taxonomites | twelve | location: streets of taxon |

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twelve | location: streets of taxon |

The Doctor has to start working eventually. And while nobody hates the idea of working quite like the Doctor hates working, he hates the idea of being back in prison even more than that.

So, behold the Doctor, carrying things from a replication unit to the square where he's working on his next project. At present, the things he's creating are three-foot pieces of metal. He's spitting out a few at a time, and then moving them to a large pile where he has more already stacked up.

There's also a series of papers he's had made up sitting not far off from the stacks of sheet metal. They read: MISSING: ONE SONIC SCREWDRIVER. HONESTLY, NOW, STEALING ISN'T RIGHT AT ALL, IS IT?

Oh, he's also got a plate of pink-frosted cupcakes. A Time Lord's gotta eat, y'all.

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"Guess that's reassuring." He's still looking over the Doctor's materials, casually. "So. You afraid I'm snitching for the hamsters, then?"

"Would you blame me if I was?" the Doctor asks. He gets the feeling this Samuel Spade is about as sharp as his namesake. Which, he supposes, is a good thing in this place.

"Just the opposite, actually. It'd be smart of them to have one or two spies who aren't the brain-dead waitstaff. Even if they don't, they can be relying on the fact we'll wonder if they do." He ashes the cigarette to one side.

"But. Don't know if the whole city'll see it that way."

"They'll want to know what I'm up to," the Doctor says, picking up his sonic and working on welding two bits of metal together.

"And I'll tell them what they need to know."

Spade considers, nods as if to say "fair enough," and watches a moment longer. He runs out of cigarette, drops it, and extinguishes it with his shoe.

"You know if there are any other aliens kidnapped? Seems like most folks I'm running into are human."

"Well, there're a few of us," the Doctor says. "Not sure how many, I don't think everyone who looks human wants to come out of the offworlder-closet."

"Guess I can't blame them. People get punchy, rumor has aliens are responsible for it, don't know what people will do." But it would make it harder to see patterns, if people lied about who and what they were. Not that Spade really expected anything different. There were lies enough at home, why not even more in a place like Taxon?

"Hamsters," the Doctor says, sounding irritated. "Intergalactic space hamsters, probably, but hamsters, definitely."

"That's the word on the street," he concedes. He wasn't here for their visit, but he's heard the same story from more than one quarter, now.

"They arrived not long after I was arrested," he says. "I like to think it's because I caught their attention, but..."

He doubts he's even a speck on their radar.

"What'd they do when they popped in?"

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twelve | location: streets of taxon |

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