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legobiwan · 4 years

Note

could you do 18 and 100 for the trope mash up thing? (And if you want two characters, Obi-wan and Hondo?- I got a little confused with your added instructions to the trope mashup)

Circus AU / Accidentally Saving the Day (Hondo & Obi-wan)

Anon, I had to WORK for this one and even did a little research into circus history since I am woefully undereducated about the topic. I think I’ve found an interesting way of weaving these all together and giving a little bonus at the end. Stick with me here, I need to do a bit of an introduction to get this whole idea going.

For the purposes of this AU, please assume that the Clone War and all the events surrounding it happened directly after Naboo, meaning everyone is about 10 years younger than they are in canon. Also assume that Qui-gon was not killed on Naboo, although that has little bearing on this particular story.

THIS GOT OUT OF CONTROL. I was expecting to write a fun little 1,000 word thing, not a whole AU concept. But here we are, so….uh…

We’ll see what everyone thinks? Enjoy. And good luck :D

—-

“How are they doing?” Szimon Tesdak asked, thin, long mustache bobbing up and down at the ends.

The other man patted the Pamaradian prancer’s neck, running his fingers through the thick mane of her hair. The prancer shivered, eyes darting back and forth, hooves tapping nervously on the durasteel floor. The man known as Whisp spoke softly in the creature’s ear, the words foreign to even Szimon’s cosmopolitan ears. A few moments later, the prancer settled, nuzzling her snout into Whisp’s shoulder.

Whisp turned to face Szimon. “They’re restless,” he said. “Fourteen hours in a cruiser is a bit much for anyone to take.”

Szimon waved the veiled criticism away with a flick of his wrist. Yes, it had been a long journey, but the payoff would - hopefully - be worth it. And they needed the credits - or whatever these people were going to pay.

“An hour more and we’ll be there,” Szimon said with false confidence.

Whisp stood, crossing his arms tight against his chest, the black-and-crimson fabric of his worn travel tunic wrinkling with the gesture. There was a hint of beard on the young man’s chin, something that, when it grew in, would likely age him a good ten years. The man peered at Szimon with grey-blue eyes like he was trying to ace one of those vision tests at a local spaceport agency. Always looking for hidden meaning, he is.

And sometimes he finds it.

At least with the creatures, that had been the case. Two years Whisp had been working for Szimon and never had the older circus master figured out the man’s trick. Szimon had spent his life in the circus, from his childhood on Thybaar right up the grand days of the bright Coruscant lights to his now-ramshackle operation held together by thread, petty theft, and the occasional cashing in on favors owed.

Szimon had seen it all - and more, but nothing like Whisp and his ability to communicate with the creatures, like he was reading their minds. “The Whisperer,” the other members had taken to calling him. The moniker had stuck, albeit in shortened form, Whisp’s real name - whatever it had been - long forgotten.

“Remind me again why we’re flying out to the Outer Rim for a show? Seems a bit of an expense when we could just as easily round up a few smaller venues for far less hassle,” Whisp said.

“Ah, Whisp, ever the cynic,” Szimon clapped a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t think of it as a hassle,” he waved a dramatic hand, as if unveiling something from a behind a curtain. “But as an expansion of our operations.”

Whisp cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly difficult seeing as our operations comprised of three planets the past month, two of which we never actually got to land on.”

Szimon snorted. Well, yes, business had been down because of the war. Szimon himself cared little for the politics of the Republic or the Separatists. A government was a government, with all its little games and corruptions, mazes of betrayal, and endless mountains of datawork. No, Szimon Tesdak would never be chained behind one of those desks.

But many others were, shackled to unfulfilling jobs and lives, stuck in a desert of mediocrity and boredom. That was where Szimon came in. Unhappy citizens tended to breed unhappy revolts. But give them a nice circus, something to laugh at, a little magic that was absent from their day-to-day existence?

It didn’t really matter who was in power. The problems, the outcomes -they were always the same in the end.

Still, the war had been disruptive to his business and over the past few months, the “Great Thybaarian Traveling Show” had been forced into semi-refugee status as planet after planet was devastated by the conflict between a mechanical and clone army. Circuses were part of avoiding war, not conducting it.

Szimon shook off the dark thoughts with a wide smile. “Come on now, Whisp. We’re going to make great friends on the Outer Rim. My benefactor has promised a large sum, maybe even a sponsorship if we play our cards right.”

“I thought they were pirates,” Whisp retorted, half-smile playing on his face.

Szimon made an airy gesture, chuckling. “Pirates, embezzlers, Hutts. As long as we get paid, I’ll work for the Sith themselves.”

Whisp tightened under Szimon’s arm, which was wrapped around the thin man’s shoulders. Some unreadable emotion passed over his face, a premonition of a storm. After a moment, he spoke, hesitant.

