Fic: 5 Times They Did Things According To The Colour Of Rose's Nail Varnish
5 Times They Did Things According To The Colour Of Rose's Nail Varnish (Ten/Rose, PG-13)
(AN: This is my first finished DW fic; although there is a beta in progress, I have to post the rough version now due to my travel schedule and deadlines over at the Butters Many Parsnips ficathon, which is graciously hosted by takethewords at her LJ. This fic is in response to mylittlepwny 's prompt; as someone who's way too into both DW and nail varnish, I couldn't stop myself from giving it a try. All the colours but the first one are real, as are their descriptions. The first colour is a humble tribute to the fantastic rosa_acicularis and the first part of her fic " The Abomination," which is a hilarious bit of Ten/Rose interplay. The rest of the fic is wonderful too; if you haven't read it already for some odd reason, do so at once.)
Rosa’s Nail Tech Pertly Pink: A colour guaranteed to drive your man wild!
The day began so promisingly, he pouted. Rose had woken up in a good mood, and over breakfast she had finally agreed to attend the Balhoonian Spring Festival of the year 4,999,999,987 with him. He had been suggesting that they go for some time, as the fireworks display (which was, of course, sponsored by Jolco and Jolco) was one of the finest he had ever seen; the beauty of the finale had nearly stopped both his hearts, and he knew that Rose would love it. Still, she’d stubbornly refused, saying only that while she was sure the fireworks were lovely, she didn’t much want to visit a planet where she’d be greeted with spit, ta ever so.
But today, for some unknown reason, she’d finally agreed. Before she could change her mind, he’d sprung to the console, pulling her along behind…only to be stopped in his tracks by several splatters of an unknown, violently pink substance. He stared at it, sniffed cautiously, and then touched the very tip of his tongue to a solidified dot before recoiling and whirling around to face a wide-eyed Rose.
“Rose, have I or have I not asked you to refrain from giving yourself manicures in the console room? Have I not, in fact, specifically requested that you not splatter the console of my beautiful TARDIS with what is, I’m certain, Pertly Pink nail varnish? Have I made these specific requests of you, Rose Tyler?”
He was greeted only with averted eyes and a rising blush.
Dropping her hand and stalking around the console, he surveyed the damage balefully, stopping in front of her only to raise an eyebrow and start tapping a trainer-clad foot.
And that was why their visit to Balhoon was put off yet again while Rose gave the TARDIS’s console room the most thorough cleaning it had ever had, watched silently from the jump seat by an extremely peevish Time Lord.
Ginger+Liz Trance: “Recall the glory days of Studio 54 with this “trippy” polish.”
While grey varnish with holographic rainbow sparkles is undeniably interesting, he thought, racing for the TARDIS with Rose’s hand in his, it might be something best kept for Earth. Or, at least, for planets where rainbow sparkles on the nails aren’t a complex form of blasphemy.
He dodged a guard, making a mental note to check Rose’s nail varnish more often to make sure that it wouldn’t cause any other diplomatic incidents. Really, he did just fine at those on his own.
OPI Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees: “Our colour ‘mogul’ loves this deep blue-grey.”
Catching the unmistakable scent of nail varnish, the Doctor looked up resignedly from his repairs to see Rose calmly doing her nails on the jumpseat once again. Really, he sighed, this is just getting to be too much. Their plans were delayed far too often by drying time, the TARDIS had complained to him about Rose’s expanding storage needs, there were unhealthy chemicals wafting through his lovely ship…he opened his mouth to complain, but stopped as soon as he saw the look of pleasure on Rose’s face as she admired one perfectly done nail. Although he hated to admit it, he couldn’t find it in his hearts to deny her anything that brought her any joy at all, regardless of how foolish it was.
Taking a deep breath to summon up the false enthusiasm familiar to bewildered males (and similar lifeforms) around the universe, he stepped over to admire her dark blue nails and asked, “So, what’s that colour called, then?”
She grinned up at him, pleased that he was at least trying to fake an interest. “Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees.”
“Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees,” he repeated slowly. “Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees…oh, that’s brilliant!” A genuine grin lit up his face. “The rhythm, the sounds, the way it feels around my teeth…that’s lovely, that is!” Beginning to bounce slightly, he asked, “Are many nail varnish names that lovely? Because, you know, I could understand why people use it if it means they get to say names like that. Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees!”
