After a quick, accidental hop back to prehistoric Earth, which I imagine had something to do with sweet wrappers getting into the engines, I managed to get TimeLess and I to our destination.
I’m still not 100% sure why TimeLess has designated me ‘Rabbit Man’, but our trip to Lanipus certainly didn’t help. No sooner had I done the “Foot out on new planet” scene, then a whole herd bounds up to me, asking who exactly I’ve got under my hat. TimeLess slips past, wearing an absolute face of “knew it”, and I’m stuck with far too much carrot breath in my face.
I promised them a peek underneath, which means I can never take the title of ‘magician’. There’s three “nevers” of the magic world: never tell them how it’s done, never show ‘them under the hat up close, and NEVER mistake a death-defying act with a simple escape attempt. Being buried alive is a lot less impressive when you’ve already burst out of the box before the dumper truck can even reverse.
TimeLess went off to drink carrot tequilas, a prospect which made me feel ill on a number of levels, so I went off for a spot of sonic screwdriver-ing. The world of rabbits is hardly going to throw a history of architecture and artistic merit at me, but I did learn an awful lot about tunnelling, hopping, nose-twitching and making little chewing noises. I hope to write my historic novel any day now…
While I buzzed and scanned away, I noticed TimeLess eyeing the sonic rather distrustfully. Maybe he’s not used to having answers so straightforward and direct; that or he has a phobia of metal wands that light up and go bzzzzzz. That could complicate things.
His sudden discovery that he could speak rabbit took enough of his surprise. I’m sure I’ll explain the TARDIS’ psychic fields when I can be bothered/he’s in a listening mood.
Still, I picked this destination to finally allow TimeLess to put my rabbit nickname to rest, which didn’t quite go according to plan. I might just let him pick the next destination and find some kind of way to poke fun at his umbrella. (Not a euphemism). Once he’s done trying to explain Disney films to the locals, of course*.
Maybe I will stop for a drink. Root vegetable cocktails be damned, I need something to wash away the dryness of too many sweets. It’ll be difficult though, as I’ve eaten all my bartering material. Like I mentioned, every single rabbit here is suffering an identity crisis. Perhaps I can convince a accountancy-inclined one to give me some kind of loan.
Cheers, in any case, from all us here on Lanipus,
*I specifically warned him to avoid talking about Bambi. For their own reasons, on Lanipus, “Thumper” is nothing short of a swear word.