Send “Sleep already!” for a starter where my muse is very clearly sleep-deprived, but refuses to sleep.
“Are you MAD? You expect your opposition to ease oop on their counter-position to this school reform proposal if I sleep it off?”
It’s entirely possible that the Master takes his role as the Lady President’s Chief Counsel a bit too seriously.
A pile of ruthlessly marked-up paperwork sits on either side of his desk, like twin pillars of doom announcing his presence, as he continues to jot vicious notes in the margins of his own education reform documents.
“I mean honestly, which of us has been a successful politician before? You ought to be milking my skills for all they’re worth!”
As he says this, the tip of his fountain pen flies off like a deadly projectile, and sprays red ink all over his robes.
Koschei sighs and purses his lips down at himself.
“This looks a little more like what I’m in the mood for.”
the suns have shifted their orbit as they do every year, weather patterns shifting just so. gallifreyan summer had arrived, bringing it’s usual unbearable heat waves. thankfully technology is far enough advanced that they’re hardly bothered in the citadel or major cities, but the shifting sands beyond practically radiate the heat right back. hopefully the summer rains will come sooner rather than later.
still, standing in the midst of the lungbarrow chapterhouse she could feel the heat sinking into her skin from the outside. the great structure looked severely neglected, and quite frankly theta wasn’t certain how it was still alive, even now. the complex pulsed with an energy that sang to her, much like the tardis, urging her forward when all she could do was stand in the entrance to the great hall and it’s upended tables, disregarded furniture, and it’s dimly lit corners.
“i wasn’t expecting this.” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder briefly if only to break her gaze from the depressing state of the chapterhouse. “it’s been left to rot. to suffer. the housekeeper has fled. i’d almost forgotten, i think.” she murmured, reaching out a hand to rest against the wall that was alive beneath her palm. “there’s nothing left of lungbarrow.”
The Master has been staring at the Doctor’s openly struggling profile since the couple arrived on Lungbarrow land. He licks his lips and speaks, with calm confidence.
“I tell you what. Let’s go in together.”
He takes her hand in his own, caressing her knuckles with his thumb.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from you and me, over the centuries, it’s that things that seem unsalvageable truly aren’t.”
He steps inside the threshold and instantly feels the walls vibrating with hostility; your blood is foreign and you are unwelcome, the structure seems to sing.
“Tough,” Oakdown’s sole remaining heir murmurs, and grimaces almost smugly at the cracked ceiling.
The Master perks upright while pouring himself and his wife “monkey-picked” oolong tea from a Chinese monastery, suitable to her fanatical taste for the beverage, and continues to pour the tea long after it has filled her cup.
she steps out of the tardis and does a bit of a twirl, all black and purple lace with a wide brimmed, pointed hat cocked to the side half hiding her face. her grin is sinister – or it would be, if it wasn’t as goofy as it was.
//Otay. I know we’re doing stuff on the Academy being revised. Seems like taking measures to dismantle the idea of genealogical caste (basically eugenics) would also…lol be a good step…good God I never realized how fucked up Time Lords were….
The Master smiles wryly at the air in front of him, as his wife pretzels around his form and declares her affections (he feels them, daily, by the moment, pulsing between their minds, eternal as time itself).
Fingers twine with hers, and lift both her hands to his lips, to kiss the pulse points of her wrists.
“How could you not imagine ME to be lovable?” he teases, then spins in her arms and catches her face roughly, passionately close. “Hi. You’re the whole point of my existence. That alright with you?”
“HehHAH, what’d I do? This is a most blessed visit.”
The Master follows wife and daughter out into that which is reminiscent of the red grassy fields made sacred by memory. He can’t help it: even when on another planet, his mind returns to the place of origin for every happiest state of his hearts. Still, the fireflies are bigger, fatter, and brighter on this planet, as he and Theta both aim to please their beloved babygirl.
“You know, I’m not sure I care, long as I’ve got my girls… . ! What IS it, my brilliant star? Oh golly, you’re joost piping with ideas!”
He bends carefully to hoist Celesia up onto his shoulders.
“Look, Lessie, look! See the lights? Those are bugs! They look like fallen stars, now don’t they? But you know those stars are all big …bigger than this whole field, bigger than ten of these whole fields? They’re joost very, very far away. Wave to them! Wave, loov! There’s a girl! Maybe you have a friend on one of those stars waving back, that you and mum and me’ll get to meet someday, hm? Like mum and I were friends!”
He realizes, of course, from his typically voracious study of child development, that Celesia can probably latch onto only a handful of the words he speaks, but Koschei hates the idea of ever speaking down to his daughter, and so it’s typical that they converse in this manner, her babbles to his full sentences, with mutually feeding enthusiasm.
theta, for her part, watches the entire interaction with amusement and warmth in her eyes. she relishes these moments between the three of them, and a swell of contentment washes over her as it so very often does in these moments. she is here. she is happy. she is home. because her home are the two gallifreyans talking nonsense to each other three steps ahead of her.
“one day.” she echoes, because she wants to show celesia the universe. but she is also very aware of their mutual enemies who would only seek to harm their daughter or worse. she won’t let fear govern her always, but the anxious mother in her only wants to keep celesia safe. and koschei safe. “though don’t go putting ideas in her head about rebellious boys and girls who run off together and promise to see the stars in a stolen tardis.” she teases, setting the picnic box down and spreading out a blanket.
“there’s a meteor shower tonight.” theta adds in afterthough, remembering why she’d lured her better half here to the middle of nowhere, where there is no light pollution on the planet to disturb the show of stars. “it only happens once every thousand decades. not that it’s that imperative considering the time machine and all but – i thought it would be nice for us. clearly you two are already thrilled and i haven’t even brought out the snacks.”
Koschei thrusts back his head and laughs in that characteristic manner, a defiant brash noise aimed at the stars themselves.
“What ELSE am I supposed to tell her, as a model for finding her soul mate?”
He gathers Celesia down from his shoulders, tickling her navel, and places her in the middle of the veritable feast. He ties a bib around her little neck, hums in delight at the news his wife offers.
“Nooo, but I know. There is an extra sort of poignancy to experiencing it once you’ve heard of it, the ‘first time’ a big event comes ‘round.”
“and i’ll never doubt it. not for a moment. you were brilliant.” she is there to greet him after his speech, grinning broadly in her usual way. she kisses him then in greeting, in kindness and warmth because while she considers herself a decent speaker, there is something about his words that inspire emotions in ways she has yet to manage on her own.
looping her arm through his, she practically glows in his company after his speech, his impassioned words. she had been uneasy at first, but now sees what she might have missed had she not agreed to such a public display, such a broadcasted speech across the entire planet. but the emotion he puts behind his words still ring in her ears, relays over their mental connectivity and makes her heartbeats quicken still.
“i loved it. i love you. gods, that was amazing kosch!” another dazzling grin, another lingering kiss. “you were amazing. i’m so proud of you.”
“You really like it that much? I mean, I confess, I was beyond invigorated!”
The Master pulls the Doctor near by the waist, tidying some of the tailored details of her formal; he muses wryly how much more real and right it feels to play charismatic politician with his one great love on his arm, and not poor bereft Lucy Saxon.
“Take me away.”
Their faces are inches apart; she could count the hairs of silver fox stubble on his jaw and his sideburns, and she can smell the cinnamon gum he chewed before his speech, and the musky fresh aroma of his cologne.
“Now. Pull a publicity stunt. Call the TARDIS and let’s have a victory run.”
Icarus 