Rose giggled. “I chose this one for you…I had a feeling you’d enjoy the name.” The look of giddy devotion on his face nearly took her breath away as he leaned in for a quick hug, then bounded back to the console, steering them towards a new destination while his lips moved silently, savoring the odd little gift she’d given him. He rather thought that she deserved one in return.
This was how they wound up on holiday at a gorgeous French resort, their private chalet secured courtesy of the Doctor’s gift of gab and strategic deployment of the psychic paper.
How they wound up running for their lives after causing an avalanche three days later, they still weren’t entirely sure.
Manglaze Fuggen Ugly
The Doctor popped up suddenly behind Rose, almost startling her enough for her to drop her brush. “So what’s that one called, then?”
She smiled, knowing that he had kept hoping for another name as memorable as Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees, but that nothing she had yet found had excited him quite as much. She rather hoped that OPI would step things up in their next collection with some creatively named colours that she’d actually wear, as she hated to keep disappointing him. “This one’s called Fuggen Ugly,” she said, replacing the top and handing him the bottle.
He put on his specs and examined the label closely, one eyebrow raised at the art of skulls and fists splashed over it. “Manglaze,” he read. “This is the name of a nail varnish?”
“Well, it was originally made for men,” she shrugged. “You know, rock stars, punks, and such.”
“But you’re not a man, Rose Tyler.” She gave him a sardonic glance, not deigning to dignify that comment with a reply. “But it’s called Manglaze. Shouldn’t you have to have manly, hairy hands to wear it?”
“Plenty of women wear this varnish; it’s very popular in America. Still, if it belongs on people with manly, hairy hands….” She reached for his long fingers, pulling his hand close and painting his index fingernail before he could stop her. He inhaled in surprise, immediately regretting the action.
“Oh, that smells terrible! Like regular nail varnish with some sort of petrol mixed in!”
“Well, you know, it’s manly. Manly men like the smell of petrol, I’m told.”
He quashed his original impulse to stop her, becoming fascinated with the look of concentration on her face and the feeling of his hand in hers in this new, yet familiar, way. As she finished that hand, he lifted it up to gaze at it. The polish had dried almost immediately into a dark matte silver that actually looked like some parts of the TARDIS, making him warm to it just slightly. As she began painting his other hand, a thought occurred to him.
“Didn’t Mickey like the smell of petrol?”
She didn’t look up, focused on applying the varnish to each short nail before it dried completely. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Wellll…I think that might cast some doubt on its link to manliness, then.” She paused, briefly, to smack his arm, then calmly resumed her work. “Oi!”
Black Phoenix Mme. Moriarty Claw Polish: “The wet crimson red of arterial spray.”
He knocked on her bedroom door once, as a courtesy, then opened it a crack. “You decent?”
Receiving only a muted “mm-hmm” that he decided to take as a positive response, he opened the door all the way to reveal Rose lounging on her stomach in the center of her bed, gazing at her hands admiringly. He swallowed once, trying to block out the effect that seeing her long, curvy frame stretched out like that was having on him. Her long nightdress, while not remotely revealing, only added to the effect with the way it flowed caressingly over every swell of flesh…quickly, he started silently reciting Pi in Japanese, looking up at the ceiling with studied interest.
“Well, we’re here,” he said brightly, after a long moment. “Just in time for the annual Flementalian Festival of the Fields. You’ll love it; everyone spends all day digging in the soil with their bare hands in order to pull up the sacred fruits of the harvest. And then after that, there’s….” He trailed off, suddenly, realizing that Rose had only moved so far as to turn her head and give him an extremely disapproving look. A look, he realized with no small amount of fear, which was more than slightly reminiscent of Jackie Tyler.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, Rose?” He stood there frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Do you realize that I just finished doing my nails?”
“Yes, Rose.”
Slowly, she turned and stood, holding out her hands for his appreciation. “And that these nails are a perfectly manicured blood red, a colour which is considered by many to be extremely feminine and sexy?”
A list of cultural exceptions sprang to his mind, but was immediately blocked out by the slow undulation of his companion’s form as she walked towards him. The way she was moving…did she always move like that? “Um…yes, Rose?”
She stopped just a breath away from him, winding one arm around the back of his neck and gazing at him with something new in her eyes…confidence? Decisiveness? “And do you think that these lovely nails would be put to best use digging in the dirt?”
His unease was only increased by the slow drag of the aforementioned nails up the nape of his neck and around to his jaw. “N-n-no, Rose?”
“So tell me, my dear Doctor,” she purred, running one nail down the center of his throat and gently over the bump of his Adam’s apple, “what use do you think that these lovely, sexy nails could be best put to?”
