Doctor When grinned at the girl’s reflexes, but was then swinging her rapier towards another foe. The air was full of daggers, reptilian blood and stalks of wheat that were the innocent bystanders in this battle.

When the last dinosaur fell beside its slain kin, the foursome had only a moment to catch their before they were aware of a new danger. A sturdy French farmer was making a beeline for their position, waving his arms and shouting.

‘Ah, I see we’ve gained the attention of the owner of this field,’ Doctor When remarked, crouching down to clean her rapier with a handful of strewn wheat refuse. The Sisters were busy gathering their daggers from their resting places in the thick skin of the defeated creatures, and Wilburforce picked bits of dinosaur meat from his spiked knuckle-dusters.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur,’ the Doctor smiled charmingly at the irate farmer as he drew close. He replied in frantic French, accompanied by sharp arm movements to punctuate his words and aghast expressions at the carnage around them in the very centre of his wheat crop.

‘What’s he saying?’ Vermacelli asked, bemused.

‘Mostly unkind speculation about the professions of our respective mothers.’ Doctor When replied to the man in French with the ease of fluency as she began to retreat, gesturing for the others to follow. She and the farmer continued their exchange, growing louder and more expletive on the part of the latter, until they were back at the site of the Time Machine. Doctor When opened the door and motioned the others to enter first before following through the doorway.

‘Je suis désolé, Monsieur,’ she apologised, closing the door on his reddened face. Inside the Time Machine, all was silent. The others looked at her, disheveled from the fight, somewhat glassy-eyed and confused.

‘We’re leaving?’ Rigatoni asked.

‘Yes, Ingeborg isn’t here.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘The farmer told me.’

‘He said that?’ Vermacelli looked at the Doctor incredulously. ‘From what I gathered he was mainly swearing and talking about his wheat.’

‘Indeed. If Ingeborg was still here he would have had a lot more to say. Something along the lines of, “Oh God, help me now!”’ She turned her attention to the dials, levers and buttons. ‘And so we’re on to the next anomaly! We might even get to see something interesting this time.’

The Spaghetti Sisters exchanged glances, and Wilburforce might have looked equally skeptical if he wasn’t currently being pressed between two sets of shapely legs that were distracting his attention. At least the pay upon completion of this Mission would be excellent, providing they all survived.


So yes, my fingers and their typing ability survived the cold and predatory avian beasts of yesterday!  Aren’t you glad??

In other news, I’m not so sure my feet survived entirely.  They felt (or rather, didn’t feel as they were numb thoroughly) like solid blocks of foot-shaped ice for about 7 hours, and this morning I still have some tingling in my toes.  Ah well.  What’s a bit of nerve damage between friends (or rather, between a girl and her desire to fly gorgeous birds of prey at the cost of her extremities, squeamishness and exhaustion)?

You wouldn’t believe how cold I was, even in my bazillion layers.  Unless you live somewhere properly Arctic, and you’re just laughing at my crapness.  You heartless bastard.

So there’s this phenomenon in Scotland called “freezing fog”.  It’s fog, but frozen.  How does that work?! Regardless, it happened yesterday.  A misty aura of deathly cold vapour sat over the ground all around us, growing ever-thicker once the sun disappeared at around 3ish.  It was the shortest day of the year, and I can honestly say it seemed like the sun was only shining for a mere hour of blessed light and warmth.  Although it rose at 9ish and set at 3-ish, there was only this one hour just after noon where it seemed to do anything useful.

It’ll only get better from here on – longer days and maybe even some above-freezing temperatures!  Yay!  In the meantime, I’m accepting any and all donations of magic foot-heating socks with which to save my poor froze-y toesies.


It’s a good thing I don’t type with my feet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s