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.