Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, more's the pity. (sniff ) Please don't sue me or steal my silly little story.
NOTE: Although this story does not actually contain talking chipmunks, the inspiration that spawned it owes a nod to the new Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. I really loved the Chipmunks' TV show and the Chipmunk Adventure movie when I was little (Simon's my favorite), so I was terribly nervous going with my sister to see this new live-action film. But despite our apprehension, we ended up having loads of fun! I don't care what the critics say, I always thought Dave's character was boring and flat so there's really no change there. What mattered to me was that, despite the story's simplicity and a slightly irritating case of pop-flavored oversinging near the end, the Chipmunks' sweet, mischievous personalities were spot-on! I came out of that movie laughing and so happy I needed to write a story, and here it is. It's silly and short and has two parts. Hope you like it!
P.S. Apart from this, I've also got a short Christmassy story currently in the works, and I'm about a quarter of the way through my next update for Nowhere Men. Both of these should be up within the next few weeks. Until then, here's a happy holidays message from the Beatles' 1963 Christmas Record to keep the spirits bright:
GARRY CRIMBLE TO YOU,
GARRY MIMBLE TO YOU,
GETTY BABLE, DEAR CHRISTMAS,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ME TOO.
Merry Happy Holidays Everyone!
Planet of the Chipmunks
By Rowena Zahnrei
Part One: The Bet
Donna Noble slammed the TARDIS doors shut and sagged against them, fighting to catch her breath. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was a mess, her once elegant dress was hanging from her shoulders in baggy shreds, and her shoes were coated so thickly with mud that it was impossible to tell their original color. The Doctor, by contrast, looked as dapper as ever as he pranced around his ship's center console, making pasta or whatever it was he did up there with all those levers and knobs. The fact that the ancient Time Lord's wildly tousled hair and flushed face only improved his deceptively boyish good looks, while Donna looked like something a cat wouldn't deign to touch, let alone drag in, sent a wave of irritation flooding through his ragged companion. Her eyes flared, and she stamped her foot, sending flecks of greenish mud spattering all over the floor grating.
"Right, Martian Boy," she snapped, the sharpness of her voice causing the Doctor to stop in his tracks. "That's the last time I listen to you. I've had it!"
"Sorry…what was that?" the Doctor asked, needing a moment to shift his concentration from plotting coordinates to confronting an irate Donna.
"Are you deaf as well as blind, then?" she glared, gesturing to her ruined outfit. "Or did you fail to notice we were just chased nearly three miles across a stinking swamp by a herd of giant alien whelk…snail…things!"
"Caenogastropodians," the Doctor informed her, the 24-point word rolling off his tongue like a glass marble. "Surprisingly quick ones, too. I'm impressed. On most planets, gastropods have a reputation for being slow, cumbersome creatures, but these–"
"Oh, shut it you," Donna snapped, jabbing the air with a muddy, accusing finger. "I don't care about your bloody biology lesson! You promised me a spa. A five-star resort with first class service, luxury mud-wraps, beds made from scented clouds, restaurants famed throughout the galaxy, chocolates that actually make you slimmer! An' what did I get? Hm? GIANT BLOODY WHELKS!!!"
"You're upset," the Doctor noted with his characteristic astuteness.
"You think?" Donna shot back. "Look at me! Look at my dress! I'm slathered in mud!"
The Doctor opened his mouth, but Donna cut him off with a glare. "An' don't you dare make a crack about my gettin' a free mud bath, because I am so not in the mood!"
The Doctor's mouth snapped shut and he sighed, suddenly looking very tired.
"All right," he said. "I'll admit this trip didn't turn out quite as planned–"
"This trip?" Donna exclaimed, marching up the ramp to confront him at close range. The Doctor took a defensive step back. "Try any trip. I can count on one finger the number of times we turned up exactly where and when we were supposed to be, an' even then we wound up nearly gettin' killed! Once–just once–I'd like to actually go someplace where the trip doesn't end with us runnin' for our lives! Or–better–even runnin' at all! Yeah, that's what I'd like: a nice, relaxing holiday with no running or screaming or muck or monsters or any of the rest of the horrors that seem to trail you like a shadow. Jus' sun and smiles and–oh, someplace happy! Someplace happy that stays happy all the time we're there. An' I don't mean some, like, intergalactic EuroDisney," she warned.
The Doctor looked thoughtful. "Someplace happy..." He ran a hand through his ruffled hair, mussing it even more, then looked up at her with a bright smile. "I can do that."
Donna raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Prove it," she challenged.
The Time Lord straightened. "Five quid," he said.
"Ten," she glared back.
"Right!" The Doctor nodded once, smartly, then turned to pounce on the controls. "You just lost ten quid. Hold on tight!" He beamed at her through the time column's pulsing, greenish light, the promise of adventure a dangerous glint in his bright brown eyes. Donna moaned and grabbed onto the side of the console as the TARDIS lurched around her.
"Tell me," she said as the nausea-inducing jolts slowly smoothed out, "you've been drivin' this thing for…what? Five, six thousand years?"
"Oi!" The Doctor exclaimed, rather affronted by her gross overestimation of his age. "Your point?"
Donna smirked and pushed off the console, apparently oblivious to the muddy handprints she left behind. "Nothin'." She frowned down at the stiffening folds of her dress. "Uck, this muck's startin' to form a crust. I need a shower. Now. An' Doctor, I'll be expectin' that ten quid when I get back. In modern currency, mind–none of that Victorian stuff you tried to pawn off on me last time!"
The Doctor watched her leave, then smiled slightly to himself, using a handy cloth to wipe the console clean. His friend had just been pursued by monstrous gastropods and she was sporting a veritable coat of sticky mud, yet for all her complaining she hadn't asked to go home. Yep, it seemed Donna Noble was adjusting to this life just fine. With a feeling of satisfaction, the Doctor left the TARDIS to pilot herself the rest of the way, striding down the corridor on his mud-soaked trainers to grab a quick shower of his own.
To Be Concluded… Please Review!