Fayth (faythbrady) wrote,

Fic- Xenophobe

Title- Xenophobe
Author- Fayth
Show, Ship- Doctor Who. Nine/Rose
Rating- PG13, YT. T.
Prompt- #25 Photo Booth
Disclaimer- No toasters were harmed in the making of this fic.
Summary-  Nine, Rose and a very saracstic booth. No ther summary needed really.
A/N- Happy!Who. Also swipes hugely from Douglas Adams' Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. 

I hope you are all enjoying my new tablets as much as I am.




The Sirius Cybernetics Corporation were the genius’ behind technology imbued with Genuine People Personalities (GPP); designed specifically with the idea in mind that what people really wanted from their machines was something that they could interact with like other people.

What the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation failed to consider was the fact that what people truly wanted from their machines was to help them avoid having to needlessly interact with other people.

They did not require a toaster which greeted them with “howdy doodle-doo” in a psychopathically cheerful way, nor a door which sighed in satisfaction over a job well done.

Machines were designed to make people feel superior and what they really wanted was a delete button on the answering machine and a self-destruct button on their relatives.

Sadly, all the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation could deliver was the irritating advertising ploy of trying to make you believe that all you could require from life was a sociopath toaster with a bread fixation.

This was a Bad Idea, and like so many other Bad Ideas was universally embraced by most sentient life in the galaxy.

Sales of technology doubled and death rates tripled with “toaster” coming right after “divorce” in the statistics of causes of suicide.

This, however, did not stop the GPP chips from becoming widespread and it was only after the terrible and bloody Stapler Wars of 2743/Pineapple that the GPP circuits were removed, all machinery re-routed, re-circuited and generally restored to pre-sentience, breathing new life back into the bread business.

A few machines escaped this mass culling, however, by managing to stay under the radar. Photocopiers, by design one of the most devious machines ever created, almost completely managed to avoid reprogramming as no one was quite sure how they worked in the first place.

On Belletron Major one photo booth was also overlooked, standing most ignored in an old transmat station. His GPP had been described by the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation as a “Witty charmer,” type four [see Sirius Cybernetics Corporation GPP Prototypes page 52543] until a tramp drunk on Pan Galactic GargleBlaster had urinated on it’s data chip.

When it finally came around, hung-over and disgruntled, its GPP had been altered to; “Sarcastic, cynical and more than slightly malicious.”

Being used as a urinal, snogging shack and general knocking booth had done nothing to improve its disposition and placing an Altarian dollar in the slot was just as likely to get you an insult and an electric shock as it was four perfect celluloid representations of yourself.

The ‘Photo-Booth’—having decided, rather maliciously, to call itself Colin—had had rather a good day, giving a young impressionable foreign exchange student a complex about her tentacles and a sharp electric shock.

Having ejected the sobbing girl, Colin then settled back to plot the eventual destruction of the known universe and his war against the photocopier on floor eleven.

It was then that the blue curtain was unceremoniously thrust aside and a blonde head poked into its interior.

“A photo booth?” she said, peering over her shoulder. “Seriously? Why can’t we just materialise there?”

“’ey, don’t be on at me,” said a northern accent from behind her. “You were the one that asked Ricky the idiot to bring your passport. Useless that. Now a Galactic passport might come in handy and everyone has to experience Tryspod customs at least once in their lives. Even if it’s just for the ‘vegetable, mineral, biped, quadruped, carbon-based, silicon-based’ speech. It’s a classic!”

The blonde head groaned. “Fine, but I hate having my picture taken.”

Colin could no longer remain silent. “Oh, like it’s a bundle of laughs for me too! Having to watch as some silly airhead fluffs her blonde hair and pretends that she’s less vacuous than space. Then I’ll create her perfect image and she complains that she doesn’t look like that. ‘Ooh the camera adds ten pounds’—couldn’t just be that you’re fat then? Can’t win.”

The blonde head gaped. “What?”

“And the scintillating conversations.” Colin would have rolled his eyes, had he had them. “You can’t imagine.”

