A Man Against his Fellows

One thing I seem to have trouble with is perspective. I’ve walked into the TARDIS doors enough times to know that almost for certain. But now I really seem to have dropped us into a pile of raisins which just aren’t dried grapes.

After joining what I believed to be a sober Womble at a safe Lanipus bar, I find him tied up, lightly marinaded (internally and externally) surrounded by drooling locals. He’d yelled something about their saliva outflows earlier, but I thought he’d been, without subtlety, implying they were thick.

Still, impromptu escape plans are something of an art form with me. I managed to pull off a relatively believable Elmer Fudd impression, and while they all looked about for an idiot with a speech impediment,  I managed to sonic Womble free. In his state, his first words upon freedom were something about digging. Apparently the idea of tunnelling away from an animal which could easily put it in under “Special Skills” of a CV was suitable to his mind.

Still, he suggested splitting up before fleeing, which I agreed with more strongly, although I shall keep a close eye on his trail. Running after several carrot beverages is hardly going to result in Olympic worthy direction. My whistling “Run, Rabbit, Run Rabbit” certainly didn’t help either.

Be chased by bounding herbivores is certainly a vivid vision, so our trip to Lanipus hasn’t been entirely without adventure, excitement and really wild things. But I’ll be sure to let TimeLess choose our next destination.

So long as he gets back to the TARDIS okay. I’d rather not have a pile of droppings accompanying me. I’d probably get the natives hounding me across the stars, complaining they’re not “done” with him.

Maybe disbanding wasn’t such a great move. I’d better go look for him. Make sure he isn’t turning from a mate to a main course.

Until the next journey of ridiculous things,



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