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All the homework I have to do today is either long-term projects or watching a film.
So, naturally, I spent the day having a freewrite instead. Typical.
Oh, and at one point I tried to post a meme and it didn't work because LJ hates me. And I tried setting up the antennae thing that promises to give me cell reception and that didn't work either. Pleh.
So in order to feel like I accomplished something, the results of said freewrite go up here. It makes me feel like I'm at least treading water during this long fic drought.
I am tempted to apologize for the content but I won't because "forced to share a bed" is very high on my list of favorite horrible guilty-pleasure fic cliches.
---
“I can sleep on the floor, Doctor, it’s quite all right.”
The Doctor cast a disapproving look at the hardwood floor, eyeing in particular the splinters and the suspicious unidentified grey between the floorboards. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be in agony in the morning. There’s a perfectly adequate bed and there’s plenty of room in it for the both of us.”
In the Brigadier’s opinion, “plenty” was being a bit generous; it was the size of two cots from the barracks, maybe a little larger, but considering that even decent barracks were maybe a shoulder’s span wide, that wasn’t saying much.
“I thought you didn’t need to sleep, anyway.”
The Doctor adopted a put-upon expression. “Brigadier, do consider where I’ve spent the past eight hours.”
As if he’d ever let him forget about it, he thought. He foresaw days ahead when the Doctor would insinuate, with wounded pride, that were the Brigadier for some reason to require him to survive another Maze of Death, he would be quite unwilling to do so if this was the sort of gratitude he got for it.
“I think I’ve earned a bit of a rest,” he finished, shrugging off his jacket and searching in vain for something to hang it on. “And by the looks of it, so have you.” Finding no satisfactory coatrack, he instead folded the jacket neatly and dusted off the floor before he set it down.
“Not really,” the Brigadier replied. “One of us should stay up and keep watch, anyway.” It was a lie, of course; it had been an exceedingly long day, and though he’d had no Maze to endure he’d in fact rather been looking forward to whatever respite he might get.
“It’s unlikely that anybody’s going to venture into hostile territory in pursuit of two presumed-dead prisoners.” The Doctor loosened his tie as he spoke, but paused to look the Brigadier in the eye for a moment. “I don’t see why you’re so concerned about appearances, dear fellow. There’s nobody else even here.”
The sudden switch in topics took the Brigadier by surprise. “I never said anything about –”
“Besides, there’s nothing inherently sexual about sharing a bed, anyway,” he continued. “In many cultures it’s quite common.”
He had to stop and collect his thoughts for a moment. “Doctor, how did you even arrive at this topic?”
“I just find it hard to believe that you’d rather sleep on splinters than on a mattress, is all.” The Doctor leaned on the bed, his undone tie in his hand. “And I think it’s stupid that you feel the need to just because of your culture’s litany of inane taboos.”
The Brigadier opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He wondered, at times, if the Doctor’s stubborn yet selective ignorance of the rules of human interaction was genuine, rather than merely an ingenuous way to avoid having to obey them. Because the fact was he currently occupied a day and age where unmarried, unrelated people did not share beds, and he had occupied it for quite long enough now to know that, and to act as if there were no implications merely because there weren’t on some alien planet billions of miles away was...well, was as irritating as every other time he tried to write off breaches in etiquette because Horatio Nelson didn’t have to carry passes.
Besides, it was a very small bed, and there were certain things which Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart did not wish to have implied about him.
---
There is one additional line that does not fit in with the rest of the bit, or with anything else for that matter.
"I mean, look at me! I'm dancing, for Christ's sake. I'm shaking things I didn't even know I had."
---
I should go and do some work now or something.
So, naturally, I spent the day having a freewrite instead. Typical.
Oh, and at one point I tried to post a meme and it didn't work because LJ hates me. And I tried setting up the antennae thing that promises to give me cell reception and that didn't work either. Pleh.
So in order to feel like I accomplished something, the results of said freewrite go up here. It makes me feel like I'm at least treading water during this long fic drought.
I am tempted to apologize for the content but I won't because "forced to share a bed" is very high on my list of favorite horrible guilty-pleasure fic cliches.
---
“I can sleep on the floor, Doctor, it’s quite all right.”
The Doctor cast a disapproving look at the hardwood floor, eyeing in particular the splinters and the suspicious unidentified grey between the floorboards. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be in agony in the morning. There’s a perfectly adequate bed and there’s plenty of room in it for the both of us.”
In the Brigadier’s opinion, “plenty” was being a bit generous; it was the size of two cots from the barracks, maybe a little larger, but considering that even decent barracks were maybe a shoulder’s span wide, that wasn’t saying much.
“I thought you didn’t need to sleep, anyway.”
The Doctor adopted a put-upon expression. “Brigadier, do consider where I’ve spent the past eight hours.”
As if he’d ever let him forget about it, he thought. He foresaw days ahead when the Doctor would insinuate, with wounded pride, that were the Brigadier for some reason to require him to survive another Maze of Death, he would be quite unwilling to do so if this was the sort of gratitude he got for it.
“I think I’ve earned a bit of a rest,” he finished, shrugging off his jacket and searching in vain for something to hang it on. “And by the looks of it, so have you.” Finding no satisfactory coatrack, he instead folded the jacket neatly and dusted off the floor before he set it down.
“Not really,” the Brigadier replied. “One of us should stay up and keep watch, anyway.” It was a lie, of course; it had been an exceedingly long day, and though he’d had no Maze to endure he’d in fact rather been looking forward to whatever respite he might get.
“It’s unlikely that anybody’s going to venture into hostile territory in pursuit of two presumed-dead prisoners.” The Doctor loosened his tie as he spoke, but paused to look the Brigadier in the eye for a moment. “I don’t see why you’re so concerned about appearances, dear fellow. There’s nobody else even here.”
The sudden switch in topics took the Brigadier by surprise. “I never said anything about –”
“Besides, there’s nothing inherently sexual about sharing a bed, anyway,” he continued. “In many cultures it’s quite common.”
He had to stop and collect his thoughts for a moment. “Doctor, how did you even arrive at this topic?”
“I just find it hard to believe that you’d rather sleep on splinters than on a mattress, is all.” The Doctor leaned on the bed, his undone tie in his hand. “And I think it’s stupid that you feel the need to just because of your culture’s litany of inane taboos.”
The Brigadier opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He wondered, at times, if the Doctor’s stubborn yet selective ignorance of the rules of human interaction was genuine, rather than merely an ingenuous way to avoid having to obey them. Because the fact was he currently occupied a day and age where unmarried, unrelated people did not share beds, and he had occupied it for quite long enough now to know that, and to act as if there were no implications merely because there weren’t on some alien planet billions of miles away was...well, was as irritating as every other time he tried to write off breaches in etiquette because Horatio Nelson didn’t have to carry passes.
Besides, it was a very small bed, and there were certain things which Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart did not wish to have implied about him.
---
There is one additional line that does not fit in with the rest of the bit, or with anything else for that matter.
"I mean, look at me! I'm dancing, for Christ's sake. I'm shaking things I didn't even know I had."
---
I should go and do some work now or something.
blah
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::giggle::
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I love imagining how Three would sound saying this. XD
Which movies did you avoid watching today?
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I actually went and watched it today! I have to write 700-800 words on an aspect of mise-en-scene in A Fistful of Dollars. And I actually really liked the movie (I thought I would) and think I know what I want to write about, but the DVD crapped out right before the big climactic gunfight. Right when I was properly getting into it and everything.