There is something to be said for a little decadence. The Master himself had always been fond of luxury, of details and filigree and quality.
But why he had come into his room to find his sheets replaced with silk and his comforter replaced with velvet was of serious question.
He blinked once, not entirely sure what to make of the situation. Warning flags went up in his mind, and he approached the room cautiously. There wasn’t much else wrong, admittedly. The night table had a set of candles, replacing his usual lamp that rested there. They were lit – and probably scented: apple spice, if his nose did not deceive him – and… something else that looked remarkably like a fancy bottle of lotion with a funny shape, a lavender label, and something about “for lovers”.
The door opens behind him and he turns to get an eyeful of primped-up Doctor. His hair was slicked back so that the curls teased at the nape of his neck, his eyes alit with something caught between mischievous and hopeful. He had replaced his usual green Victorian coat with… a red velvet one of a near identical cut.
The Master blinks. Then his brow furrows and, in his American drawl, he scoffs. “Oh, what, so you made a dress out of sheets? Are you Cinderella, now?”
The Doctor shuffled his feet, faking shyness while his eyes glittered happily. “The sheets are silk,” he corrects the Master.
“So are your long underwear,” he retorts, trying not to think very hard on what ammo he’s using to throw back at the mild-natured and really too-damn-smug man in front of him.
Those summery blue eyes blinked once. His grin pulled widely and he stepped a little closer. “Won’t know until you look,” he puts out hopefully.
The Master rolls his eyes, putting his hands on the Doctor’s waist. “You could have just asked…”
“I thought you’d be able to take the hint, when I put on the jacket,” his lower lip presses out a little, and the pout works its magic. The Master curses this manipulative bastard and tries not to think about how lovely it would be to run his cheek against the Doctor’s sleeve for the rest of the night.
Thank you, but he has no intentions of looking like a pining, clingy housecat tonight.
“You could have whispered it sweetly in my ear when we woke up, at least. Rather than leaving me with—” he glances behind him, making sure he read right, “—strawberry-flavored lubrication on my table.”
“Oh, how silly of me,” says the Doctor. He tilts his face up and kisses the Master’s chin in that sweet way he has when he wants something. His hands slip under the Master’s jacket. “I shall make sure I bring out the chocolate, next time.”
The Master rolled his eyes, but obliged. A little velvet never hurt anyone, after all.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Prompt : Nuance
It is silly to assume, really, that a cigar is anything but a cigar. Humans, the Master thought, were ridiculous for finding as much symbolism as they did. Patterns in things that had none, meaning in things that were obviously very literal. Time Lords were sparing with their metaphors. Metaphors meant something far more literal to Time Lords than they did to humans.
Eyes like a summer sky would have layers upon layers of meaning, in their language. Eyes that are light like a clouded day, eyes that have warmth about them, eyes that make me feel like summer only could make me feel—often personal case could even be used to describe a certain emotional mindset. And the written language would be even more specific.
Symbols would be used carefully. Every word has meaning behind it; humans were flat with their metaphors. They could not understand the nuance of meaning that would go into words or actions, much less their shallow metaphors.
As it stands, it is a day like any other. Warm. Barely sunny. Not comfortable enough to tread out of doors in less than a t-shirt, jeans, and jacket, but it was a processor to spring. The world would be warm soon. Summer might even arrive. Seemed unbelievable now, but summer might actually come again.
The Master puts his hands over his paper, his hands stained with charcoal, and for the umpteenth time tries to wrap his head around the concept of love in the context of marriage.
He had been studying the human custom ever since the Doctor had brought it up. He had relented and popped the question, though “will you marry me” seemed as shallow as a human metaphor. There was nothing about being together for the rest of their days in the question. There was not even a semblance of love behind the gesture. All that came without saying.
No. “Will you marry me”?, to the Master, sounded flat enough that the only words he could imagine under the flat, metaphorical surface were “Happy now?”
It wasn’t so bad, he supposed. It felt flat, but it made the Doctor happy. Concepts such as forever, togetherness, belonging—those were all things that came on the side. He didn’t need marriage to demonstrate them. They came with the package. And if the Doctor was happy on top of it—well, that would do.
He starts doing research into it, and he can’t believe how little humans explain their terms. Four hours later, he throws aside his “Wedding Planning for Dummies” and approaches the Doctor with an air caught between gravity and annoyance.
“What the hell do the bridesmaids even do, and how do you tell the bride from the groom? And what—” he concludes, slipping in close for a cuddle, “by all the stars, is a honey moon?”
The Doctor blinked, then giggled. “Bridesmaids are friends who accompany the bride in the ceremony. The bride is usually a woman—”
“Neither of us are bloody women.” The Master pointed out, nuzzling his hair.
“—so I suppose the question doesn’t particularly apply.” The Doctor concluded. Then, “But if you want, I could wear the dress.”
The Master huffed. “And the last part?”
“Oh?”
“The hell is a honey moon.” He repeats.