Whatever answer he might have made was lost as she kissed him.
(AN: This is my first finished DW fic; although there is a beta in progress, I have to post the rough version now due to my travel schedule and deadlines over at the Butters Many Parsnips ficathon, which is graciously hosted by takethewords at her LJ. This fic is in response to mylittlepwny 's prompt; as someone who's way too into both DW and nail varnish, I couldn't stop myself from giving it a try. All the colours but the first one are real, as are their descriptions. The first colour is a humble tribute to the fantastic rosa_acicularis and the first part of her fic " The Abomination," which is a hilarious bit of Ten/Rose interplay. The rest of the fic is wonderful too; if you haven't read it already for some odd reason, do so at once.)
Rosa’s Nail Tech Pertly Pink: A colour guaranteed to drive your man wild!
The day began so promisingly, he pouted. Rose had woken up in a good mood, and over breakfast she had finally agreed to attend the Balhoonian Spring Festival of the year 4,999,999,987 with him. He had been suggesting that they go for some time, as the fireworks display (which was, of course, sponsored by Jolco and Jolco) was one of the finest he had ever seen; the beauty of the finale had nearly stopped both his hearts, and he knew that Rose would love it. Still, she’d stubbornly refused, saying only that while she was sure the fireworks were lovely, she didn’t much want to visit a planet where she’d be greeted with spit, ta ever so.
But today, for some unknown reason, she’d finally agreed. Before she could change her mind, he’d sprung to the console, pulling her along behind…only to be stopped in his tracks by several splatters of an unknown, violently pink substance. He stared at it, sniffed cautiously, and then touched the very tip of his tongue to a solidified dot before recoiling and whirling around to face a wide-eyed Rose.
“Rose, have I or have I not asked you to refrain from giving yourself manicures in the console room? Have I not, in fact, specifically requested that you not splatter the console of my beautiful TARDIS with what is, I’m certain, Pertly Pink nail varnish? Have I made these specific requests of you, Rose Tyler?”
He was greeted only with averted eyes and a rising blush.
Dropping her hand and stalking around the console, he surveyed the damage balefully, stopping in front of her only to raise an eyebrow and start tapping a trainer-clad foot.
And that was why their visit to Balhoon was put off yet again while Rose gave the TARDIS’s console room the most thorough cleaning it had ever had, watched silently from the jump seat by an extremely peevish Time Lord.
Ginger+Liz Trance: “Recall the glory days of Studio 54 with this “trippy” polish.”
While grey varnish with holographic rainbow sparkles is undeniably interesting, he thought, racing for the TARDIS with Rose’s hand in his, it might be something best kept for Earth. Or, at least, for planets where rainbow sparkles on the nails aren’t a complex form of blasphemy.
He dodged a guard, making a mental note to check Rose’s nail varnish more often to make sure that it wouldn’t cause any other diplomatic incidents. Really, he did just fine at those on his own.
OPI Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees: “Our colour ‘mogul’ loves this deep blue-grey.”
Catching the unmistakable scent of nail varnish, the Doctor looked up resignedly from his repairs to see Rose calmly doing her nails on the jumpseat once again. Really, he sighed, this is just getting to be too much. Their plans were delayed far too often by drying time, the TARDIS had complained to him about Rose’s expanding storage needs, there were unhealthy chemicals wafting through his lovely ship…he opened his mouth to complain, but stopped as soon as he saw the look of pleasure on Rose’s face as she admired one perfectly done nail. Although he hated to admit it, he couldn’t find it in his hearts to deny her anything that brought her any joy at all, regardless of how foolish it was.
Taking a deep breath to summon up the false enthusiasm familiar to bewildered males (and similar lifeforms) around the universe, he stepped over to admire her dark blue nails and asked, “So, what’s that colour called, then?”
She grinned up at him, pleased that he was at least trying to fake an interest. “Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees.”
“Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees,” he repeated slowly. “Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees…oh, that’s brilliant!” A genuine grin lit up his face. “The rhythm, the sounds, the way it feels around my teeth…that’s lovely, that is!” Beginning to bounce slightly, he asked, “Are many nail varnish names that lovely? Because, you know, I could understand why people use it if it means they get to say names like that. Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees!”
Rose giggled. “I chose this one for you…I had a feeling you’d enjoy the name.” The look of giddy devotion on his face nearly took her breath away as he leaned in for a quick hug, then bounded back to the console, steering them towards a new destination while his lips moved silently, savoring the odd little gift she’d given him. He rather thought that she deserved one in return.