“I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Szimon exclaimed, shaking Whisp. “Come on, we have to make preparations for landing and I’m not letting Battlebuzz near those controls again.“

—–

“That was a very impressive show, my friend,” the pirate known as Hondo Ohnaka sidled up to Whisp, unceremoniously dropping into the seat next to him, tankard full of green ale.

Whisp looked up from his own mug, half-consumed, eyeing the pirate warily. “Thank you,” he replied, adding, “I think,” after a moment’s hesitation. It never hurt to be too cautious around pirates.

“All those acrobats, all the flips and whooshes.” Hondo made an extravagant gesture with his arm, nearly taking Whisp’s head off. “And the beautiful women dancing to such music, it shouldn’t be allowed!” he grinned, giving Whisp a knowing look. ”My men, they enjoy that - some of my women, too!” Hondo cackled, downing the entirety of his pint in one go, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But you, my friend - with the creatures.” The pirate’s voice turned a shade serious and several parsecs more calculating. Whisp bit his lip, steeling himself to steer another drunken conversation away from this dangerous territory. “Yes, the creatures,” Hondo continued, nearly singing. “Now that was something I’ve never seen before. Most beast tamers use weapons.” The pirate made a few motions mimicking a whip. “They use fear and intimidation but you!” He pointed a finger that almost went up Whisp’s nose. “Ah, it was almost like you talked to them with your mind.”

Whisp gave a forced shrug, his pulse starting to race. He needed to stay calm. Needed to focus on the present, not his anxieties. He laughed to himself, bitter, wholly aware of the gross irony of that statement. “Just an ability I’ve had since my youth,” he said, voice flat. “Better me in the circus than those brutish weapons-wielding tamers you mentioned.” Whisp scowled. That much was the truth. Whisp couldn’t abide by their methods, couldn’t stand the way the pain and fear radiated from the abused creatures. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but if he could give a second chance to even a single Borcatu, if he could find a home for those who had been cast out -

Anger trilled at the back Whisp’s brain, a sensuous, lush melody more tempting than any of the ribald pirate ballads in the background.

Hondo beckoned at another Weequay, grabbing two pints from a serving tray, setting one in front of Whisp in an unspoken command. “Yes, your youth. Tell me about that. Your accent is polished, very posh, very Core World.” Very monied. If only, Whisp rued.

It had been too much effort to try and tame his accent, which stood out amongst Szimon’s motley crew of performers like a neon bell weed in the desert.

Whisp took a long sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. The new alcohol was a step higher in quality than the dredge he had been drinking before. He peered to Ohnaka on his right, wondering if he was about to be drugged, kidnapped, or worse. Oh well, he thought, drinking some more of the beverage. Might as well enjoy while I can.

“I was brought up in the Core,” Whisp recited, setting his glass down, not even needing to think about the words he had said them so many times. “My family, unfortunately, abandoned me, so I took to farming in the Mid-Rim as a means of sustaining myself. It was there I discovered I had an affinity for creatures and then did some work in healing clinics before the war broke out. The Republic Army took over all the planetary clinics so I was forced into finding…” Whisp bobbed his head, “more creative ways to apply my talents.”

“Interesting,” Hondo noted, his gaze greedy as he looked Whisp up and down. Whisp’s other hand moved to his waist. So much for enjoying. He fingered the blaster he had hidden under his red and silver vest, neatly tucked away in a shoulder holster.

Hondo held out a hand. “I don’t mean to cause you alarm, my young friend,” he said with a laugh, sitting back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table. “You can put your blaster away, I only want to talk business.”

Whisp’s hand tightened for a moment before he raised an open palm in a universal gesture of surrender, his brow furrowed.

“What type of business?”

“What type indeed?” Hondo hummed, rocking his feet back and forth in time to the bawdy, clangorous music. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Tergallian and Lopisa had gotten into a knife-throwing contest with some of the pirates. Whisp had a feeling the Weequay had bet on it and that the pirates were about to lose their shirts, pants, shoes, and who knew what else in the deal. Might have to make a quick getaway if there’s enough of a ruckus, Whisp thought, eyeing the locations of the exits and the best strategies to get there without being shot.

Again, he winced.

“Oh, you won’t make it out, I promise” Hondo commented, his expression still jovial. “All the exits are under full guard and I guarantee there’s no other way out unless it’s by my command.” He pressed a finger into the table, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Unless,” he began after a moment, “you are a Jedi.”

Whisp was off his stool in an instant, blaster in hand. Not wanting a direct confrontation, he pointed it towards the ground, the table hiding the weapon from the view of most of the other pirates and circus members. Off in the corner, Szimon’s eyes grew wide as he made a series of furious movements in Whisp’s driection.

“I’m fine,” Whisp signed back in the strange language of gestures known only to those in this particular circus, an easy way to communicate on stage while looking artistic and also a not bad method of either avoiding trouble or sometimes finding it - if their pockets and stomachs were empty enough.

