My eighth drabble for Challenge 303 – Twelve Days at tw100, and Part 8 of âThe Twelve Days of Riftmasâ. I wasnât happy with my first attempt, it was a bit on the bland side, so I tried again. I like this one better, but Iâm posting my first attempt here too, so you guys can decide which one you prefer.
Summary: Itâs Christmas, and the Rift is apparently in a giving moodâ¦
Warnings: Random insanity.
On the eighth day of Christmas, eight large cows were discovered in the Millennium Stadium. Ianto thought they certainly looked ready for milking. Not that he was an expert on cows or anything…
“Oh look!” said Jack cheerfully. “The Rift almost got it right this time!”
“Yes, Jack, because eight ready-to-milk cows are just what we needed.” Ianto rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Call a farmer?”
“I was hoping for buxom milkmaids,” Owen grouched.
Ianto sank into a seat. It was entirely possible he was losing his mind.
Alternate Eighth Day...
On the eighth day of Christmas, several crates appeared in a car park.
There was writing on them.
“Maiden’s Milk? What’s that? Some sort of booze?” Owen sounded hopeful.
Prising a crate open, Ianto pulled out a bottle.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Owen, it’s bath oil. ‘You too can have skin as soft as a maiden’s’,” he intoned solemnly. “You should try some.”
“Bite me!”
Ianto smirked.
“Right, let’s load ‘em. Hold on.” He glanced around. “There’s only seven. Where’s the eighth?”
They found it in a ditch, half buried in mud.
“Oh joy,” groaned Ianto. “The Rift hates me!”
TBC in ‘The Ninth Day…’
“Oh look!” said Jack cheerfully. “The Rift almost got it right this time!”
“Yes, Jack, because eight ready-to-milk cows are just what we needed.” Ianto rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Call a farmer?”
“I was hoping for buxom milkmaids,” Owen grouched.
Ianto sank into a seat. It was entirely possible he was losing his mind.
Alternate Eighth Day...
On the eighth day of Christmas, several crates appeared in a car park.
There was writing on them.
“Maiden’s Milk? What’s that? Some sort of booze?” Owen sounded hopeful.
Prising a crate open, Ianto pulled out a bottle.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Owen, it’s bath oil. ‘You too can have skin as soft as a maiden’s’,” he intoned solemnly. “You should try some.”
“Bite me!”
Ianto smirked.
“Right, let’s load ‘em. Hold on.” He glanced around. “There’s only seven. Where’s the eighth?”
They found it in a ditch, half buried in mud.
“Oh joy,” groaned Ianto. “The Rift hates me!”
TBC in ‘The Ninth Day…’