This was how they wound up on holiday at a gorgeous French resort, their private chalet secured courtesy of the Doctor’s gift of gab and strategic deployment of the psychic paper.
How they wound up running for their lives after causing an avalanche three days later, they still weren’t entirely sure.
Manglaze Fuggen Ugly
The Doctor popped up suddenly behind Rose, almost startling her enough for her to drop her brush. “So what’s that one called, then?”
She smiled, knowing that he had kept hoping for another name as memorable as Suzi Skis in the Pyrenees, but that nothing she had yet found had excited him quite as much. She rather hoped that OPI would step things up in their next collection with some creatively named colours that she’d actually wear, as she hated to keep disappointing him. “This one’s called Fuggen Ugly,” she said, replacing the top and handing him the bottle.
He put on his specs and examined the label closely, one eyebrow raised at the art of skulls and fists splashed over it. “Manglaze,” he read. “This is the name of a nail varnish?”
“Well, it was originally made for men,” she shrugged. “You know, rock stars, punks, and such.”
“But you’re not a man, Rose Tyler.” She gave him a sardonic glance, not deigning to dignify that comment with a reply. “But it’s called Manglaze. Shouldn’t you have to have manly, hairy hands to wear it?”
“Plenty of women wear this varnish; it’s very popular in America. Still, if it belongs on people with manly, hairy hands….” She reached for his long fingers, pulling his hand close and painting his index fingernail before he could stop her. He inhaled in surprise, immediately regretting the action.
“Oh, that smells terrible! Like regular nail varnish with some sort of petrol mixed in!”
“Well, you know, it’s manly. Manly men like the smell of petrol, I’m told.”
He quashed his original impulse to stop her, becoming fascinated with the look of concentration on her face and the feeling of his hand in hers in this new, yet familiar, way. As she finished that hand, he lifted it up to gaze at it. The polish had dried almost immediately into a dark matte silver that actually looked like some parts of the TARDIS, making him warm to it just slightly. As she began painting his other hand, a thought occurred to him.
“Didn’t Mickey like the smell of petrol?”
She didn’t look up, focused on applying the varnish to each short nail before it dried completely. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Wellll…I think that might cast some doubt on its link to manliness, then.” She paused, briefly, to smack his arm, then calmly resumed her work. “Oi!”
Black Phoenix Mme. Moriarty Claw Polish: “The wet crimson red of arterial spray.”
He knocked on her bedroom door once, as a courtesy, then opened it a crack. “You decent?”
Receiving only a muted “mm-hmm” that he decided to take as a positive response, he opened the door all the way to reveal Rose lounging on her stomach in the center of her bed, gazing at her hands admiringly. He swallowed once, trying to block out the effect that seeing her long, curvy frame stretched out like that was having on him. Her long nightdress, while not remotely revealing, only added to the effect with the way it flowed caressingly over every swell of flesh…quickly, he started silently reciting Pi in Japanese, looking up at the ceiling with studied interest.
“Well, we’re here,” he said brightly, after a long moment. “Just in time for the annual Flementalian Festival of the Fields. You’ll love it; everyone spends all day digging in the soil with their bare hands in order to pull up the sacred fruits of the harvest. And then after that, there’s….” He trailed off, suddenly, realizing that Rose had only moved so far as to turn her head and give him an extremely disapproving look. A look, he realized with no small amount of fear, which was more than slightly reminiscent of Jackie Tyler.
“Doctor?”
“Yes, Rose?” He stood there frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Do you realize that I just finished doing my nails?”
“Yes, Rose.”
Slowly, she turned and stood, holding out her hands for his appreciation. “And that these nails are a perfectly manicured blood red, a colour which is considered by many to be extremely feminine and sexy?”
A list of cultural exceptions sprang to his mind, but was immediately blocked out by the slow undulation of his companion’s form as she walked towards him. The way she was moving…did she always move like that? “Um…yes, Rose?”
She stopped just a breath away from him, winding one arm around the back of his neck and gazing at him with something new in her eyes…confidence? Decisiveness? “And do you think that these lovely nails would be put to best use digging in the dirt?”
His unease was only increased by the slow drag of the aforementioned nails up the nape of his neck and around to his jaw. “N-n-no, Rose?”
“So tell me, my dear Doctor,” she purred, running one nail down the center of his throat and gently over the bump of his Adam’s apple, “what use do you think that these lovely, sexy nails could be best put to?”
Whatever answer he might have made was lost as she kissed him.