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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[takes a half step back and stuffs his hands in his pockets]

Probably better this way. I can't comprehend that you're insulting me and you've got no way to tell me to leave.

I could throw the wine glass at you. But it's really good wine.

Are you offering me wine? I'm not interested, thanks. Alcohol'll burn this cut on my lip.

Hm. Well, I suppose this may work.

[lifts a hand, gesturing our with a backhanded sweep, in what one hopes might convey 'shoo']

Are you trying to tell me to leave?

Sorry, free Plane here, Master. You can leave.

[rolls his eyes]

I've told your other selves before: you're an absolute child this regeneration.

Ah, and I have no doubt you're either mocking or insulting me again. I can't even defend myself!

[laughs at the absurdity of this situation]

Aaaaaand he's cracked. Visibly, that is. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.

[obviously more mocking? Oh, that brings on more laughter. Yeah, cracked is probably a good word for it]

[this stops the dry, 'holier-than-thou' act, bringing the Master to simply stare at the Doctor. He's wondering if he should be concerned]

[Of course, he stops the glass spinning as well, and that sends the wine sloshing up the sides and splattering all over his shirt cuff]

Oh, just brilliant.

Now that, that is funny.

[calmly, without even looking at the Doctor, throws the wine glass approximately at the Doctor's chest, then pulls out a handkerchief and starts dabbing off his cuffs]

[it hits, of course, and the Doctor manages a disgusted look through his laughter]

Oh, that's just not nice.

Everything sounds sillier in Italian.

[frowns, then pulls out his laser screwdriver, flicking through the functions until he found the one he wanted: emergency clothes cleaner]

Definitely better than sonic.

[meticulously begins cleaning off the red on white]

[shakes his head]

We're always at an impasse, Master. Compatible languages or not.

[looks down at his shirt]

And that was really immature.

[glances up at the Doctor]

You're getting sentimental again, I can tell.

Are you mocking me again?

[sighs, then relaxes back into his chair. The Master has decided that the only way to get the Doctor to go away is to ignore him]

So now we just sit here, then? Both too stubborn to leave?

[that's also fairly amusing]

I don't envy my other self.

[amusing or not, the Master's not speaking. He digs out a book from his pocket - War of the Worlds, an old favourite. The Doctor will get bored, and meanwhile, the Master can read]

[Oh, not that book. He's purposefully ignoring the Doctor's bruised-wine-covered-self. Now the Doctor's irritated]

Master.

[louder]

Master!

Edited 2008-07-28 02:41 (UTC)

[the Master turns the page]

[bounds over to the Master]

Master! I know you can understand proper names. You know I'm talking to you.

Fine. Fine, you don't have to talk to me. Not like I could understand you.

[YOU WIN THIS TIME MASTER. Vanishes from the Plane.]

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(no subject)

Italian (Maths and I had a fight back in grade school, haven't been the same since)

Gallifreyan (I think I'm in an abusive relationship with maths)

Italian (Have you ever thought how sweet your life could be if you just let maths go?)

Gallifreyan (But I love maths!!)

Italian (You only think you love maths.)

Gallifreyan (I know I do! Our love is true!)

Italian (If it's true, then why does it hurt so much?)

Gallifreyan (Love hurts)

Italian (But true love heals!)

Gallifreyan (Not before it scars you!)

Italian (I bet maths is just counting the scars! It's a mockery of love!)

Gallifreyan (No, maths loves me! It said so!!)

Italian (You should leave maths before you waste your life!)

Gallifreyan (Maths is my life!)

Italian (You can have more to your life! Think about how much English loves you!)

Gallifreyan (English isn't serious about me)

Italian (You can't really believe that.)

Gallifreyan (Come on. English is never serious about anything)

Italian (English writes epic love poems. For you!)

Gallifreyan (for /everyone/)

Italian (It's all a front because English is too shy to talk to you)

Gallifreyan (Not true. English is a whore. Can you name a language it hasn't been with?)

Italian (American. They're a different species.)