realityshifted | (no subject)

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doctor who (d3) the master - simm

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[seated in an ornate armchair, speaking in fluent, articulate, and rather pleasant-to-the-ears Gallifreyan]

It's actually a bit disgusting, hearing you lot speak Gallifreyan so primitively. Like chanting off - no, that metaphor's incomprehensible without a background in high mathematics. Fine. Like writing Calculus and finding everyone else doing basic algebra.

[then he changes to Russian - less articulate, of course, but he's comfortable with the language]

This one, though, this one's a bit ironic. Look at me, the Master, the deathless, blathering on in Russian. Haven't been in ages, should probably go back and put a few more legends into the locals.

[sips from his wine, and slips back into Gallifreyan]

At least the people of the city still understand me.

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You could never keep a grip.

[the Master shall now attempt to destroy the Doctor's leg support and punch his right shoulder, taking advantage of the momentum to knock the Doctor over and, hopefully, pin him to the ground.]

Not this time, Master!

[cries out at the kick and falls to his back, then kicks outward, trying to roll them both over and the Doctor back on top]

[slips just barely away and quickly gets his feet under him, standing up again and aiming for a kick at the Doctor]

Nice, how 'Master' was the only bit of that I could understand.

[hisses at the kick then kicks at the Master's knees to get him back to the ground]

Funny how all I could understand out of that was the Master.

[that's nicely done on the Doctor's part, as the Masterfalls right on top of the Doctor, all elbows and knees]

[cue several choice Italian swears, along with a rough shove off of the Doctor and the Doctor grabbing the Master's hair]

Now that we're at least matched...

[a shout and he grabs the Doctor's wrist, digging his nails into it] Hair-pulling? Hair-pulling? This is not a bloody human catfight!

[this time, the foot's aimed at the Doctor's shins]

[Takes his head from where he holds his hair and tries to slam his face into the "ground"]

One of these days we're going to have a decent conversation without fighting. Today is not that day.

[and cue a few swears at the Master's kicks fall true]

You're so disagreable!

[breaks his head free, but ends up smashing the side of his head into the ground, leaving him dizzy]

You're so disagreeable!

[forearm to the chest to pin him to the ground]

[frowns deeply, eyes closed, then opens them to the Doctor]

Oh, I hate you.

[sighs and lets his head fall back]

[wide victorious grin]

You look better like this.

Oh, go shove Rassilon's Rod up your arse, Theta Sigma.

[without even lifting his head, lifts an arm for a punch to the nose]

[cries out angrily at the punch and the blood that it produces]

Got three out of that. Are we comparing me to Rassilon, now?

[grabs the Master's wrists and attempts to pin him]

Edited 2008-07-27 00:57 (UTC)

[a smiles spreads on his face and he lets the Doctor pin him]

I win.

[forcefully pinning, but his expression slowly turns to confusion]

I win.

[shakes his head, laughing at the Doctor now]

No, Doctor, definitely my victory.

[Forcefully pushes his wrists down again, as if it will prove he's won]

Stop laughing. Stop it!

[laughs harder]

And the best bit is, I couldn't win if you didn't react so badly to it. Must be awful to be mocked in the language of your childhood and not understand. By you best friend, at that.

Now, let's see.

[clears his throat and shuts his eyes for a moment, then opens them, and speaks in the voice and tones of that childhood friend]

You're hurting my wrists, Thete. Let go.

[panics; what is the Master doing? What is the Doctor doing?]

Don't call me that. I don't know what you're saying but don't---[pushes down on his wrists harder] call me that!

[flinches]

Thete! Please, let go.

[Either he doesn't understand, or he doesn't WANT to]

Why are you doing this?

[the Master certainly understands well enough what the Doctor's saying, but he doesn't at all appear to, not when he's still talking in that tone, with that voice, in that old language]

Let go.

[lightly tries to pull his hands away - not a real fight, more whining than anything]

Come on, Thete. It's enough.

[unable to let him go. Not again, not after all of this]

Master.

Edited 2008-07-27 02:34 (UTC)

Thete.

Gallifreyan (Because you're not cool enough)

Italian (Says the one talking in Gallifreyan...)

Gallifreyan (What's that supposed to mean?)

Italian (What do you think it means?)

Gallifreyan (I don't like you anymore)

Italian (You say that now, but I know you love me)

Gallifreyan (I do not. I hate you. Forever.)

Italian (But I love you. See, I bought you chocolate!)

Gallifreyan (I know you; you're just using me!)

Italian (Yeah, but you like it)

Gallifreyan (...well, yes)

Italian (At least you can admit it)

Gallifreyan (First step to recovery)

Italian (cause I didn't forget to fill this in)

Gallifreyan (I say nothing)

Re: Gallifreyan (I say nothing)

Gallifreyan

Italian (Yes, I lose)

Gallifreyan (I tried not to mention it)

Italian (I appreciate the politeness)

Gallifreyan (I try)

Italian (So, forgive me?)

Gallifreyan (Always! After persuasion, anyway)

Italian (God I suck at remembering)

Gallifreyan (You sort of d--I mean, no, of course not!)