Whilst I am familiar with guiding a horse by reins, being seated upon one wasn't my first choice of method of control. Nor was having one hand occupied with holding up a long wooden lance.
This report takes place on another planetary visit hosted by the Doctor. Yet again, I had failed to over-take this planet, which was occupied by human-sized beings, but furrier. A lot furrier. In fact, they had an uncanny resemblance to London's native feline beings, called 'cats' (not as tasty as they look, I recall). The Doctor called these larger felines 'Catkind', and claimed he'd met this species before, rambling about some 'Brannigan' and 'Nurse Hame'. Pah, a fellow nurse. I hope he is ashamed of himself.
In combat, these 'Catkind' are admirably fierce, as they possess claws on their finger-tips. Hopefully, my cuts from these will heal into battle scars. If not, I may have to repeat the words 'fur rug' in public again to make sure there is a mark from this noteworthy species. Their tongues are just as sharp as well (more than a match for the boy, even), as they are quick to insult and assume. I don't know what it is about my appearance that causes species to persist in calling me a 'potato'. Perhaps the vegetables hold more honour than I initially thought?
The four of us got thrown into their primitive version of jail thanks to my brawl. However, the boy, the Doctor and Madame didn't seem to appreciate the opportunity as much as I did to destroy the planet's forces inside-out. Thankfully, the cell was large enough to run around to avoid the Madame's angry hand. Not that I was fleeing out of terror or anything.
While it was of no significant use to me, I thought it might have been important to record the conversation in that cell.
"Interesting," the Doctor had said. "We've travelled a bit further back than expected. Well, a lot further back than expected. It seems we've caught them in the equivalent of the human Medieval Ages."
"And I thought our current time era was uncivilised," the Madame muttered, which the boy responded to with a strange sound ('Oi', or something of the likes) and a jab in the ribs. That was very bad—unrest within the ranks is one of the first steps to failure.
"I could try breakin' out, if y'want?" the boy offered, reaching within his mammal fur to produce a metal piece know as a 'hairpin'.
"No, that'll only make things worse. Besides, they've got the big clunky metal slidey locks, so there'll be no fancy pins to...unpin," the Doctor replied. "I say we wait it out and see what they want, there's no point fighting your way out to prove innocence."
"I could destroy the door," I offered. The boy turned to me, fur fallen to shoulder height.
"With what?"
"Grenades, of course!"
"And where are these grenades, exactly?" It was then I realised that all weaponry had been confiscated at the door, and I didn't reply. Especially when the boy was this agitated and had his fur down to make himself look somewhat bigger. Or was it his head itself that had grown? It's difficult to tell with these humans.
For the rest of the day, I suggested other means of escape, just for them all to be wearily turned down with a 'No Strax' every single time. It's like they weren't even making an effort! I mean, looking a Madame, she'd spent a substantial amount of time just 'playing' with the boy's fur, taking little or no interest in my suggestions.
"If you'd have told me we'd be over-ruled by a bunch of kittens back at home, I thought someone would've drugged your tea," the boy muttered, to which the Doctor responded to with an overly-complex explanation about this species not being kittens. To be honest, I think everyone had lost the will to listen. Then again, I rarely have the will to listen to the pacifistic plans of 'Mr Holmes'.
We were forced to spend the night in the cell as well—the Doctor and I stayed awake to keep watch for disturbances whilst the Madame and the boy curled up together in a corner. How either of them can withstand such levels of intimacy is beyond me.
It seemed on this planet that there are two moons. I believe the Moonites have spread to all moons in the visible universe, and threaten to invade the planets they orbit, so I tried to convey this matter of urgency to the Doctor. Unfortunately, he did not take this warning very kindly, and threatened to get the memory worm to bite me (once he got the chance) if I didn't 'shut up'.
Morning came quicker than it did on Earth, and the doors could be heard bein unbolted from the other sides. I jumped to position while the Doctor woke Madame and the boy.
"You are under the power of the Greater Sontaran Empire! Surrender your women, children and intellectuals or expect to pay in blood!"
"Good luck with that, Sontaran," came the reply from the feline that had unbolted the door. He surveyed the four of us with his strange cat-eyes before calling over its shoulder.
"Two male, two female!" I looked around, confused.
"I am not a woman one!" I proclaimed indignantly. Nevertheless, two felines came in and pushed the Doctor and me out. Evidently, these cats cannot tell the difference between genders.
We were pushed in front of a larger cat who also inspected us. Perhaps he was the troop commander?
"One of you is to enter our jousting tournament this afternoon by means of punishment for public terrorism. You only have to win one match, but the stakes are high and you're against the planet's finest. The conditions are as follows: you are allowed one lance, and one lance only. This lance can be adapted in any way you choose from now until the tournament. You can strike any part of the opponent. You continue jousting until one of you die. Any volunteers?"
Ah, a duel! And to the death, as well! I stepped forward and volunteered, in the name of the Sontaran Empire, and was handed a 'lance' before being pushed back into the cell with all my previously confiscated ammunition.
"Try to escape and you all die on the spot," snarled a cat as the door slammed shut.
The Doctor explained the guidelines to the Madame and the boy as I started upgrading this given 'lance'. It was a very cumbersome weapon, and wasn't particularly well-balanced.
