The Doctor rushed into the city, pausing for only a moment to hang his sign on the TARDIS doors. Vendors and merchants shouted from all sides on the clustered, hectic streets of the agora, hawking their wares and calling for customers, but he didn’t even slow down as he darted around them. “DITZY!” he shouted, “DINKY? BUTTON? SWEETIE? RUMBLE! WHERE ARE—” he cut himself off when he registered that he had, in fact, run out of street some time ago and had passed into some kind of business center. The receptionist glared over his spectacles at him, his dark brown eyes boring through the Doctor like lasers, and gestured toward a chair. The Doctor shook his head and walked up to him. “Sorry, excuse me,” he said, “But I’m looking for a restaurant. Where’s the nearest one?”
The gazelle’s glower lessened slightly, and he gestured toward a map on the wall. “Thanks,” the Doctor smiled. “Have a nice—”
The receptionist had already gone back to furiously scribbling at his crossword puzzle, dead to the world. “Day,” the Doctor finished lamely. He turned to look at the map. “Nearby attractions, nearby attractions,” he mused, “Where could you be, come on, come on, time is not, ironically enough, something I’ve got much of… Nearby attractions! Let’s see now. Griffonian food, definitely not. Whindian food? Perhaps… Aha! Native Gazelle cuisine at From the Roots Up, sounds plausible. Yes, let’s try there first. ALLONS-”
The receptionist cleared his throat and glared at the offending noisemaker. “Sorry. Allons-y.” he whispered.
The gazelle nodded in satisfaction, turning back to his newspaper as the Doctor quickly tiptoed from the room, breaking out into a gallop as soon as he hit the streets once more. He had faced down Daleks, renegade Time Lords, and the Nightmare, all without so much as flinching, but it was best to avoid ticking off office staff. They could get nasty fast.
Thinking of things that could nasty quickly, he glanced up to the eastern horizon. He could see the clouds gathering, practically racing toward the city. Dash had said earlier that they had been harder to control than usual. What was going on with the weather? For a brief, irrational moment, he vaguely wished he’d stopped to get an umbrella out of the TARDIS. Then he shook himself. Whatever was going on, even the old question mark brolly wouldn’t help this time.
***
The head waitress at From the Roots Up looked in mild horror at the new arrivals. One adult, six children, already beginning to squabble among themselves. Her eye twitched slightly. Nevertheless, she was a professional. She therefore straightened her back, gritted her teeth, and smiled as pleasantly as she was able. “May I help you?” she asked with barely a catch in her voice.
“Yes, please,” the grey mare replied, smiling earnestly, looking directly into the waitress’s deep brown eyes. “Have you got a table for eight? My husband will be here shortly.”
Internally, at least, the hostess relaxed very slightly. At least there would be one adult for every three teenagers, rather than one trying to corral all six. “I’ll see if we’ve got a table ready,” she said, quickly moving toward the dining area. “Just a minute.”
The crowd of ponies waited with varying degrees of patience in the atrium. None of them noticed that, across the street, a storm-grey earth pony was watching them with a scrutinizing eye.
***
The Doctor hurtled through the maze of alleys and winding streets that comprised the bulk of Timbucktoo. He had a nasty feeling about this weather— it didn’t often rain in this city, and when it did, it generally came in off the sea. Despite this, the sky was quickly growing dark with clouds rolling in from the plains, and an unseasonably cold breeze wafted through the streets.
The Doctor wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was doubtful that it was anything natural or even native to the planet. It was even less likely, he thought as he glanced up at the darkening sky, to be a force for good. It reminded him of something, vaguely, from long ago, but he couldn’t quite remember what… No time for that now. Got to get Ditzy and the foals, get them out of danger, get back to the TARDIS, investigate the… whatever it was, and find out what it was trying to do here.
That last bit would be easy enough, all in a day’s work, really. First, though, he needed to protect Ditzy, Dinky, and the others. He’d lost them once already, let them down before, and he wasn’t about to do it again. He pounded on, hooves sounding sharply against the cobbles of the road. The restaurant was only a few blocks away now, he was almost there, when suddenly something yanked him back by his tail.
He glanced behind him in surprise and irritation. “Hello there,” he said, mild annoyance evident. “I’m terribly sorry, but somehow my tail has gotten into your mouth. Can’t imagine it’s pleasant. I mean, people— ponies, I mean, sorry— complain about finding just one hair in their food, and look what you’ve got! Some few hundred hairs, and not a bite of food to show for it.”
The earth pony merely stared at him blankly, his blue eyes dead and cold as the Donner Party. The Doctor stared back. “You can give that up,” he said conversationally, looking the other straight in the eyes, “I’ve outstared Weeping Angels, me. Well. I tricked them into staring at each other, but that still counts, doesn’t it? A bit?”
No reply from the other. The Doctor was seriously beginning to consider that perhaps cutting off his tail would be a reasonable means of escape when he heard hoofsteps echoing from around the corner. He brightened. “Hello there!” he called out. “D’you think you could lend a hoof? Only, I’m in a bit of…”
He trailed off as the newcomer rounded the corner. Earth pony. Grey fur, blue and white mane, dead blue eyes. Exactly identical in every way to the stallion chewing on his tail, right down to the cutie mark. Or, rather, their shared lack thereof. “Perhaps more than ‘a bit’ of trouble,” the Doctor mused as the thing that certainly wasn't a pony drew closer, its mouth opening far, far wider than it should have been able to. For a brief moment, the sound of static and the stench of ozone seemed to fill the air, blocking out all other sounds and scents and even the possibility of thought. Then, as abruptly as the two grey ponies had arrived, all three beings disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a faint trace of electricity in the air.
***
The head waitress walked into the dining area of the restaurant, scanning the occupied tables carefully. It was a gloomy, quiet crowd today. There was no buzz of conversation. The suffocating silence didn't help her mood. She was storming already, angry at the grey pegasus for bringing in an army of children, angry at her boss for taking the day off, angry at herself for getting into the restaurant business to begin with. It was, therefore, with no small annoyance that she approached a diner, sitting alone at a table meant for ten. “‘Scuse me,” she said.
The lone diner made no response. “Excuse me!” she repeated.
He looked up at her, indifferent. “Would you mind moving?” she asked impatiently. “Only, we’ve got a big party moving in, and you’re taking up the biggest table.” She glanced down at his place setting. “You haven’t even eaten!” she said in disapproval, glaring at him.
He looked at her calmly. “I have been waiting,” he hissed, “for the rest of my party”. At that moment, the waitress became aware of the fact that all of the other diners were unusually quiet. She looked around. Tables full of bodies, slumped over their meals, unmoving. As if on cue, they all turned to look at her. Twenty fishlike blue eyes trained on her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but she felt a sudden coldness seize her, and suddenly was no more.
***
The gazelle returned briskly from the dining room. “You’re in luck,” she said. “One table for eight, coming up.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Ditzy. “You will tell my husband where to find us, won’t you? When he comes in?”
Bright blue eyes sparkled in the light. “Don’t worry,” the thing in the waitress’s body said. “You’ll see him soon enough, I’m sure.”