Hondo clasped his hands behind his head, looking unconcerned. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, lips quirking upwards as if he had just figured out some baffling puzzle. “Only warn you about my security system. But let us not talk of such things, as they disturb you and as my dear mother always said - “ Hondo raised a finger. “Son! You catch more apidactyls with honey. And if that doesn’t work, you can still catch them with a blaster.”

Not worth the fight. Not even sure I’d win this fight, Whisp sighed inwardly. Knowing when he was outmatched, or at least when to choose his battles, Whisp retook his seat with a muttered curse.

“Fine, then. What do you want from me?”

Hondo smiled. “Ah, now we talk business,” he shrugged. “Nothing much, my friend. And nothing - mostly - to do with your little traveling show. But the circus isn’t going to pay you forever and a man of your many talents - ” Hondo leaned forward, putting both forearms on the table. “Could fetch a pretty hefty payday if he found himself aligned with the right people.”

Whisp’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering me a job?”

Hondo raised both arms. “Maybe, if you are willing to - “

“Hondo!” A large, burly man came barreling into the room. At once, the music stopped with a zippered rip of a holodisc jarred from its needle, pirates and circus members alike turning to the wide-eyed, heaving pirate.

“We got trouble out there!”

Immediately, Hondo came to his feet, blaster in hand. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think it’s the Republic! Looks like them, at least. They’re tryin’ a fall back to our compound!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hondo growled, raising his weapon. “No one takes over Hondo Ohnaka’s compound without my permission!”

—-

Blaster fire rang out from all sides, a multicolored lattice of deadly energy. To Whisp’s surprise, Hondo was near the vanguard of the pirates, shooting at the incoming wave of bright, white uniforms with terrifying precision. The pirates were good, Whisp had to give them that, the transition from unruly drunkards to semi-disciplined guerrilla fighters more seamless than Whisp thought possible.

“Any ideas?” Szimon asked next to him, the pair huddled behind a large boulder, just out of range of the real fighting. Whisp knew Szimon didn’t care one way or another about who won this particular battle - one of thousands Szimon had witnessed over the years. But their ship - their livelihood and home, not to mention only asset - lay just beyond the front line of what Whisp was pretty sure were the infamous clones. If their ship was damaged, or, even worse, destroyed - they were all done for.

Whisp took in the scene, applying his natural affinity for tactics that had been first discovered early in his tenure with Szimon, an awkward encounter with the Ruuthian mafia, a highly successful performance, and a jar of…requisitioned heeble eggs belonging to Ruuthian mob boss. It had been his quick thinking that had gotten them out of that mess, a plan so crazy it couldn’t do anything but work. From that point on, Whisp had earned the nickname, “The General,” much to his dismay.

Carefully, Whisp extended his senses, not only his eyes and ears but his other senses, the ones he kept locked away from everyone else - everyone else except his creatures. The creatures didn’t care what his status or title was, if he had succeeded or not, if he occasionally broke some moral law that had been branded into his mind as a child. The creatures didn’t judge - they had never judged and found him wanting.

It wasn’t good. For all of Hondo’s firepower, they were still in the bottom of a cereal bowl in the sandy crevasse, the clone troopers above holding higher ground as they advanced on the compound. It didn’t escape Whisp’s notice that the troopers’ blaster bolts were consistently going wide, aimed to injure or impede, but not kill. Some strange long-buried instinct rose in Whisp’s chest as he watched the men, sensing their similarities, down to a genetic level. Was he was supposed to be on their side? Supposed to be fighting with them, supposed to -

An explosion rocked the compound, bringing down metal, stone, and all kinds of debris on the pirates. Hondo barked out more orders, a line of men running to set up what looked like a short-range missile while the rest of the pirates resumed their firefight.

I’m supposed to be getting us out alive, Whisp fumed at himself. No more distractions. Szimon’s face was covered in dust and sand and for a moment Whisp almost laughed. The circus master looked the spitting image of the Great Lady Devonna in her full makeup.

“Are you alright, Szimon?” Whisp asked, helping the other man to a seat.

“I’ve seen worse,” he growled, swiping debris from tassled gold epaulettes perched on bright red shoulders like two Felucian retrine sparrows. “Just do something, Whisp, I’m not getting any younger here.”

Right. Whisp looked again at the fight, the positioning of the men, their ship. The pirates weren’t going to win an all-out firefight, not like this and Whisp had to assume there would be reinforcements coming sooner than later. It was now or…

Whisp frowned. They could wait for the clones to take over the compound and beg for lenience. But knowing the Republic, they’d probably confiscate the ship. And send them to prison. Besides, Whisp’s own presence might raise too many uncomfortable questions, ones he had no desire whatsoever to revisit.

So much for that idea, he rued, while surveying the scene. The clones were all faced towards the fighting, Hondo’s forces feisty enough to keep them fully engaged. There weren’t that many of them, not a full battalion, for certain, which meant it was likely Szimon’s ship was wholly unguarded and not even considered a threat, as it had no visible weaponry. If he could just…

Whisp closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar energies, the outlines of the creatures he cared for, from the smallest snitmouse to the largest morak. Yes, he thought, connecting his mind with the stampede creatures. They would never see it coming.

