[Fic] Five Hijacks Narration
Jan. 26th, 2010 12:13 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
havlockvetinari.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
best_enemiesWorking on a Master table for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
a_to_z_prompts.
Title: M is for Master (B is for Bad Title)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 772 total
Char/Pairings: Five/Master, breifbreif mention of Teagan & TARDIS
Warnings: I want to say crack, but then I don't think it's any crackier than the episodes already are...
Summary: Fill on 11. kleptomania and 25. yesterday evening. Five!POV
A/N: all my souls belong to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
edana_ni_emer, inspiration extraordinaire
11. Kleptomaniac
It's not that he's a kleptomaniac. He likes shiny things, he likes shiny (particularly mechanical) things a quite a lot actually, there is occasional confusion about who the fascinating bits actually belong to, but he almost always manages to sort that out satisfactorily. It helps that they only hold his interest for as long as it takes him to figure them out, which he despairs is getting to be shorter and shorter slices of time. He wants to learn everything about everything (especially if it's small enough to fit in his hand and shiny), but he doesn't want to know everything. That sounds terribly boring.
It's not as if he has an obsession. He's not compelled to pick up everything shiny that happens to be strewn across his path, or on a lab desk, or floating six feet above the ground with a rather large sign that requests visitors not touch the very dangerous sacred relic in a hundred and three different languages and the king's English, and the last instance hardly counted as it turned out to be another not-so-nefarious (how the Master managed to make mass mind control seem more like an irritation than an actual threat the Doctor would never quite comprehend) scheme to take over the galaxy.
It's not an obsession. He doesn't have a problem. He just wants to pick the shiny silver thread off of the Master's collar and keep it in his pocket to run through his fingers as he contemplated the vast majesties of the universe, or, if he was being more honestly with himself, fiddle with it while he was trying to think of something interesting to do next, because shiny things stopped being interesting once he'd figured them out, and the soft slide of silk thread through his fingers and the gleam of silver in the sunlight reminds him that he is nowhere near figuring out all of the bright, shiny and dangerous things in the galaxy.
25. Yesterday evening
Yesterday evening he sewed on a new button.
It was dank and dark and he kept stabbing himself with the needle but he couldn't bear the thought of not being able to button his jacket up properly. It wasn't so much the thought of it not being buttoned that bothered him, it seemed to live in a perpetual state of unbuttoned, but that the possibility of buttoned-ness would be taken away. It just wasn't possible and even such a small constriction of the timeline bothered him, made his neck itch abominably. It was one less path to run down, and that irked him terribly.
He could have left the jacket laying about and the TARDIS would fix it for him. She would know what needed to be done.
So he sat there, in the dank, dark, cramped confines of the cave they'd been shoved into and sewed his jacket back to rights with what he'd had laying about in his pockets. He let Teagan prattle on, about what they needed to do, that they needed a plan. He was having a button crisis, he would get them out of there in plenty of time to foil the Master. Later.
A quick snip, a quicker knot and the Doctor threw his coat back on, smoothing down the sides, testing seams that had never been broken, fingers pattering nervously around the new button.
He didn't realize what button he'd sewn in place of the lost one, irretrievable after it's bounce down the mountain side (and recovery by what looked like a squirrel with six tails).
It had to be done.
He didn't notice until the Master's lip curled up in a self-satisfied smirk, warm and possessive for just the briefest of moments, and the Doctor looked down and saw a shiny new black button, stark against the tan of it's fellows, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it, caught out in the act and all, but he absolutely refused to be flustered because he'd been caught at nicking buttons. It wasn't as if the Master had missed them after all, and besides, it was a distinctly sinister button and best kept out of the Master's hands.
He really didn't have a choice. The button had clashed horribly with everything else.
The Doctor slipped the hard, shiny black button back into his jacket pocket.