Suddenly the Doctor looks nervous, almost shy, and the Master’s attention is caught. He tilts his head as the Doctor looks down.
“…well… on the honey moon, the newlyweds go off somewhere… alone. And celebrate their marriage.”
“…what for?” The Master furrowed his brows, not at all sure why you needed a second celebration ceremony.
The Doctor gave him a look. “Go somewhere. … alone.”
It’s a look that a Time Lord would have. In his eyes, the emphasis is given. Suggests the case of “alone” meaning “you and I, one day, potentially, somewhere, undefined”. His tone gives structure. Alone, regarding intimacy, regarding privacy. Go. Action.
“Oh.” Says the Master.
Eyes like a summer sky would have layers upon layers of meaning, in their language. Eyes that are light like a clouded day, eyes that have warmth about them, eyes that make me feel like summer only could make me feel—often personal case could even be used to describe a certain emotional mindset. And the written language would be even more specific.
Symbols would be used carefully. Every word has meaning behind it; humans were flat with their metaphors. They could not understand the nuance of meaning that would go into words or actions, much less their shallow metaphors.
As it stands, it is a day like any other. Warm. Barely sunny. Not comfortable enough to tread out of doors in less than a t-shirt, jeans, and jacket, but it was a processor to spring. The world would be warm soon. Summer might even arrive. Seemed unbelievable now, but summer might actually come again.
The Master puts his hands over his paper, his hands stained with charcoal, and for the umpteenth time tries to wrap his head around the concept of love in the context of marriage.
He had been studying the human custom ever since the Doctor had brought it up. He had relented and popped the question, though “will you marry me” seemed as shallow as a human metaphor. There was nothing about being together for the rest of their days in the question. There was not even a semblance of love behind the gesture. All that came without saying.
No. “Will you marry me”?, to the Master, sounded flat enough that the only words he could imagine under the flat, metaphorical surface were “Happy now?”
It wasn’t so bad, he supposed. It felt flat, but it made the Doctor happy. Concepts such as forever, togetherness, belonging—those were all things that came on the side. He didn’t need marriage to demonstrate them. They came with the package. And if the Doctor was happy on top of it—well, that would do.
He starts doing research into it, and he can’t believe how little humans explain their terms. Four hours later, he throws aside his “Wedding Planning for Dummies” and approaches the Doctor with an air caught between gravity and annoyance.
“What the hell do the bridesmaids even do, and how do you tell the bride from the groom? And what—” he concludes, slipping in close for a cuddle, “by all the stars, is a honey moon?”
The Doctor blinked, then giggled. “Bridesmaids are friends who accompany the bride in the ceremony. The bride is usually a woman—”
“Neither of us are bloody women.” The Master pointed out, nuzzling his hair.
“—so I suppose the question doesn’t particularly apply.” The Doctor concluded. Then, “But if you want, I could wear the dress.”
The Master huffed. “And the last part?”
“Oh?”
“The hell is a honey moon.” He repeats.
Suddenly the Doctor looks nervous, almost shy, and the Master’s attention is caught. He tilts his head as the Doctor looks down.
“…well… on the honey moon, the newlyweds go off somewhere… alone. And celebrate their marriage.”
“…what for?” The Master furrowed his brows, not at all sure why you needed a second celebration ceremony.
The Doctor gave him a look. “Go somewhere. … alone.”
It’s a look that a Time Lord would have. In his eyes, the emphasis is given. Suggests the case of “alone” meaning “you and I, one day, potentially, somewhere, undefined”. His tone gives structure. Alone, regarding intimacy, regarding privacy. Go. Action.
“Oh.” Says the Master.
Friday, March 11, 2011
new developments
Structure-wise, at least.
Two options for a title, here. We have "Reconciliation" or "The Healing Sacrament". I'm more tempted by the first, since all the four sub-sections are one word-ers. The second does sound slightly more Catholic, which is the basis for the whole titling and organization of the piece -- because I get silly and obsessive about my fanfiction XD -- but even so. The terms are apparently pretty interchangeable, as far as I can tell from Wikipedia.
the Sin chapter should also maybe have it's title changed to "contrition". Granted, I can't exactly say that any Master would ever feel GUILTY for his sins, but... apparently contrition is the main first step in the whole confession-absolution process. So we'll see. It probably will change from "sin" though. >>
...and yes I wrote up a post just for notes. rawr. <3
Two options for a title, here. We have "Reconciliation" or "The Healing Sacrament". I'm more tempted by the first, since all the four sub-sections are one word-ers. The second does sound slightly more Catholic, which is the basis for the whole titling and organization of the piece -- because I get silly and obsessive about my fanfiction XD -- but even so. The terms are apparently pretty interchangeable, as far as I can tell from Wikipedia.
the Sin chapter should also maybe have it's title changed to "contrition". Granted, I can't exactly say that any Master would ever feel GUILTY for his sins, but... apparently contrition is the main first step in the whole confession-absolution process. So we'll see. It probably will change from "sin" though. >>
...and yes I wrote up a post just for notes. rawr. <3
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