Originally Posted by Ms T. DuVet
Telford Carboot grasped the knob in his hand. He felt it’s hardness, slick and wet against his palm, and pulled. He heard Jack groan, weakly. Almost there. Just a little bit more pressure and…yes!
The door clicked open, and Telford wiped the condensation from the doorknob on the towel hanging loosely from the corner of the radiator. Damn…he could hardly see! The air was heavy with steam, billowing out from the flimsy plastic folds of the shower-curtain. Telford felt beads of moisture trickle down his face and remembered why he was there…
He pulled back the curtain, to find his dear, damned Captain flopped over the edge of the bathtub, his sodden bathrobe bundled around him, a pained look upon his handsome brow. The briefest of smiles flickered and faded. Recognition? No…he seemed too far gone for that. It was though all sense and reason had been stripped from him. Still, though, he raised his head, once more, grasped his loofah, and extended a muscular arm to Telford.
“Ass!” He whispered.
“Now’s really not the time, Jack!”
“No…you don’t understand. Look…!”
Jack stretched out his hand, pointing his enormous defoliator to the furthest recesses of the capacious bathroom. Dimly Carboot could detect a shadowy figure looming out of the rapidly thinning mist. He gasped as a monstrous anus winked maliciously at him through the steam.
“Good Lord, Jack, it’s….got an arse where it’s face should be. And…oh…dear Gods…!”
Telford turned away, the sight before him sickening him to the pits of his stomach and beyond, as the enormous arse began an awful, undulating, grimly hypnotic motion and – could it be - the sphincter seemed to be trying to form words.
“Jack…that thing…it’s literally talking out of it’s arse! But…what’s it saying?”
“Nothing we wanna hear!”
Bolstered by his companion’s presence Harkness’s spirits seemed to be reviving. He tried to stand, but caught his loose fitting robe on the shower-rail. Quickly Telford pulled him off. Just like old times. He pointed toward the toilet.
“He caught me unawares, damn him. I was sitting there, reading my magazine…!”
“Yeah…’SFX’, only the best damned sci-fi and fantasy magazine this side of the Crab Nebula!...and he crept up behind me, and sprayed me!”
“Good God, you mean…?”
“Yeah, Tel, some kind of bile or venom…it affects the neural cortex, weakens the will and softens the brain the longer you are exposed to it. You arrived at just the right time…I was starting to lose the will to live!”
A great rasping sound cut through the air, and a sulphurous fug filled their lungs. Could this flatulent rift really be it’s only way of communication? They staggered backward. Jack Harkness bit down on his towel, and thrust his loofah in the reeling Telford’s mouth to stop him gagging on the malodorous miasma.
“Thanks, big guy!”
“Anytime, Tel! Just like old times, eh?”
“But…what is that thing? What does it want?”
“It’s a Bathroom Raider, from the planet Onan. Shunned by the civilized races of the galaxy. These Onanists turn up from time to time like enormous trolls to look for women..”
“Sad, eh? See, T-Man, they don’t have any where they come from, in Mumscellar – capital of Onan’s Lair. They’ve heard of ‘em, sure, but they’ve only seen pictures. This ugly son of a bitch said he wanted a woman who ‘keeps her mouth shut, her legs open’…!”
Telford grinned. “…and a staple through her belly-button?”
“You got it!”
Telford eyed the monstrosity warily, the great sinewy sphincter seemed to follow him wherever he moved.
“Is it dangerous?”
Jack tightened his robe, picking up his copy of ‘SFX’ from where it had dropped, mere minutes before.
“Not if you can keep away from that goop it spews. Claims to be powerful, though. Claims a lot of things. This one says it’s on a mission from Colin Baker…!”
“What…the Colin Baker?” Telford gasped.
“Nah…just a Colin Baker. Nice guy…works second-shift at Dunkin’ Donuts. Why, would you have been impressed if it was the Colin Baker?”
“Not really. No.”
Once more the enormous arse-hole burbled in foul salutation, and the friends recoiled.
“Look, Jack…nobody wants this thing here. What do you say we ask it to leave?”
Jack scratched his head
“No point, T-Man. Can’t understand a goddamn word it hears…insult it and it thinks you’ve apologised…criticise it and somehow – not sure how – what you’ve said becomes a compliment…”
“Some kind of problem with the Babelfish-relay to the cerebral cortex?”
“Nah…just thick as..!” He paused, and smiled that wild wicked smile that made Telford’s heart skip a beat. “Hey, T…there is one way we can deal with this massive ass!”
Telford Carboot stared at his friend blankly for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. Yeah. That would work.
The Polymer74 strategy.
They’d wanted to use it to resolve that damned awful Torchwood Duvet business, but, well, what with one thing and The Other, hadn’t had the chance.
Telford watched as Jack Harkness rolled his copy of ‘SFX’ tight in his palm, and smacked it against his palm - testing the makeshift paper kosh for heft. He nodded to a pile of magazines on the floor. Carboot understood. He selected the heaviest he could find – featuring a surfeit of exclusive interviews and features with important people who had made some TV show about a guy in a blue box – and followed Jack’s example.
It was going to be a long night….