THE CURATOR

Note: please be warned before reblogging: some of these things are things you may not want your character to do!

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“Such a vote of confidence,” Ashildr said looking over at her, though she wasn’t actually that fussed by her teasing. “I’m sure at some point I was very much a catch and a proper lady with all the skills that went along with it,” She paused. “I just can’t remember that bit.” 

She took her hand, “You’ll go easy on me?”

She ignored the 'child' part; considering how and where she spent the last few hundreds of years, she didn't feel it was entirely wrong. She did steal a TARDIS once, her sisters --or was it hers? she couldn't even remember anymore--, but she hardly considered it her own.

“Come over here and make me.”

“Have you lost your damn mind!?”

“Please, don’t leave.”

“Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“I almost lost you.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Teach me how to play?”

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

“I think we need to talk.”

“Kiss me.”

“Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

“So, I found this waterfall…”

“It could be worse.”

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

“The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

“Just once.”

“You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I got you a present.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Marry me?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“It’s not what it looks like…”

“You lied to me.”

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

“I wish I could hate you.”

“Wanna dance?”

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Hey! I was gonna eat that!”

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“You did all of this for me?”

“I swear it was an accident.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Tell me a secret.”

“Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Boo.”

“Well this is awkward…”

“It’s just a scratch. You worry too much.”

“Ah… ! Don’t press there!”

“Just put a bandage on it and I’ll be fine.”

“That looks bad. Really bad.”

“Try not to look at it.”

“That hurts!”

“You’re going to need bedrest for at least a few days.”

“I’m going to be stuck in bed for how long?”

“That’s nothing, you big baby.”

“Here, let me help. I’m good at this sort of thing.”

“I can’t feel it. That’s bad, right?”

“Can you move?”

“How can something so small hurt so much?”

“It looks a lot worse than it is.”

“You’re a terrible patient.”

“Will you hold still? I can’t do anything if you keep squirming.”

“Wow, I’ve never seen skin turn that color before.”

“It’s just another a war trophy.”

“Shut up and let me help you.”

“I don’t care how tough you are. You can’t ignore that.”

“It’s even more than that. To put order into something as irrational as emotions and pain, and in such a beautiful way…” The Curator fell silent for a moment. It was odd for her to be that talkative towards any individual, but evidently expressing herself about what enamored her so much about those images modified that treat of her personality in great measure.

But she might open up too much.

“I’ve thought about stealing him, the Van Gogh. He could have been so much productive. He just needs the right environment.”

What was it with Time Lords and their desire to take what wasn’t theirs? Admittedly, stealing people was a new one for him; although the Goddess knew that he’d spent enough time cleaning up after The Doctor to be surprised by what any of them might do. It seemed that restraint was something that Rassilon had removed from the Gallifreyan genome when he had created the Time Lord. Thank goodness there were still a few natural Gallifreyans left to curb their enthusiasm. 

The Curator tilted her heard a bit. The hint of a smile was present on her lips before hearing his words; now, it was gone.

“I know that. I've been stolen myself.” She retorted, eyes fixed on his face. Common sense dictated that you shouldn't do to others what you wouldn't like to be done to you, she knew that very well, but how valid was that premise when it already has happened? Nothing at all, to her. She looked away, finally. “That can be easily fixed. I just need to take him from his environment shortly after his last piece, and...” But he was right, the wrong environment could end in absolutely nothing. What if he only produced worthless paintings? Of course, trying was the only way she could finally learn what would happen, but he was essentially right.

He didn’t dislike art  - if he paid it any mind beyond it being nice, beyond it being made with eyes which saw better than he could see, he’d treat it with the same ceremony that the chaps running the tour would treat it. But he was working, and so it was more labour-saving to see the pieces for what they were than what they could be, or what went into making them. All those naked bodies shivering in a studio somewhere, all those centuries ago. And what was this Protector doing with the art once she’d bought it? Burn it or hang it up, and which would be worse? With hands clasped together he counted to sixty seconds, and moved on, using that window of time to look around the room.

Undercover work meant not clocking off, and not reading what you’d would like to read in the canteen whilst on break. One was required not to break, and to be dressed and booted for days on end in clothes which didn’t fit right, waiting to see what you were supposed to see and report it back to HQ. Still, there are worse jobs. Outdoor jobs. And he appreciated the orderly bustle of a gallery: the pleases and thankyous, and the holding doors for one another. And he likes the way a bald man in a wool hat is not sure if to put his hands in his pockets now that one is holding an exhibition leaflet, and the young girl making a pleasant show of being interested in a glass statue, arching her neck so a tendon or two strains like a handbrake being released. 

But that man in her gallery was only one who didn't look marveled by her collection. In fact, she had caught glimpses of his eyes looking for her, and practically ignoring the sublime painting and sculptures that captivated so many humans people around him. Out of place, he was.

At a certain moment the Curator, who had been talking to a group of humans about her newest additions --the only kind of talk she would ever involve in with humans--, got separated from the group and walked towards the taller human. That was how she ended up repeating herself before the still unknown individual, a polite smile on her lips.

“Extreme acts of cruelty require a high level of empathy”

“A body will always remember, for better or for worse.” The Time Lady said nonchalantly, before holding out her hand for Ashildr. And suddenly, a tentative smirk appeared on her lips. “I won’t be disappointed, I hope nothing but the worst coming from you.”