A moment later the earth rumbled, the fighting slowing to a small drizzle of blaster fire as the line of clones turned to the oncoming dust storm that hid the three moraks, now prodded on by Whisp, feeding off of his repressed frustration and anger with the representatives of the institution that had driven him to this life in the first place. Of the people who were trying, again, to deprive him of a home, of a place where he belonged.

Unaware the opaque cloud hid anything living, no less animals whose shells repelled most blaster fire - a well-kept secret known not even in the fancy universities on Coruscant - the clones fired to no avail as the moraks descended, sending bodies flying in every direction with desperate shrieks, the remainder of the forces too startled to return fire efficiently. Three bloody minutes later, the remaining clones ran, retreating, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades as the only evidence of the failed ambush.

Cheers rose the pirates as they lifted their weapons in glee, somehow manifesting mugs of ale in their hands only a scant minute after they had been involved in a full-bore battle. Whisp slowly climbed from behind the rock, pulling Szimon up with him. The Thybaarian looked at Whisp as if it was the first time he had ever seen him.

“Was that you?” he asked, eyes trying to pierce through years of layers, of hidden secrets that were the only true skin of the man known as Whisp.

Whisp laughed, uncomfortable. “What? No, I mean - “

Szimon shook his head, still dazed. “I always had my suspicions, you know. Not just the creatures, although I’ll grant you that’s one hell of a trick.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I figured there was some reason you weren’t up with them in that fancy tower, figured it was none of my business, but now - “ Szimon’s eyes turned calculating. “This isn’t just some parlor trick, is it, it’s - “

Whisp backed away, palms splayed in front of him, as if trying to stop the words from entering his space. “No, I’m not. I - “ he looked around, wild, feeling just like one of his creatures, feral and trapped. He was going to lose his home again, once they found out, it was all going to be over. “I never - “ Something snapped, then crackled with inside of Whisp, like the breaking of an invisible, electric bone, sparking flying everywhere.

“I never was one, okay!” he yelled, stomping his foot. “Never was, never will be! That man - that child - died over ten years ago. This -” Whisp gestured angrily at himself. “Is what I am. Nothing. More.”

They had been certain leave Whisp with that message. Nothing more. Just nothing.

“A fascinating story, my young friend,” a low, baritone voice intoned from behind them. “I would be curious to hear more of it.”

Whisp spun around. The man was - there was no other word for it - regal, imperious, commanding the attention of every being in the valley, as he moved towards Whisp and Szimon, long brown cape billowing in the wind, deep violet outfit a perfect fit on his broad chest. Hondo’s troops paused mid-swig, ale running down their necks, and even Hondo himself craned his head forward to get a better look at the newcomer.

Fifty blaster rifles rose at once.

The man stopped, surveying the ends of the weapons pointed at him with a disaffected gaze. The compound held its breath, sinews tightening around triggers as an unworldly clarity came over the canyon, as if each atom, each sound wave could be made manifest as a physical, tangible reality. And then the man smirked, wholly unconcerned with his vast disadvantage in the situation as the world returned to its customary blur. Whisp and the others exhaled, noisy phlegm crackling up their lungs, dust tingling in their throats.

The stranger took an unhurried step forward raising one hand.

“You may lower your weapons,” he addressed the pirates, voice betraying nothing but absolute confidence. It occurred to Whisp then that the man had never been at any disadvantage at all. “I intend no harm,” he added in his deep, patrician voice.

Hondo took an equal, ambling step forward, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the newcomer, a hound sniffing for possible quarry, gazing him up and down, as if he were a incoming shipment of contraband. Then, after a moment, Hondo gave a nod, and the blasters summarily disappeared.

“My, my we are popular today,” the pirate began amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…” Hondo gestured at the other man in question.

“I am here for three reasons,” the stranger announced, ignoring Hondo’s unspoken inquiry. “The first was unwelcome, but unsurprising. My ships were caught unaware, en route from a trade post in the Outer Rim to Jybosti. I carry the identification cards and manifest if you desire proof of my claim. The Republic forced our hand, causing us to land here and engage in an unwanted ground battle which regrettably involved your forces.” The man turned to Hondo, giving an apologetic gesture. Hondo answered with cool regard, his skepticism echoing through the enclosure. Whisp had to agree. No one just happened to go by a place like Florrum without reason. Especially someone like this.

Still, it wasn’t the stranger that had been one shooting at them. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.

“Secondly,” the man continued, opening his arms, “I would like to thank you all for, how shall I say - “ He paused for dramatic effect, lifting his chin slightly. Whoever this man was, he knew how to hold a crowd, perhaps even better than Szimon. “Saving the day, however unexpected your heroics may have been.”

“Yeah, heroes!” One of the pirates bellowed, raising both his blaster and ale mug, several others echoing his enthusiasm with chants of “Heroes!” which quickly devolved into far less elevated rhetoric.

“And thirdly?” Hondo asked, after the raucous had died down.

“Thirdly,” the man drawled, turning his full attention on Whisp. “I would like to know further details regarding this young man’s story.”

Whisp’s eyes went wide as he took an involuntary step back. “There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. The words were automatic, a defense mechanism so perfectly tuned, it was nearly instinct. But the strange pressure that had been growing at the back of Whisp’s brain spiked with the lie, leaving a dark, velvet shadow in its wake, something immensely powerful yet a balm to his frayed emotions. It was something…

Whisp gasped, eyes locking with the other man.

It was something familiar.

The stranger smiled, all edges as he clasped his hands behind his back, addressing Szimon. “This young man is in your employ?” he asked, brusque, nodding towards Whisp.

Szimon straightened his jacket and his posture, already sensing a deal in the making as he slipped into tell-tale ringmaster persona. “Yes, sir, best creature tamer I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting,” the man commented, drawing out the word. “And if he were to leave your employ, how would that affect your operations?”

“Well, I daresay it would be quite the inconvenience,” Szimon began, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar patter of a sales pitch. Whisp barely heard the words, disbelief rising like an angry, red ocean. Would Szimon really do this to him? Now? After everything?

“…so you see, unless I would be suitably compensated for my losses…”

The grey-haired man leaned forward and whispered something in Szimon’s ear. Szimon’s eyes went moon-wide, his mouth dropping open, words tripping from his mouth.

“I trust that would be satisfactory?” the man asked.

“I - ah - “ Szimon sent a half-apologetic glance over to Whisp, eyes gleaming with barely-contained avarice. “I think that would be more than fair.”

“Excellent,” the man articulated, ignoring Szimon’s half-gasped ‘thank yous,’ now directing his full attention back to Whisp, drawing himself up to full height. “And you, who are about to enter my employ. What is your name?”

So that was it. No offer, not even a perfunctory question, Whisp’s future once again dictated by the whims of others. Whisp clenched his teeth agains the injustice of his very existence. “Whisp,” he answered, barely keeping the venom from his voice, fists tightening into balls, nails digging into his palms.

“Your real name,” the man growled. Behind him, Szimon gaped, now looking on with unabashed curiosity, a faint patina of guilt oozing from his sweat-beaded forehead.

Long-buried memories, banished ghosts relegated to an afterlife he had not yet experienced rose in Whisp. He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of emotions, of the sharp knives of betrayal, the deep pools of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. Had it been so long since he had uttered his own name?

Forcing a noisy breath between his teeth, he steeled himself, meeting the icy gaze of the other man, who considered him with keen, intense interest.

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi.”

For a brief second, the Force surged in a strange, dark elation as the stranger’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

“And I am Yan Dooku of Serenno. Come, Obi-wan,” he said, putting an arm around Whisp’s shoulders, leading him away from the confused and quiet scene of pirates, of the doe-eyed stares of what had - for a brief, happy moment - been his family.

From one family to the next, always a visitor. First the Jedi and Qui-gon Jinn, then Bandomeer. Then clinics, then circuses, and now this.

With Dooku.

Something settled in Obi-wan’s gut, not unpleasant. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to open to the Force, wholly and without constraint. This felt right, more right than anything else had in Obi-wan’s life.

“Come,” Dooku repeated, voice warming ever so slightly. “We have much to do.”

26 notes · View notes

donnanxblearchive · 4 years

Text

send me an au you wish i‘d write. // i wish you would write a fic where donna & gwen & martha are having fun together! ( @yoakkemae ) tagging @manaborn bc yea

Gwen had declared they all needed some time off. Donna had found it a little difficult to try to argue against her since she had Facetime’d her and Martha while she was taking cover and her jacket was a little too freshly singed. She’s sure that Gwen knew what she was doing; if she’d called from her ship, Donna wouldn’t of hesitated to steamroll over her ideas.

“I’m off Friday, actually,” had piped up Martha, even as Donna knew she could see her glare. “What’d you have in mind, Gwen? I might be able to trade my Saturday shift.”

“Martha, don’t try to twist yourse–”

“Yes! We could go to the mountains, really unplug from it all!” Donna had taken a breath to retort when Gwen dropped her phone with a muttered curse. Both women waited quietly as the sounds of whatever defense maneuvers Gwen took faded in, and then the phone was picked back up with a scramble. “How about at the cabins from my 16th a couple years back?”

Donna blinked, paperwork slowly becoming forgotten. “Over in America? In the Rocky Mountains?” Gwen nodded eagerly. Martha tried to hide a smile behind her hand, it didn’t really work. “It’s February, I don’t think it’ll be easy to find one for this weekend.” She hoped it didn’t sound like she was agreeing to this weekend, she’s sure she had other things to do this weekend. “Don’t you have things due for uni?”

