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We’re sketching in April, friends – and have drawn many a tiny Timelord.
In this post we throw together 3 Doctors, MI5 wizard Jackson Lamb, an actual wizard – Gandalf – and a cat chasing it’s own prophecy.
Oh, and they’re all aboard a Viking ship called ‘The Fishbird‘ that is quickly sailing towards the Fjord of Fates.
So grab a tankard of your favourite timey-wimey wine and join us on an ocean adventure that has a very unsatisfying ending.
Happy sketching, friends!
* All character bios are the property and fever dream of Fishbird Central, except for those that are obviously not. Stay tuned for further sketchy adventures!
The Meow at the End of the Fjord:
The War Doctor stood at the prow of The Fishbird – a powerful ship with a mighty figurehead carved from one million forgotten table-legs into the shape of a good-dog.
Rumoured to whisper secrets during the full moon, The Fishbird was a floating enigma in an ocean of nonsense.
The War Doctor was tired, and unsure why he was here. The seas were restless, the sky the colour of a week-old bruise.
At just the right time, he noticed a prophecy etched into the mast.
“The cat will meow and wake the Nine Realms.”
With a sigh like gravel in an unwashed NutriBullet, the Doctor lit a match and wondered how he had gone from fighting in a time war to babysitting a feline prophecy.
The Ninth Doctor and the Rune of Ridicule:
The Ninth Doctor suddenly materialised onto The Fishbird, startling two seagulls (who believed themselves to be philosophers) mid-argument about metaphysical sea serpents.
“Right then,” he said, straightening his leather jacket. “Where’s this crisis that requires another multi-Doctor storyline?”
A rune near the helm pulsed as he approached, advertising an ancient symbol shaped suspiciously like a question mark.
“That’s not Gallifreyan,” he muttered, scanning it.
The rune responded by projecting a hologram of a bedazzled cat knocking over a goblet of fate.
“Brilliant – that looks a bit like Mr Biscuits. I have a feeling reality’s about to be unstitched by a house pet. Again.”
The Tenth Doctor and the Deck of Destiny:
Hearing his favourite words “Mr Biscuits”, David Tennant’s Doctor emerged topside in a flurry of coat flaps and Time Lord energy.
“Hello, alternate me and myself,” he said, deftly recovering from a near-slip on an inconvenient pile of fish guts.
“Now then, what’s this about Mr Biscuits – everyone’s favourite apocalypse cat?”
The deck began to glow under his feet, revealing old runes burnt into the wood.
“This ship’s been through a temporal loop, I can smell it. And that cat isn’t just any cat … he’s an anchor. A beautiful, tabby anchor.”
Gandalf Loves Cats:
Gandalf arrived on the wind itself, landing dramatically in the crow’s nest with a flourish of robes.
The Doctors looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“A cat with the power to shift realms is no light matter. The Fishbird sails into the Fjord of Fates, where even Sauron dared not dip a toe.”
He peered into the mist ahead. “Something meows in the deep.”
What Gandalf had failed to understand was that Mr Biscuits was currently onboard The Fishbird enjoying a puddle of sunlight that had appeared behind a coil of old rope.
Any meows that floated out of the coil were of delight, and not yet relevant to the troubles ahead.
Also, Jackson Lamb Was There:
Jackson Lamb, head of a disgraced MI5 team in London, had coincidentally made use of a laundromat frequented by Mr Biscuits – and now found himself grumbling in The Fishbird galley.
Lamb was not impressed and more than a little gassy.
“You lot are madder than a sack of snakes,” he said through a mouthful of pickled herring he’d found in a cupboard.
“Magic cats, space wizards, whispering longboats.All I wanted was a cup of tea and a nap, not a front row seat to the Norse Apocalypse.”
Lamb tossed a sausage to Mr Biscuits, who caught it mid-air and glowed faintly.
“Oh, bugger me. What’s it doing now?”
Mr Biscuits Takes Note:
Mr Biscuits, sleek and largely unaware of the confusion he was causing, padded slowly up the mast, tail twitching.
The ship shuddered as he reached the top.
With a slow inhale, he opened his mouth and let out a meow so powerful it split clouds, turned time inside-out, and briefly made everyone onboard fluent in Icelandic.
Runes lit up across the deck, the mast, even those nestled inside Gandalf’s beard.
The prophecy had awoken … and it wanted breakfast.
All Together at the Edge of the Fjord:
At the mouth of the Fjord of Fates, The Fishbird paused, hovering slightly above water now.
The War Doctor nodded. “We’re in it now.”
The Ninth grinned. “Just like old times.”
The Tenth looked up. “Suggest we follow the cat.”
Gandalf muttered a spell for more cat food under his breath, just in case.
Lamb loudly demanded someone find him a chair.
Mr Biscuits, glowing like a small, smug star, led the way into the swirling mist – toward whatever world and adventure came next.
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