Gene Hunt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
themanclion) wrote2009-04-20 06:19 pm
themanclion) wrote2009-04-20 06:19 pm
[OOC] Writing Meme
Stolen from most of Gene's flist, at this point:
Comment here, with any of your characters and any of my characters (mouseover for journal names), and I will write you a fic. Specifically, I will write you a fic wherein they have OFFSPRING - accidental, surrogate'd, adopted, completely clueless, whatever.
FOAR GRATE LULZ. Or just, y'know, crack.
Comment here, with any of your characters and any of my characters (mouseover for journal names), and I will write you a fic. Specifically, I will write you a fic wherein they have OFFSPRING - accidental, surrogate'd, adopted, completely clueless, whatever.
FOAR GRATE LULZ. Or just, y'know, crack.
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And because I want to see your take it on it, if you so choose to do it:
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"Okay, fine. Nothing to do with it. Say I believe you... How do we fix it?" Des glared right back at the Time Lord sitting across the table.
Underneath said table, on the floor between them, sat a small child who was currently using a sonic screwdriver to quite intently scan the Master's chair.
"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Master. "If you're so determined to pick my brain, why don't you just walk right up to the members of the Kashtta Trust, who are, at this very moment, looking for me and the Doctor both, and ask them to pretty please give me my memories back so we can fix our tiny, defenseless, and easily-controllable Doctor. I'm sure if you pout endearingly enough, they'll just rush to help."
"No one likes a smartass," Des growled.
The Master narrowed his eyes. "And yet, people still put up with you. Fascinating, isn't it?"
They glared at each other a while longer, until the Master felt a tugging on his trouser leg. "Koschei! Koschei, look! I got a screwdriver! And I can do... stuff." And, at that, the Master's chair collapsed beneath him, dropping him to the floor with a muffled 'oof'. "See?"
The Master growled something inarticulate in Gallifreyan.
"That's an inappropriate juxtaposition of concepts," said the child. "You shouldn't say that around me. I'm impressionable."
"Oh, we'll see what kind of impression I can..." Whatever threat the Master might have made was abruptly cut off by Des hauling him to his feet, away from the tiny Doctor.
"He's still the Doctor," Des pointed out. "Easy."
"Oh, trust me. I know that. That's what's going to make this so very enjoyable."
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"Fine. Fine. What do we call you?" Des was looking a bit out of his depth, and the Master simply smirked.
"My name's..." and then the boy who insisted on not being the Doctor said something. It was thirty-eight syllables long.
"Riiiight. Anything shorter?" Des looked from the mini-Doctor to the Master.
"Nope! That's my name!"
"Okay. So in the meantime, how about we call you..."
"Theta," the Master filled in. "Just Theta will do, won't it?" A bit of mental exertion, and...
"You're not s'posed to mess with my brain! I'm telling!"
The Master rubbed at his temples and growled something else obscene.
"You're not s'posed to say that either." The tiny Doctor -- Theta -- was looking insufferably smug, for a five-year-old.
"It doesn't matter what I'm supposed to say," the Master pointed out. "There's no one to tell."
Theta set his chin stubbornly. "I can tell Martha."
Des chuckled. "I'd watch out for that. He means it."
"Ah, the horrors Dr. Jones can visit upon me. I'm quaking with terror. I'll be running and hiding any moment now, just you wait."
"...Okay! I've decided Theta's all right. If you have to call me something that's not..." and again, the thirty-eight syllable construction.
Des winced. "Back to the point that I think we lost track of about five pissing matches ago... I don't see why you have to be involved," he said, picking up the glare where he'd last left off.
The Master raised an eyebrow, his smirk replaced by a look of too-earnest curiosity. "And I suppose you know how to raise a Time Lord?"
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Theta looked at Des, his brow furrowed. "Boyfriend? Ugh. Don't want one. ...Can I take the other chair apart, too?"
The Master shrugged, using every bit of movement possible to convey his absolute unconcern. "I prefer the term 'creatively moral'."
"Yeah, and I prefer the term, 'annoying guy who I just kicked out of my house'. But look at that. You're still here. Can we fix that?"
"If you insist." The Master shrugged. "There's nothing left for me here, at any rate..."
"But I like Koschei," Theta muttered, gearing up for what was bound to be a sulk of epic proportions.
Des attempted to look stern. "Doc-- Theta. What have I told you about liking evil people?"
"Nothing, really." Des reflected that the Doctor and the Master really shouldn't be allowed to talk in unison. Especially not when the Doctor was five.
"Not the point! He's evil, and he's leaving!"
Theta ran a hand through a shock of hair -- which had no business being so adorable, still, and set his chin. "Really, do I have to scream? I can do it. Loud. And for a very very very very long time. And if you make Koschei go away, I will."
Des growled. "Yeah, kid, keep making threats."
"I could tell Martha you touched me inappropriately." No child should look that solemn when making threats like that, Des decided. But then, no child that age should have a vocabulary that large in the first place. The Doctor just had to be special all over, didn't he?
The Master looked from Des to Theta and back again. "You know, on the other hand, I think I'd be delighted to stay."
"Brilliant!" Theta bounced a bit. "I can show you my room!" He frowned again. "...Des? Can I have a room so I can show it to Koschei?"
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And when they got him back to the age he was supposed to be...
The kitchen door chose that moment to start playing "Forever Young" as he walked through, and Des aimed a kick at it.
"I'm..."
"Telling. I know."
Some days, Des reflected, it really didn't pay to be the Doctor's boyfriend.
...And again, he thought, looking at the boy walking hand-in-hand with the Master, ew.
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"Yeah, and I prefer the term, 'annoying guy who I just kicked out of my house'. But look at that. You're still here. Can we fix that?"
WIN.
"...Des? Can I have a room so I can show it to Koschei?"
MORE WIN.
Getting the evil guy away from his suddenly prepubescent boyfriend -- ew -- was the point.
ALL THE WIN.
AND I AM IN CAPSLOCK MODE, BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP CRACKING UP. THE BANTER IS JUST THAT AWESOME. Seriously, if Des and the Master are half as awesome IN GAME as they are in this fic, I will throw Des at him, like, every chance I get, because... YES.
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Good to know it turned out well. ^_^
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