(no subject)

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

[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.

Comments

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

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

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

[that's also fairly amusing]

I don't envy my other self.

Gallifreyan (for /everyone/)

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

[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]

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

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

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

Master.

[louder]

Master!

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

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

[the Master turns the page]

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

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

[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.]