(no subject)

[poeticandpedantic]

Really, my dear lady,

I cannot fault your taste, but I hardly think I need enumerate on the fact that my purpose here is not to fulfil your sordid little fantasies. I am, of course, appropriately grateful that you've deigned to turn your attention my way again-- I can't imagine what fascination those absurd American boys with their incoherent medley of mythologies holds for you, to prove such a distraction-- but honestly, that you should spend such time bemoaning the lack of people to-- and I cringe at your internet neologisms, I must point out-- 'play smut with' is frankly silly. You've plenty of compatriots with a similar regard for my, ahem, many striking attributes in this body; just go and ask one of them! Surely they cannot have changed so much, even if you've not 'chatplayed' with them in years. Regardless, whatever path you choose to go down, I maintain that I refuse to prostitute myself to your capricious, hormonal whims.

Adamantly,

The Doctor

Comments

[liberal_gallifreyan]

...Doctor? Are you propositioning this entire comm?

gallifrey!romana! <3 <3 <3

[poeticandpedantic]

[Have a blank pause, Romana, and then a splutter.]

I am most certainly not, thank you very much, Romana. I am merely airing some very legitimate grievances with my-- writer. Honestly, as if I would treat this place like some kind of-- of Apalapucian brothel! I think not.

Yes, I love her!

[liberal_gallifreyan]

[Romana isn't enjoying you suffer, Doctor, perish the thought!]

Then I should possibly add that to your list of grievances, Doctor, because you have unintended subtext which I believe your writer is entirely responsible for.

[poeticandpedantic]

[No, never, not Romana. The Doctor may suspect this, and puffs himself up accordingly, all aggrieved eyebrows and hands on lapels.]

Yes, well, she is human, very young, what can one expect? [Never minding the fact that the Doctor very frequently travels with human women younger by years than his mun.] They scarcely have the control over their own biologies we're blessed with; her desire for me to-- hmm-- is little more than, ah, projection.

[That's his story and he's sticking to it.]

[liberal_gallifreyan]

Well, I would have thought you the expert there.

Oh? Are there... specific projections we should be concerned with? [Romana, you did not just. Too much time spent with Leela, that's your problem.]

[poeticandpedantic]

[Eyebrow. Goodness, how provocative of the Madam President.]

'Concerned' with? You need not be concerned with anything; I'm hardly likely to... leap on you in a fit of animal passion.

[liberal_gallifreyan]

[See now you're making this text.]

I'm greatly relieved to hear it. I'm sure there's an ordinance somewhere that forbids it.

[ofdrumsthesound]

Are you sure your human can understand you? So many of them have trouble with long words.

[poeticandpedantic]

[Oh, Rassilon, of all the people. Stiffly, the Doctor says,]

My writer may have many faults, but illiteracy is, felicitously, not one of them.

[ofdrumsthesound]

There's nothing keeping you from using the word 'luckily,' dear Doctor. *The Master rolls his eyes a bit, then grins.* I've missed you, old frienemy. Although the coat I could've gone without.

[poeticandpedantic]

[Even the Doctor's eye-rolls are eloquent; much more so, he fancies, than the Master's. On sheer principle. In general, he thinks he's much more stylish than the Master, though this one rather takes the proverbial biscuit. Black velvet on black wool might've been gauche, but at least his contemporary Master has something of gothic elegance about him. Before he opens his mouth, at least. This one looks like a teenage hoodlum.]

One of those 'never use five words when one will do' sorts this time around, are you? Codswallop. And I hardly think you in any position to criticise my verbiage if you then proceed to use so-called words like frienemy.

[He shudders theatrically.]

[ofdrumsthesound]

I like the word 'frienemy,' it describes our relationship perfectly. *He frowns exaggeratedly.* And don't you eyeball my hoodie, I like this hoodie. I like my hair, too. It's good hair.

*He takes a bag of candies out of his pocket and pours half of them into his mouth, then offers the bag.* Jelly baby? *Smirk.*

[poeticandpedantic]

It's ghastly and voguish is what it is.

[And he will eyeball all he likes, thank you very much. Which he continues to do, just to be stubborn.]

Well, I suppose it's a departure from your usual, at least. And it only took you a thousand years to tire of black suits.

[Crisply, to the offer of jelly babies.]

No, thank you.

[ofdrumsthesound]

*He's just be glaring at the rainbow monkey suit, then.* Oh, I still like the black suits. They just don't go well with bleached hair.

If you're sure. *And he eats the rest of the bag.*

[theoldgirl]

It will surprise you to hear that not even I am impervious to that particular problem. I would not mind terribly the act itself, if my mun's choice of the second party wasn't so abysmally horrific.

For a new path, I don't suppose you would consider... No, I would not wish this on you, being trapped in another universe like I am.

[poeticandpedantic]

[Well, consider the Doctor well and truly baffled. And, this being the Sixth Doctor, that bafflement comes out as rather huffy scorn.]

Humans! Is there a single thing they can't make about sex? You're not even-- well, that is, I can see why a TARDIS as broad-minded and healthily inquisitive as yourself might be curious to experience the novelty of the thing, but as if a being without any native physicality would-- pah. Ridiculous.

[In a moment, the mention of her being stuck in another universe will likely cool his ire into empathy, but just now, he's too much on a roll to stop quite yet.]

And she's trapped you in another universe, of all the-- I rather think I'm due to have words with your writer.

[theoldgirl]

I could not have said it better myself, dear. There are much more fulfilling ways to share intimacy than mere physicality could provide.

She was not entirely happy with that fate either, but apparently it was the only thing she could 'do' with me. I would rather she had left me alone and found another plaything. There is one of you there, but he isn't from my iteration of our universe and... I am frightfully lonely.

[poeticandpedantic]

[Yep, that does the trick, and his expression melts into something much softer. If the TARDIS is in her physical form (is she? I have no idea), he'll take a step closer to lay a hand on her shoulder; either way, she should feel through their shared link a wave of projected comfort. A little helpless, like patting a crying person on the back because one's unsure what else to do, but determined. The Doctor is less good at comfort in this regeneration than he's been in bodies past, but he tries.]

Oh, my poor old thing, I am sorry. You know if I could, I would come for you.

[theoldgirl]

[For the sake of awkward snuggles, let's assume she's got her body on. And she appreciates the shoulder pat, but more than that of course his comfort itself. All she ever asks of him is to try his best, anyway.]

I know. And you know we will find a way home eventually, regardless of what unpleasant things my writer has planned for our first attempt to do so. I do not doubt it for one moment.

[poeticandpedantic]

[Huzzah for awkward snuggles. And, just for the sake of things, the Doctor tries out an indignant snort. It still comes out rather gentle, a far as these things go.]

And I should think so, too! There's nothing in this or any other universe that could keep you pinned in one place for long. [pause] I do believe my writer has been ruminating on sending someone else to join you in your unfortunate little pocket universe. I know you've not always been fond of all my travelling companions, but you did like Leela, did you not?

[theoldgirl]

[haha I've seen basically no Leela The TARDIS frowns just a bit, because you know what's much better than past strays? Past Doctors!]

I suppose I did. She had an inquisitive mind. I might have a room for her, if she asks nicely.

[antitimelord]

Lest this devolve into some kind of sesquipedalian feedback loop, I'll be brief.

You could have it so much worse.

[poeticandpedantic]

[Oi, there are much worse kinds of feedback loops to be stuck in. The Doctor has, in fact, been stuck in much worse feedback loops. But the Doctor doesn't protest that. Instead, this being meta, he levels a narrow look at Zagreus.]

Indeed. I hear tell your writer has designs with you on my TARDIS.

[antitimelord]

That's an elegant way of describing something that entails so much blood loss and indignity. You've no right to complain unless you pick up a few stab wounds, fight a sentient chaos mansion, and end up in a dreadfully boring alternate universe. Those are the new criteria for feeling sorry for oneself. Take note.

Also, 'feeling sorry for oneself' now requires a lengthy character arc about despair and self-mutilation in the name of fairytales. Feel better, yet?

[poeticandpedantic]

[Bored, Six is sooo bored and so above this kind of juvenile bickering. Totally. Absolutely.]

Mm? Oh, I've had days that've ticked all those boxes before I've had time for so much as a cup of tea. An occasional hazard of my lifestyle, you see. Though I can't say I've ever felt the desire to traverse the path of fairytale self-mutilation.