Word Count: 1477
Author's Summary: The Doctor has a certain reputation. Sometimes this is useful, sometimes not. Sometimes extremely not. Rated for 2 swear words.
Characters/Pairings: Ten, some original characters
Recced because: In recent Doctor Who there's been a lot of mining of the Doctor's fearsome reputation for angst and tragedy, but queriton shows us how wrong we all were: we should have been mining it for hilarity, or at least hilarious tragedy.
One of my favorite kinds of stories are those that take a simple misunderstanding as their premise and follow it through to its logical, if ludicrous, ending. This fic is a prime example, with a quick pace, fun original characters, and a glib wit reminiscent of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
“It isn’t good, sir.” Sweat was beading on the general’s forehead.
“Out with it!”
“It appears he was alone, sir.” The beads merged, forming a rivulet, which wandered restlessly down one stubbled cheek.
“You’re right. Not good.”
“And unarmed.” A pearl of sweat found the general’s eye, which twitched involuntarily. He looked rather like a constipated ferret and was clearly stalling.
His Excellency said nothing, hoping against all logical expectation for a reprieve. The silence pooled and lengthened uncomfortably. He knew what was coming next.
“He surrendered, sir.” The words were bleak and hopeless, and echoed like a death knell.