One couldn't be too obvious about these things after all, it was in bad taste, but, well, noone could be faulted for preparing for a rainy day, and around the Master, the forecast for lost buttons was looking like a positive certainty. The Doctor would attend to it personally if he had to.
a_to_z_prompts.Title: M is for Master (B is for Bad Title)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 772 total
Char/Pairings: Five/Master, breifbreif mention of Teagan & TARDIS
Warnings: I want to say crack, but then I don't think it's any crackier than the episodes already are...
Summary: Fill on 11. kleptomania and 25. yesterday evening. Five!POV
A/N: all my souls belong to
edana_ni_emer, inspiration extraordinaire 11. Kleptomaniac
It's not that he's a kleptomaniac. He likes shiny things, he likes shiny (particularly mechanical) things a quite a lot actually, there is occasional confusion about who the fascinating bits actually belong to, but he almost always manages to sort that out satisfactorily. It helps that they only hold his interest for as long as it takes him to figure them out, which he despairs is getting to be shorter and shorter slices of time. He wants to learn everything about everything (especially if it's small enough to fit in his hand and shiny), but he doesn't want to know everything. That sounds terribly boring.
It's not as if he has an obsession. He's not compelled to pick up everything shiny that happens to be strewn across his path, or on a lab desk, or floating six feet above the ground with a rather large sign that requests visitors not touch the very dangerous sacred relic in a hundred and three different languages and the king's English, and the last instance hardly counted as it turned out to be another not-so-nefarious (how the Master managed to make mass mind control seem more like an irritation than an actual threat the Doctor would never quite comprehend) scheme to take over the galaxy.
It's not an obsession. He doesn't have a problem. He just wants to pick the shiny silver thread off of the Master's collar and keep it in his pocket to run through his fingers as he contemplated the vast majesties of the universe, or, if he was being more honestly with himself, fiddle with it while he was trying to think of something interesting to do next, because shiny things stopped being interesting once he'd figured them out, and the soft slide of silk thread through his fingers and the gleam of silver in the sunlight reminds him that he is nowhere near figuring out all of the bright, shiny and dangerous things in the galaxy.
25. Yesterday evening
Yesterday evening he sewed on a new button.
It was dank and dark and he kept stabbing himself with the needle but he couldn't bear the thought of not being able to button his jacket up properly. It wasn't so much the thought of it not being buttoned that bothered him, it seemed to live in a perpetual state of unbuttoned, but that the possibility of buttoned-ness would be taken away. It just wasn't possible and even such a small constriction of the timeline bothered him, made his neck itch abominably. It was one less path to run down, and that irked him terribly.
He could have left the jacket laying about and the TARDIS would fix it for him. She would know what needed to be done.
So he sat there, in the dank, dark, cramped confines of the cave they'd been shoved into and sewed his jacket back to rights with what he'd had laying about in his pockets. He let Teagan prattle on, about what they needed to do, that they needed a plan. He was having a button crisis, he would get them out of there in plenty of time to foil the Master. Later.
A quick snip, a quicker knot and the Doctor threw his coat back on, smoothing down the sides, testing seams that had never been broken, fingers pattering nervously around the new button.
He didn't realize what button he'd sewn in place of the lost one, irretrievable after it's bounce down the mountain side (and recovery by what looked like a squirrel with six tails).
It had to be done.
He didn't notice until the Master's lip curled up in a self-satisfied smirk, warm and possessive for just the briefest of moments, and the Doctor looked down and saw a shiny new black button, stark against the tan of it's fellows, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it, caught out in the act and all, but he absolutely refused to be flustered because he'd been caught at nicking buttons. It wasn't as if the Master had missed them after all, and besides, it was a distinctly sinister button and best kept out of the Master's hands.
He really didn't have a choice. The button had clashed horribly with everything else.
The Doctor slipped the hard, shiny black button back into his jacket pocket.
One couldn't be too obvious about these things after all, it was in bad taste, but, well, noone could be faulted for preparing for a rainy day, and around the Master, the forecast for lost buttons was looking like a positive certainty. The Doctor would attend to it personally if he had to.
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