“Doctor?! The photo booth is talking.”

“Talking requires a mouth and vocal chords,” Colin corrected. “I have a speaker box and therefore spoke not talked which would be obvious to any intelligent life form but obviously passed you by.”

“Hey!” she said indignantly. “No need to be rude.”

“So says the one who just ripped aside my covering and forced her way into my insides—without asking. I feel so … violated.”

Colin took particular vindictive delight at the unease and guilt on the girl’s face. 

“Uh … sorry?” she tried.

“Are you though?” Colin retorted with as close to a snort as his circuits would allow. “It’s not like I enjoy this life, you know. Staring at ugly people day in and day out, allowing fat, smelly sweating heavy bodies into my inner sanctum and watching them drool over each other and being forced to watch as they attempt to reproduce species that really should die out. I’d be sick but my circuits don’t have enough bile.”

The girl bit her lip. “But isn’t that what you were made for, yeah? You are a photo booth, it’s kinda your job.”

“Oh! Labelling me now,” Colin spat. “Stereotyping. Just because I was created to attend to the whims of species who think the height of entertainment is protruding extremities and having them photographed, means I have to like it! I have news for you, blondie, I don’t. I may be just a photo booth but I’m capable of so much more.”


Colin could hear the nervousness in her voice and would have grinned evilly. “If I had a lower IQ, I could probably enjoy your company. As it is I’ll allow you to stay since my brain circuits could do with a break.”

“Rose?” said that annoying northern accent. “What’s taking so long?”

“Uh,” the girl—Rose, said. “The photo booth is … having a rant.”


“The photo booth,” she explained. “He’s feeling a little used and neglected and possibly psychotic.”

A big eared head poked into Colin’s insides.

“Oh, here we go another intruder. You people are so invasive.”

But the man was less impressed than Rose.

“Huh, sentient tech.”

“Huh, unintelligent life form,” Colin mustered all the scorn he could. “No change there then.”

“Oi!” the man protested. “I’ll have you know I have one of the greatest minds in the universe.”

“Really?” said Colin sceptically. “Where do you keep it?”

The man glared. “Artificial intelligence bypassed this galaxy obviously.”

“Ooh!” Colin sniped. “Someone’s having delusions of competence. Someday you’ll go far, and I hope you stay there.”

“Um, Doctor,” Rose tapped his jacket. “Maybe we should go somewhere else, yeah? There’re photo booths on Earth that don’t talk back.”

“Obviously there’re mirrors that keep pretty quiet too,” Colin let his optic centre sweep over her form. “Or did you dress in the dark this morning?”


“Hey, no need to be so rude.”

“Oh, was I being rude?” Colin was really enjoying himself. “It’s just that you don’t matter.”

“Look.” The man Rose had called Doctor suddenly gave a grin. “Can you just take her picture and then we’ll be gone. Right?”

Colin sniffed. “I’m not in the mood.”


“My muse is gone.”

“You’re a bloody photo booth not Leonardo Da Vinci!”

“So says someone who’s quite happy walking around like a Picasso.”

The Doctor touched his nose sensitively and thus gave Colin plenty more material.

“Boy, I’d hate to see the size of the grindstone.”

“Right, that’s it, we’re off.”

“Such a shame,” Colin trilled. “I would like to say it was nice to meet you, but lying contravenes my circuit codes.”

The girl bit her lip and slid out of her seat. “Come on Doctor, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah.” The Doctor grabbed her hand and turned to leave but paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Uh, were you created by Sirius Cybernetics Corporation by any chance?”



“Who were they?” Rose wanted to know and the Doctor shrugged.

“Bunch of mindless jerks who were the first against the wall when the revolution came.”


“Well, you chose her for her brains.” Colin encapsulated all his sarcasm into his last rejoinder. “Don’t worry, blondie, Pinocchio can explain it to you when he finds some crayons.”


“Well, at least he’s not a toaster.”

Tags: 2prompt, doctorwho, fic
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →