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@thecumbermaster
..Doesn’t sound like a tea day then- I’ll let you have mine as well
[He hesitates, glancing up to his hair with a small smile.]
Bad day coffee coming right up~
{He sucks in a breath, and lets it hiss out.}
Never mind. C'mon, we'll go find a nice tea place. I'll see if I can't bully the staff into singing you a happy birthday.
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metuere replied to your post
One coffee. 27 coffee.
27 would do.
[Sighs] How do you like your coffee anyway? Tea really is better for you and much tastier you know. [Muttering] Coffee really isn’t celebratory anyway.
Black and bitter. It's one of those days.
{He reaches out absent-mindedly and ruffles Theta's hair.}
I'll get you a cake later. promise.
I will not! And it’s not ‘Shouty kid’ it’s Theta. And it’s my birthday. I’m not supposed to bring anyone anything. I even got the day off from work.
Happy birthday. Here's a tenner, go get yourself a birthday coffee. Grab me one too, while you're out.
Yes, yes, your lord and etc is here, throw the confetti, go team. But, seriously. Make with the coffee.
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thetaintraining replied to your post:
GINGER!
Shouty kid, bring me coffee.
Do you ever have those mornings when you wake up and reach for your alarm clock and realize that the universe has changed inexorably and in a way you're not totally sure you support? Because I just did.
No doubt his laughter is influential, as she finds herself grinning from ear to ear. Though, she wouldn’t say she was good at dealing with it; at the very least, she had mastered hiding it.
"I wouldn’t want to bore you with the average tale," she says. "People are born, and then they live. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s not. Alternatively, sometimes things get interesting. Frankly those are the only moments I appreciate.”
There she goes again, rambling. It’s a wonder she hasn’t driven him away yet. “—Missing person? That sounds far more intriguing.” Though so obviously eager to hear more, the woman was never one to push others’ boundaries, at least not if it weren’t necessary.
"For the record, I think she’s absolutely adorable." But that’s Giselle for you, thinking that everything is cute.
"Terribly vague, miss. Terribly vague! Makes you sound like some kind of government agent, vagueness like that."
He's not even trying to work out what her deal is. He hasn't even considered that there may be anything interesting about her.
"I'm afraid my story is as boring as you paint yours out to be. Just someone I used to - well. Be friends with doesn't really fit, but it'll have to do. Nice bloke, very jolly, burned my house down. I'm rather on the lookout for him. Following the trail of wanton but well-intentioned destruction, you know how it goes."
Leaning down, he scratches lightly between Daisy's ears.
"Shame you aren't a tracker dog, huh, baby?"
He’ll just stick his tongue out, grinning. That smile drops the second the Master speaks again. Did you see that? Did you see the Doctor curl in on himself as much as he could, He also can’t look at the Master now.
"A lot. Where do you want me to begin?" That sound? That’s the sound of resignation, of the Doctor giving up.
"In the middle. Let's do this Alice In Wonderland style."
The Doctor seems sad. This is confusing - weird, even. The Doctor shouldn't be sad. Not this kind of sad, he should be - big gestures, big words, big ego. Not this.
A jumble of fallen hair is tucked back behind her ear, and the opposite hand is hastily covered with saliva. Busy day…the very idea is enough to make her eyes roll. If you’d call a stubborn TARDIS and another Time Lord’s presence busy, then she’d suppose so.
"It’s not like I haven’t dealt with it before," she assures him. Bit of an understatement, but she was never one to make things seem grander than they really were. "Not quite sure as to where I would even begin, though it’s not like you’d like to hear about it anyway."
Eager to shove things into the back of her mind, she switches to—dog talk. It’s a little disappointing, knowing that this is what they have become. But Giselle could never pass up an opportunity to mention her best companion/drool factory.
"His name is Hugo; a Siberian Husky who thinks he’s still the size of a puppy."
"Ah, a professional!"
His laugh rumbles in his chest like artificial thunder, his attention already tugging away from the conversation. She's cute, mysterious, she likes his dog. It's boring. It's all so stupidly boring.
" - I can't say I wouldn't like to know, though. You're building it up to be quite the mystery right now. I'm almost tempted to put my missing person search aside just to hear it."
And - back to dogtalk. Easy enough.
"He sounds gorgeous. I've been lucky with Daisy here, she's got really great spacial awareness. Thinks she looks a lot cuter than she does, but I don't mind encouraging that."
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"Well apparently you suck at treehouses."
He’s trying, he’s trying very hard. And this is the most lucid he’s been in six months. It’s like watching the Master forget everything all over again.
"Why are you collecting dogs? Why can’t you be a normal Time Lord why do you have to be this way."
Don’t answer that.
"I would like," he shoots back, head tipped so the Doctor can only see the side of his face that has bothered to smile, "to see you do better."
That actually sounds like a fun idea. A treehouse-off, a bland and normal competition, something easy. Easier. Something better than him turning back and asking:
"So what's wrong with you, anyway?" except for oh you bastard shit that's exactly what he just did, that's exactly the thing he just asked.
transmitting to; thecumbermaster, spaceshipproceeds & carlosbeautifulcarlos
”This is a distress call. I repeat, this is a distress call.”
The coffee’s so watered down that it hardly passes as coffee. If it turns out she’s getting rescued within the next week and there was no need to ration supplies like this, Elizabeth is going to be very annoyed.
”My name is Elizabeth Bly. If you are receiving these video or audio transmissions, please respond. I am stranded aboard the vessel Lorelai, in the LV-446 sector —”
Well, that’s where she started off.
”— though it’s just as likely I’m far off course by now. Please respond.”
And she’ll just keep talking, listing off contact numbers and family members’ names and all the details she can think of, for at least another half hour.
Telemarketers. Don't you just hate them? Phoning you up at odd hours on dead comlinks, trying to sell you tupperware or car insurance or their own fragile hopes for survival - ugh.
Option; help. Option: ignore.
... No, that won't do. Predictable, boring. He's never been so caged in before by the thing he's meant to lord over (laugh now), and the drums gimmick is starting to look good. So, he needs two more options, make a nice little square.
Option: find this person. Destroy them.
Option:...
He reverses the call quickly enough, finger hovering over the dial button. He needs... Something witty. Something tacky and inane and charming. Something that will make him laugh.
He pushes the dial button.
"What are you wearing?"
A sigh. A very large sigh because that is so him and it’s enough. Because he’s still the Master and they’ll get through this, and all that optimistic shit that the Doctor’s known for.
"Can’t I mope and help? And also why in Rassilon’s name are you doing this anyway?"
He means the treehouse.
"Nope, house rules. This is going to be a happy treehouse for the dogs I keep collecting, and that is that."
He holds the hammer out, and chokes down (again) how wrong this Doctor feels.
"I wanted to see if I could."
We can feel it, and it’s enough to make him lean back, and shut his eyes. So much for that little part of him hoping to deny it. A sigh then he speaks.
"She did, and if it’d been anyone else I’d have laughed. Did future you give a reason?"
He half-turns, wiping a stray curl out of his eyes with a bandaged hand, and shrugs.
"I didn't ask. He gave me a notebook and a lot of advice, and I set everything on fire last week. I have a short attention span, apparently. You gonna stand there and mope, or do you want to help me build this?"
Okay, he can do this. He can walk through and find the Master and not have a breakdown.
Ha, Ha. Ha.
He does make it to the Master before breaking down though. At first he just stands there. And tries to think of what to say.
"…What point in your timeline are you?" Whoops, he got so close to his voice not cracking.
And I can feel a change, I can feel - can you feel it? He doesn't move an inch but he steps offstage, the energy traded out for a solid weight, a realness that wasn't missing until it was. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
"Pretty early. You smell like perfume. Lilly Constantina told you?"
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❝Yeah, I’ve seen you in a dream!❞
"Wow. Really?"
(Please excuse the unimpressed glare and the flat tone, he just - well. He thinks you're another obnoxiously vague prophet child, to be honest.)
Nodding, she quietly clicks her tongue and encourages the dog to approach. Immediately she scratches behind Daisy’s ears, and she hums to herself. How generous, she thinks, that he has taken in a rescue dog. She’s done the same thing in the past herself, just not strictly with canines.
Her attention remains on the dog as she speaks; it’s easy for her to forget to acknowledge one species when she’s distracted by another. “Hmm, I guess I am. I take in a lot of animals though; mostly birds. I do have a dog, however. I’d say he’s around two years old now. Somewhat of a handful, though I’m sure you can imagine.”
Giselle gives a chuckle, along with a brief glance to this stranger—and it’s then that she realizes someone else is here. She mentally scolds herself for not noticing it before, having ignored her senses for a drink and a dog. She clears her throat, hoping it would clear her head as well, and sits herself up straight. Smile accompanying, Giselle looks to this stranger of hers, thought it’s clear that her concentration seems to be drifting.
"I hope you’ll forgive me…I’ve got a few things on my mind at the moment."
Town that reeks of Time Lord, pretty girl with problems. Oh, oh, oh, please ignore the lightbulb above his head or the way he curls back into the conversation like a hungry snake - he's just excited, see.
Daisy, meanwhile, is the perfect good cop, rolling over and slobbering all over the woman's hand.
"It's quite alright -" he reassures, bending down himself to scratch behind the dog's ears gently. "Busy day, I take it?"
Scratch, scratch, scratch (-four) and pause.
"Unless that's a personal question, in which case I apologise. What's your dog called?"