“Oh, I’m sure missing one assignment won’t kill her.”

“You are not supposed to be a bad influence.”

“She does just fine while traveling around.”

“Yeah!” Gwen was now on the move, as her picture shook and she kept looking behind her. Donna was ready to chew her ass out over being so overconfident. “If it helps, I’ll get everything turned in early and let my professors know I’ll be going out on a family trip.” There went that excuse. Donna chewed on the tip of her pen.

“It’s going to be expensive.”

“Loosen your fist a little, Scrooge.”

“Oi!” She pointed her pen at the phone, ignoring the loud laughter in order to keep a mean face on. “I still have to budget my expenses, just like everyone else.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. Her budget was hilariously more inflated than well over half the world’s population and she was well aware of it. Still, she had to make a point. “Keep that sass up an’ see if I’ll pay your ticket, Doctor Jones.”

“Oh, pleeeease, Auntie.” She must really want this trip. It was always desperate measures for Gwen to not just call her by her name. Donna gave a long suffering sigh. “Just two days away, no aliens, no paperwork, no projects. It’ll be us, snow, and spa treatments!”

“I’ll get Eliza to see what she can do,” twin cheers erupted and she shouted to talk over them, “but only if she can move my own schedule around. I’m not makin’ any promises. And, I’ll cancel it all if any of your professors tell me you’re missin’ papers.” Gwen stuck her tongue out on that and Martha shook her head. “Martha, how long ‘till you can confirm your shift change?”

“I should know by tonight. We plan more out then.”

“Guys—” Looking at Gwen’s square on the screen showed just a glittering purple sky. Her voice sounded off to the side, and Donna assumed she was probably looking over Plumber notes. She hoped she was looking over Plumber notes and not taking cover again. “Wild thought, but I could just fly us there.” Denials from both Martha and Donna were quick, making Gwen pop her head back into frame. It was upside down, and mostly her eye, but the insult was clear. “Fine. Party poopers.”

“We’ll reconvene in the evening. Martha, keep savin’ lives. Gwen, stay alive.”

“No promises, loveyouguyssomuchBYE!”

Once seven o’clock rolled around, Donna was able to move her schedule around and Martha was able to trade her Saturday shift to get a three-day weekend. The three of them were in her office with two boxes of pizza steaming up her glass coffee table, and the projector displaying snow wear options. Gwen was more than a little distracted as her assistant was currently talking to her about their lodging options seeing as the original choice was all booked up.

“Wait, go back, go back, yes, that one! Where is it again?”

“Aspen, in Colorado.”

“It looks really cute. Donna, Martha, look, isn’t it cute?” With a few quick taps, Gwen switched the projected image. She very much ignored Donna’s indignant squawk, but quickly returned Martha’s silent overhead fistbump. “And we can get one that has bunk beds!”

“Eliza, I will fire you if you book the bunks.”

“Noted, ma’am.” Gwen pouted dramatically into her pizza slice. Martha gave her shoulder a consoling pat but wisely didn’t voice an opinion on the bunk debate. “There are three bedroom options, two bathrooms and a full kitchen. I can see about requesting one near the sauna.” Gwen gave an exaggerated gasp, nearly choking on her pizza. Donna rolled her eyes and waved a hand in silent agreement.

Once her assistant left the office to make the booking, control evaded Donna again. The iPad was now in Martha’s power, who was swiping along the different recreational activities listed. “Don’t you want to check the price beforehand?” Martha got a throw pillow to the face for her efforts.

“Let’s finish this up already before Shaun files a missing persons report on me.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

Donna squinted, as if the action would help recall her conversation with her husband. Damn TimeLord consciousness was only useful when it decided to be. “I mentioned it to him. I mean, I told him that I might be goin’ outta town this weekend. Course, he asked if it was just outta town or really outta space, he’s a bit hurt from our trip to Clom last month–”

“Sucks,” cuts in Gwen around a mouthful of pizza.

“–and I still haven’t been able to get the universal signal done to his new phone, so I’m sure he’s just being a worrywart. I hadn’t confirmed my schedule yet when I talked to him, an’ then I had to do some video conferences an’ the day just slipped away.” She shrugged. “I’ll just send a text right now. You two can choose what you’d want Eliza to book at the resort.”

She leaned back against her desk and typed out a few messages. Martha and Gwen were enthusiastically going over the different options, giggles freely sprinkled between them, and Donna felt a warmth blossom in her chest. She tried – and usually failed – to hide how much she worried over the two, and seeing them able to act so relaxed helped her own stress by leaps and bounds. A fun, Earth-bound, no-magic, and wonderfully impromptu vacation might really be the best for them.

“Alright, you two,” she gave a quick clap of her hands and swiped the iPad out of Martha’s hands, “the husband’s aware you’ve got me in lockdown. Let’s get this trip planned.”