"Well, I do suppose Strax has had the most experience with horses out of the four of us," the Madame commented. I paused and looked up.
"What do horses have to do with this death-match?" The three of them looked at me strangely (I think the expression is called 'worried') before the boy spoke.
"Strax...do y'know what jousting is?" After considering this question, it dawned upon me that I didn't.
"Well, if these cat people can do it, it should be an easy task for the greatest warriors in the universe!" I reasoned, and started striking up a war-chant.
Three hours later, the atmosphere seemed to have changed to 'panicked'. Indeed, I'd only just understood the rules of this new sport of 'jousting', and had only made tiny adjustments to this 'lance' (just general steel reinforcements, electrical amplifiers, cushioned anti-explosive tips and an all-time favourite—serrated edges). Oh, and the tournament started in five minutes.
The boy had been fiddling with something for the entire time, and had only now decided to attempt to install it into the lance. Despite several demands, he refused to reveal its use, just repeating 'open it when you're desperate' instead. I suppose I trusted him enough to follow this order.
In the next ten minutes, I was pushed and pulled about more than I was when visiting the obnoxious tailor of London during his busiest hours. The cats were strapping their poor excuse of 'armour' on me and attempting to heft me onto a horse. As far as I could see, these horses are exactly the same as London horses, but they might not taste the same.
As I mentioned at the beginning of this report, I was not accustomed to guiding a horse from its back. It seemed to move without my command anyway. The lance was more of an issue, as it kept bending its will towards the planet's gravity field. Perhaps I should destroy the planet afterwards?
This horse indeed had a mind of its own, as it seemed to know where to stand and wait. On the other side of the jousting rail. Of course. The stadium we were placed in was full of the puny cat beings, all screaming in celebration, or 'cheering'. Madame, the boy and the Doctor were all forced to watch from the sidelines (good, force! A planet always has potential when the residents use force!). Whilst the other two were quieter than I am used to, the Doctor was shouting support, but seemingly to the horse.
"You'll be fine, Mildred!"
And here I was, thinking humans were strange.
My horse started trotting forward, and it soon escalated to a gallop. At least these horses knew where to go (and at a satisfactory pace). I readied my lance, watching the opponent (most likely another cat) rapidly approaching me on their horse when I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Looking down, there was a bullet hole. Several now. And now even more. I glanced up to see the opponent's lance was hollow, and bullets were rapidly firing out. Try as I may, I couldn't aim my lance to strike them back, but I think my electrically charged lance did give the cat a bit of a shock. The next round came all too soon, as several more bullets impaled Sontaran flesh. I was right about this cat armour then—absolutely useless.
The fifth charge wielded better results. I managed to jab the cat's shoulder, and the lance exploded on impact. A fire promptly started on the fabric, and it felt good to turn around, charge and feel no more bullet holes forming. Needless to say, I was in intense pain, but I feared the injuries would not be fatal. They certainly weren't strong bullets, but more than enough to double me over on Mildred.
Round after round, this continued. No bullets, more fire and explosions, but neither of us suffering too greatly. In fact, it seemed the fire was doing next to no damage, so I attempted to land more shots on the head. However, I recall that my raised lance gave the opponent full access to my ribcage, which is where their lance impaled and stayed. The world swam in and out of focus, and all the bullet wounds seemed to become engulfed by this incredible pain weighing down my left side. Even the ringing cries of the crowd had started to fade into muffled silence.
When it seemed I would all but fall off Mildred, I remembered the boy's orders. Yes, death beckoned, but victory was much, much sweeter. I pulled off the lid of the compartment and inside lay...3 sherbet fancies. Grinning, I swallowed all three at once, and suddenly gained the illusion that I was in perfect working order. I yanked the lance from my side (wobbling a bit on Mildred, but still) just as my opponent made a grab for it. Oh no, a cat never bests a Sontaran warrior. I waited for Mildred to loop back around before carefully taking aim and preparing. At one metre away, I thrust both lances into the cat, one through the chest, the other through the head. Oh the blood! The fire! The roar of the crowd! The near-death experience! It had been years since I'd experienced this type of victory!
The cat-people refused to let me tend to my own wounds, so they decided to extract the bullets and stitch me up. Ugh, I feel infected. Remind me to take a bath in bleach when we arrive home again.
Back in the cell, the four of us were preparing to leave when the Madame asked the boy a question.
"Jenny, dear, just where did you get those sherbet fancies from?"
The boy just winked and sauntered out of the cell.
Soldier's Footnotes: The trigger words/requests used for this reports were: 'Kitty overlords' and 'Can Strax get asked to exterminate roaches? Or accidentally get into a joust in the medieval era?', submitted by the soldier 'spoon' and an anonymous comrade, respectively. May I meet you both on the fields of war where I shall obliterate you for the glory of the Sontarans!
Human Notes: I can't say I'm super-pleased with this chapter. It's a bit like chapter 3, where it is a story, but...dull. How does Strax manage to live with such a boring perspective of everything? Oh, and to the mentioned anonymous, the cockroach idea will still be used!
Please let me know if you have request/trigger word/suggestion/plum flavoured jellybeans!