ext_215168 (
ambitious-woman.livejournal.com) wrote in
realityshifted2009-06-22 12:01 am
Entry tags:
19 - All we are we are
[It has been quite some time since Reinette brought herself to the Plane. If one looked closely enough, the especially pale almost translucent coloring to her skin might suggest as to why. But only, really, if one looked.
Her hair is down, and she is dutifully brushing it as she critically considers her reflection within the mirror of her vanity. An intricately carved box sits on one side, holding her most valued jewelry. And on the other side rests a music box, and a small collection of cosmetics]
Her hair is down, and she is dutifully brushing it as she critically considers her reflection within the mirror of her vanity. An intricately carved box sits on one side, holding her most valued jewelry. And on the other side rests a music box, and a small collection of cosmetics]

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I thought that was the Doctor's struggle, not your own. I would never say as much around your wife.
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I desire what I desire and I desire to always desire more.
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[he rarely allows her an inch either, after all]
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Hardly improved. Am I to think -- where the Doctor is considered, for example -- you would accept some 'sticker' for your attempt? A consolation?
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And oh look, there comes a victory.
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But hardly a universal one. What would you use to ensure victory over myself? Your wife? Even the other Doctors?
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Pleased, yes. Distracted? Never for certain.
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I say that, even as a member of it. We can be contrary creatures. And you still did not answer my question.
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[Statement. Not question. Not that she can say too much. She is the same after all.]
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Are you bored now? Shall I do something distracting and captivating?
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I'd love to see your efforts.
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So you are bored.
[She could ignore him, of course. But that is far too typically female. She could brush her hair, for his benefit instead of her own. She could act a scene or sing a song or dance a dance. Except, of course, they are always dancing. So instead, she picks up a broach from her jewelry and exposes the back. Then she traces it along one of the older scars from her bleedings. Black, shimmering blood wells, and she exposes it to him. She does not know if he has seen it closely yet]
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I think your doctors have done that enough.
[yet he reaches out to know the blood with his fingertips]
It is like the universe. But there is more light.
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[there is a sharpness there, that just might suggest her lack of color upon arrival. And her prior absence]
It looks the same, you know. In France. It fills the bowl, the black and the light. But no one ever sees.
Or perhaps they never look.
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Perhaps. But Versailles is the universe that I have.
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