The first day hadn’t been so bad. They’d taken a red-eye flight to try to beat the six hour jetlag, had a marvelous brunch in bed, and then powered on ahead with the day’s activities. Donna had forwarded Gwen the itinerary from Eliza, declaring that she wasn’t going to stress about the agenda as this wasn’t even her idea. Not that Gwen worried about keeping track of it all with how wide her smile was the entire day. They’d gotten wonderful hour-long deep tissue massages, popped in the sauna afterwards, a quick shower at the cabin and taken the town by storm. Which just meant going around town and peer pressuring Donna to tap into the TimeLord knowledge of the town’s history.

“You know,” Donna had said to Martha as they took a milkshake break, “I’m not too sure if he’d have a fit about this.”

She never had to specify who he was. Martha always seemed to know, always giving that small nod in response. “Taking days off wasn’t exactly his thing. For all he said to just travel, he was always doing something, wasn’t he?”

“God, yes. I had to wrestle him into taking us to dinner or heaven forbid the beach!” They shared a soft laugh. “I mean, he enjoyed it, that’s for sure. But I mean, I was talkin’ more about all this,” she tapped at her forehead, “bein’ so here, ya’know?”

“It’s not like he was shy, Donna.”

“Yes, yes, and he was an insufferable show-off in the worst moments. Still, it just,” she shrugs, not sure how to formulate her thoughts and that was definitely very human of her, “it doesn’t feel quite right to just be larkin’ ‘round town and basically pluck out the Wikipedia page about city hall with a blink.”

“Because it’s your doing it, or because he’s not here?”

There went Martha again, being all understanding eyes and soft smiles. Her bedside manner was truly spectacular, and it just made her all the more brilliant a friend. What Donna would’ve given to have a friend like her when she was younger, a true reasonable and supportive person. Introspective talks like these never felt intrusive with her, they hadn’t in a very long time, and Donna was finding herself more receptive to analyzing her feelings than she thought. As she kept quiet, Martha extended the same courtesy, without so much as a blink of impatience.

Gwen came bounding up to them in that moment, fresh snow dusting her shoulders and making a pretty picture as it melted in her hair. Without asking, she squeezed between their bar stools and took a sip from Donna’s shake. “I found a super adorable bookstore, it’s maybe a ten minute walk from here. Are you guys ready? It’s also in a plaza with some clothing stores, and I wanna max out Donna’s card before dinner.”

“Oi!” Donna tugged at Gwen’s ponytail while Martha laughed. “Don’t you have your own money?”

“I cannot afford everything I want to buy.”

“Maybe you should budget like our self-made moneybags over here.” Martha smirked. “Though I don’t think another thou will make much difference to her.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Gwen’s nod was far too somber. Any scraps of severity were demolished as she slurped the last dredges of Donna’s shake before giving a loud sigh. “Guess I’ll have to spend two thousand.”

“Fuck off,” Donna said with all the hostility of a baby duck amid their laughter.

The second day is when the nefarious plan came to light. Breakfast had been at one of the resort restaurants, in the type of place that Donna would’ve been all aflutter stepping foot in years ago. But the atmospheric instrumental music, warm lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and softly spoken waitress had long been part of her daily routine. By extension, it was certainly more common in Gwen and Martha’s lives than a decade back. As such, they all knew better than too be as wickedly loud as normal, and the conversation was kept light— to a point.

“Sorry, snowboarding?”

“Yup, our rentals and instructor are scheduled to start at one, and,” Gwen paused to take a forkful of her omelet, “Eliza booked us for four hours.”

“Four hours?!” Her voice rose well above ‘indoor,’ and Martha motioned at her. “Are you flippin’ nuts, Gwen?” Her niece shrugged and kept eating. “I’m not snowboardin’ for four bloody hours, hard pressed to find me there for e’en one!”

“You can’t tell me you’ve never tried it.” Donna scoffed at Martha. “What did you do when you were here last?”

“Watch over a bunch of sixteen year olds.” She pointed a fork at Gwen, quickly adding, “And don’t say your lot wasn’t that bad or so help me God—” Gwen deflated, but grumbled under her breath before sipping her hot chocolate.

“It’s not that difficult, Donna. Plus, you’re not goin’ in blind. We’ve got an instructor.”

“I take it you’ve done this before,” she said dryly.

“Years ago, yeah! It’s loads of fun, believe me. It’s just like that game the arcade has, just with more wind around you.” Donna kept as blank an expression as possible as she buttered her croissant without looking down. “Oh, c’mon, you know the one! Gwen,” she turned to the younger girl, “she knows what I’m talking about right?”

Gwen sucked her teeth and gave a small shake. “I’ve literally never been able to get her into an arcade.”

For a brief moment, a second even, Martha’s face fell. But just as quick she smiled the way that doctors do when they know chances are slim but they have to keep moral up, and Donna narrowed her eyes. “Well, no matter. It’s all balance and coordination, and even if you fall a few times, it’s going t’be fun!”

