Dinner with Davros

Skaro, an early evening during the mid-1980s. In the dining room of Davros Towers, The Doctor and his host are oblivious of the portable television in the background and Harry Secombe who is turning cerise as 'Highway' reaches its climax. The Doctor dabs at his lips with a napkin and swings his rancid Derri Boots onto the table. Opposite him sits Davros, slicing cheese with quiet menace. Let us listen in to their postprandial twattery...

THE DOCTOR : Mmm...thank you Davros, that was exquisite. I've had a bellyful and for once it's not of your scheming, maniacal, destructive ways.

DAVROS : Good. I am glad that you enjoyed it Doctor.

THE DOCTOR : But something's bothering me. Castrovalvan Consomme, Rack of Ice Warrior Ribs, Even Toed Alzarian Hoofed Mammal with a Koquillion Couscous, Bread & Butter Pudding...not the sort of hospitality I've come to expect from the creator of the Daleks. What's it all for?

DAVROS : Doctor, our relationship has traversed space and time but one thing has been a constant - a certain amount of ill feeling - hatred, even.

THE DOCTOR : Well, your intergalactic meddling, relentless exterminating, tyranny and general beastliness hasn't endeared you to this particular Time Lord.

DAVROS : You must believe me when I say that I regret that very much and that I wish for our future intercourse to be conducted in a much more pleasant atmosphere. Doctor...I have changed.

THE DOCTOR : Pshaw! A megalomaniac never changes his spots!

DAVROS : Doctor...do you still not realize? Have you never stopped and wondered why I've led you such a merry dance down the millennia and across the cosmos? I love you...and I NEED YOU TO LOVE ME!!!

THE DOCTOR : Desist! I don't know what kind of foul plot this is but I shall not listen to any more of it!

(The Doctor scrambles to his booted feet. Davros sniggers.)

 



DAVROS : You are not going anywhere. That wine that you have drunk copious amounts of...

THE DOCTOR : The Metebelis Blue Beaujolais? Oh no, don't tell me...

DAVROS : Drugged. Very soon, you shall be at my mercy!

THE DOCTOR : Fiend! Cur! Tergiversator!

DAVROS : Come now Doctor...

THE DOCTOR : No fears mate!

DAVROS : But just imagine it...that our superintelligence should become conjoined in such a glorious way...our bodies entwined, hurtling through E-Space!

(The Doctor legs it through the maze-like corridors of Davros Towers, past a bunch of Daleks dressed in sarongs and out into the blasted, windswept landscape of Skaro. He rushes into the TARDIS, sets some random coordinates (for Chapel-en-le-Frith in the year 3529 actually) and then heads for the lavatory, into which he chunders beautifully. The TARDIS dematerializes, its familiar "worp, worp" noise intermingling with the sound of The Doctor retching. Back at his dining room table, Davros is looking rather mardy. The peace-loving inhabitants of some far flung galaxy will suffer for this and no mistake...)



"I spent hours slaving over that meal, you Gallifreyan Gaylord!"

 

B.R. 1996, revised 31/10/2012