“I’m not going to smile, so you can stop looking at me like that. With those eyes. I know you’re doing them.”
He’s determinedly not looking at the Master’s beautiful round face, at the eyes he know have the ability to see right through him. Having fixed himself firmly in a sulk because his project, a second hybrid guitar, isn’t going well, the Doctor is sat crossly in the middle of their bed. His frustration has already faded almost to its usual level again, and now he’s mostly just sulking for show. The second he looks at the Master, his facade will break. He can’t allow that.
Naturally this means that the Master must “do them,” that is, fix his impish sparkling dark eyes all the more determinedly on his oldest and best friend’s face.
Naturally this means he must insinuate himself like a warm soft Slinky between the failed guitar and the Doctor, and stretch out his neck, and squash his nose into that of his beloved.
Naturally this means he must diabolically chuckle while smooshing the Doctor’s face between his hands.
“Yes, well, have fun with that, darling. Meanwhile I’ll be situating myself at a suitable distance to laugh at the ensuing debacle.”
The Doctor puffed out his cheeks in childish annoyance. How dare he. Theta of course, pouts.
“It works most of the time!” He protested. “As if you could come up with something better.”
He knew far too well that he could come up with something better, and childishly hopped that he wouldn’t even try.
“I can’t tell if that’s an invitation to be schooled by someone who has long been your logistical superior, but either way, I’m calling your bluff. Move, bitch.”
Says the asshole who made the entire planet himself and then didn’t notice when one of his armed guards was several inches too tall.
*le gasp* “Language Koschie… dont- dontswear!”
He gave him such an outraged look before he moved into the room under the console… 2 minuets later panicked shouting was heard, a cat screeching and then he scrambled back up, scratches all over his hands…
“OKAY! that plan didn’t work…. time for plan B…” When he thought of a plan B…. shit… he wasnt going to admit that he didnt have one…
“ … right, okay. Is that like, the ghost of your dad under there? Your dad was sodding awful.”
The Master rubs throbbing temples, then lifts both hands high, palms forward, and smacks them together for his best friend’s ever-frail focus.
“Oi. OI! Look. You have to tell me what the bloody hell it is. I can’t diagnose and act properly until I know exactly what animal you’ve summoned from the jowls of hell.”
“What say you we stop drinking mead and instead have some cocoa or apple cider, my friend? Bob for apples, perhaps? HehHAH, it’s a fun game, really, you never know when you get a chance to dunk someone’s head under and threaten to DROWN them!”
Icarus 