It was not being fun. She ate snow too many times to count, the cold was well past her bones and into her soul, and she was certain her ass was going to be covered in bruises. Gwen had, naturally glided around like a professional, all sparkling eyes and reddened cheeks. She looked like the poster girl for the slopes as her red hair whipped around her, making her an easy dot to follow. Martha had needed just a slight assistance from the instructor, and if there wasn’t near a twenty year difference between them, Donna would have immediately accused her of having practiced recently.

“Donnaaaaa.” Gwen might be whining, but that smile is still plastered on her face. “Don’t be such a sourpuss.”

“I will be as sour as I damn well please.”

“Donna,” cut in Martha as she gracefully came up the side and looked like a damn movie star taking off her helmet, “we’ve only been here an hour.” Donna eyes bulged but Martha kept talking. “I think you might just be overthinking it. I mean, what if during your travels, you would’ve had to snowboard?”

“I would have gladly taken my role as bait.”

“No,” the word was very forceful and Donna scrunched her nose at it. “You would not. You would have given it your one hundred percent effort and been brilliant at it. I sincerely doubt you’re givin’ more than thirty percent.”

“Mrs. Temple-Noble,” the three swung their attention to the instructor, “I will agree that you could be putting just a little more enthusiasm into your attempts. Often times your success depends on your state of mind too, not just your state of body.”

“Thanks Jared, I’ll make sure to blame my mind when I snowball off the curve.” The instructor gave a sigh, the first (and certainly not last) break in his professional demeanor. “However, I am pushing fifty and my body doesn’t work like it used to before.”

Gwen hums a little ditty at her words, which Donna can’t place but Martha can. She gives the younger girl a slap to her shoulder and Gwen looks only slightly sheepish. They seem to have a silent talk in the next few moments while Donna might as well be climbing Jared in her attempts to stand up. If she wasn’t so worried about getting frostbite on her ass, she might have interrogated them about their charades game.

“Ya know, Sylvia had mentioned that Nerys was gonna go snowboarding this year.” Donna had been about to remove the snowboard when the mention of her best frenemy come out. Gwen continued a bit too offhandedly. “I think she’d said she wanted to invite you, but you don’t know how to snowboard, so it would’ve killed the mood. Isn’t that right, Martha?”

“When I talked to Veena, she wouldn’t shut up about it. She said that—”

“Shut up, shut up. I’m not goin’ to have that fuckin’ breadstick think she can do better. You know who taught her to roller skate? Me!” She huffed and pulled at the hem of her snow jacket. “I’ll shove this board up her arse before lettin’ her win this, Jared, let’s do this again, chop chop.”

She missed the fistbump shared between the younger women in all her blustering rage.

It doesn’t take Donna long after that to get the hang of it. She’s nowhere near the level of expertise that Gwen shows, but that’s fine. She can at least go down the beginners slopes with them and scream with laughter once they reach the bottom in one piece. Jared finishes his four hours with them, but they keep on going until they can’t deny the sun is setting and everyone is being instructed off the snow. She’s sure to be aching in the morning, but she’s smiling the entire time Martha and Gwen are recounting the day’s adventure over room service.

The third day is short given their late afternoon flight. They wake up late, make quick work of their packing, and set out for a casual lunch. They end up passing through a chocolate shop going back to the resort, and Donna nearly melts as she bites into her eclair.

“What would your trainer say?” Martha’s eyes are crinkled up as she teases. She takes Donna’s shove with a chuckle.

“Sod off, do you have any idea ‘ow many calories I burned yesterday? I more than deserve this.”

“Snowboarding is a great way to start.” Gwen kept her gaze straight ahead, even as she kept her arm linked to Donna’s. “It really makes your body and mind work together, and counts on a sense of timing too. Really makes you use your core the entire time without neglecting the rest of your body. You know what else does that?” She didn’t wait for Donna to respond. “Taekwondo, karate, jujitsu, or—”

“Oh my God, was that the whole point of this? To keep pushin’ your martial arts agenda?”

“She has a point.”

“Absolutely not!”

“What’s the harm in learning a little self-defense? You’re not really only workin’ in an office. You still come across aliens and thwart plans all the time.”

“And I have a trainer that makes sure I can still run away before they lay a hand on me.”

They bicker, two against one, pretty much the rest of the day until they have to check out. She gives in and calls Eliza on speaker phone while Gwen is still listing the mental benefits of martial arts. The assistant sounds properly confused when she says she wants to book gym space next week. The look of elated shock on Gwen’s face when Donna throws her the phone to request what’s needed almost makes the forthcoming torture worth it.

“Was that so hard, Donna?”

“You’re not getting’ off that easy, Martha, I’ll haul you outta the hospital myself if you don’t show up.”

#[ drabble ]#yoakkemae #manaborn #i totally went overboard with this #i literally didnt know how to stop it #is this exactly fun? idk but i had fun writing it

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