Meeeeeeeme
For honest_illusion:
“You know what we should do,” Donna said, after the third hyper-vodka. “We should take over the world, and see if they notice. You've got the military experience, my super-temp abilities could handle the red tape - we could make it work.”
She and John had started drinking after the fourth hour the Doctor and Sherlock had been so deep in conversation that nothing short of an explosion would probably distract them. John had been mildly surprised to find a fully-stocked bar - complete with bar, bar stools, and robotic bartender - in the TARDIS, but Donna had lost all capability to be perturbed by what could be found in the ship. They slumped companionably at the bar, nursing their drinks and bemoaning their friends' lack of common sense. John had, in the spirit of adventure, started trying drinks that sounded absolutely bizarre; and was currently nursing something called a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. He still wasn't sure how it could taste like a lemon-wrapped gold brick hitting his head, but he was positive the hangover was going to be spectacular.
“I doubt they would, but I expect after the first five minutes of implementing our master plan we'd get a nasty call from Mycroft,” John replied, screwing up his courage and shooting the last bit of his drink. “Barkeep, what's next?”
“Who's Mycroft?” Donna asked.
The robot bartender slid another glass in from of John, this one glowing fuchsia and slightly smoking. “Sherlock's older brother. Sherlock's fond of calling him the British government, and I'm not sure he's far wrong.” John eyed the drink and decided not to ask what this one was called.
“I think that's one of Jack's concoctions...Volcano Day, I think he called it,” Donna supplied helpfully.
“Jack? As in Captain Harkness of Torchwood?” John stared in horror at the gently glowing drink. Definitely, not knowing would have been better.
Donna giggled. “Oh, you've met?”
“Took over a case of Sherlock's a few months back, he had a days-long strop about it. Jack took us out for drinks after as an apology; I gather he occasionally asks for Sherlock's help and wanted to stay on his good side.” The few memories John had of the outing involved equally frightening drinks and singing army songs from the top of a lion in Trafalgar Square at some ungodly hour of the morning. “Never did find those pants...”
“Jack probably has them,” Donna said, nodding owlishly.
“I didn't take my trousers off!” John protested.
“Definitely Jack,” she said firmly.
John picked up the scary drink and slammed it back.
~~~~~
Your second question wasn't something that wanted to become a drabble, mostly because I, uh, don't seem to be able to write fic about myself. So...probably Jack Harkness? Because, c'mon, centuries of experience have to count for *something*, and I think I could be okay with a short fling. (However, out of all 15, I'd definitely go with Tosh in a hot minute if you'd asked about a slow, sweet seduction with intent to keep FOREVER AND EVER - that girl needs somebody to treat her right, dammit!)
“You know what we should do,” Donna said, after the third hyper-vodka. “We should take over the world, and see if they notice. You've got the military experience, my super-temp abilities could handle the red tape - we could make it work.”
She and John had started drinking after the fourth hour the Doctor and Sherlock had been so deep in conversation that nothing short of an explosion would probably distract them. John had been mildly surprised to find a fully-stocked bar - complete with bar, bar stools, and robotic bartender - in the TARDIS, but Donna had lost all capability to be perturbed by what could be found in the ship. They slumped companionably at the bar, nursing their drinks and bemoaning their friends' lack of common sense. John had, in the spirit of adventure, started trying drinks that sounded absolutely bizarre; and was currently nursing something called a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. He still wasn't sure how it could taste like a lemon-wrapped gold brick hitting his head, but he was positive the hangover was going to be spectacular.
“I doubt they would, but I expect after the first five minutes of implementing our master plan we'd get a nasty call from Mycroft,” John replied, screwing up his courage and shooting the last bit of his drink. “Barkeep, what's next?”
“Who's Mycroft?” Donna asked.
The robot bartender slid another glass in from of John, this one glowing fuchsia and slightly smoking. “Sherlock's older brother. Sherlock's fond of calling him the British government, and I'm not sure he's far wrong.” John eyed the drink and decided not to ask what this one was called.
“I think that's one of Jack's concoctions...Volcano Day, I think he called it,” Donna supplied helpfully.
“Jack? As in Captain Harkness of Torchwood?” John stared in horror at the gently glowing drink. Definitely, not knowing would have been better.
Donna giggled. “Oh, you've met?”
“Took over a case of Sherlock's a few months back, he had a days-long strop about it. Jack took us out for drinks after as an apology; I gather he occasionally asks for Sherlock's help and wanted to stay on his good side.” The few memories John had of the outing involved equally frightening drinks and singing army songs from the top of a lion in Trafalgar Square at some ungodly hour of the morning. “Never did find those pants...”
“Jack probably has them,” Donna said, nodding owlishly.
“I didn't take my trousers off!” John protested.
“Definitely Jack,” she said firmly.
John picked up the scary drink and slammed it back.
~~~~~
Your second question wasn't something that wanted to become a drabble, mostly because I, uh, don't seem to be able to write fic about myself. So...probably Jack Harkness? Because, c'mon, centuries of experience have to count for *something*, and I think I could be okay with a short fling. (However, out of all 15, I'd definitely go with Tosh in a hot minute if you'd asked about a slow, sweet seduction with intent to keep FOREVER AND EVER - that girl needs somebody to treat her right, dammit!)