the fuckface who holds time itself in his hands (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
collector) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
realityshifted2010-10-23 11:51 am
collector) wrote in realityshifted2010-10-23 11:51 am
Entry tags:
great minds against themselves conspire
[Sometimes, it won't all stay locked away. Sometimes the seal can't take the pressure. Sometimes the maze won't keep the monster in. Sometimes the jar cracks apart and all the evils come pouring out into the universe.
Sometimes, you just can't hide the pain you're in.
And Irving Braxiatel can't, though he tries to make it to the forest before he cracks, because that pain is written all over him. Oh, his clothing is as immaculate as ever, his skin is unblemished, not a single hair is out of place. But his bones are all jagged angles, his muscles constricted, and his mouth is sealed tight to try to contain any expression suffering.
Braxiatel covers his face with his hands, presses at his head with his fingertips. He staggers in his walk—sinks to his knees, shaking. His mouth opens—not to scream, but to soundlessly recite ancient equations, one last incantation against something terrible and old. Because if he holds on just a little longer, he can overcome this, he can take back control, he can draw it all in. If he holds it together just a little longer, he can win.]
[And then Braxiatel goes perfectly still. He closes his mouth and, slowly, draws his hands away from his face. He gets one foot out from under him, pulls himself up, stands for a moment in silence. Then he straightens out his suit and looks himself over without a reflection. Braxiatel sighs a breath of relief, for victory and for hard-won control. Slow, steady, his eyes rake over the Plane. No monsters drawn by his faltering. Good.]
Well. That was more trouble than it ought to have been, wasn't it? I'll have to get something for these migraines.
Sometimes, you just can't hide the pain you're in.
And Irving Braxiatel can't, though he tries to make it to the forest before he cracks, because that pain is written all over him. Oh, his clothing is as immaculate as ever, his skin is unblemished, not a single hair is out of place. But his bones are all jagged angles, his muscles constricted, and his mouth is sealed tight to try to contain any expression suffering.
Braxiatel covers his face with his hands, presses at his head with his fingertips. He staggers in his walk—sinks to his knees, shaking. His mouth opens—not to scream, but to soundlessly recite ancient equations, one last incantation against something terrible and old. Because if he holds on just a little longer, he can overcome this, he can take back control, he can draw it all in. If he holds it together just a little longer, he can win.]
[And then Braxiatel goes perfectly still. He closes his mouth and, slowly, draws his hands away from his face. He gets one foot out from under him, pulls himself up, stands for a moment in silence. Then he straightens out his suit and looks himself over without a reflection. Braxiatel sighs a breath of relief, for victory and for hard-won control. Slow, steady, his eyes rake over the Plane. No monsters drawn by his faltering. Good.]
Well. That was more trouble than it ought to have been, wasn't it? I'll have to get something for these migraines.
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Tell me, Narvin. What do you think is going to happen when you win your civil war? Do you think Romana will be reinstated? Do you think someone else - someone so much more manipulative and ambitious - will take control? And what, do you imagine, will the other temporal powers do when we're this weak?
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[Narvin doesn't realise he's trembling with anger.]
Do you think I care who becomes President after all of this? I don't require their authority to save my planet.
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[Braxiatel isn't shaking; he's smiling. He has himself under perfect control.]
Or hasn't anyone told you about what's coming for us? Always a bit of a disappointment, I find, when a Time Lord is utterly blind to what time will bring him.
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What are you talking about?
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That is, we're doomed if Romana wins. If Pandora wins your civil war, then we survive. Pandora is ruthless, intelligent, and willing to use the weapons she has amassed. She will annihilate our enemies and Gallifrey will continue on, in perpetuity.
So, tell me, Narvin. Will you save Gallifrey? Or will you 'do the right thing'? I am eager to hear where your loyalties truly lie.
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You're lying.
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If you were truly interested in saving Gallifrey from that kind of threat, why not mention it sooner?
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More than you realise. I think it's time I left. I have a future to plan for, after all.
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Don't let me detain you.
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My President's Coordinator.
[A sneer would be too obvious a sign of contempt. Braxiatel speaks quietly, politely, and with so little irony in his voice that, he feels, he makes the meaning clear.]
[He doesn't think it a bad parting shot.]