theatrical_muse Prompt 258: Dislikeable Words
What words would you like to see added to/removed from common use?
"I hate you," are the first words Lucie informs him of in the morning, walking into the console room with arms folded and head up high, with every implication of 'you ain't touching this today, mate.' "And I don't want to hear about how that's awful because it's 'such a strong word.' You're such a sissy."
"It's not," say the two feet sticking from under the wood-panelled console, breezily ignoring the insult that was tacked to the end.
He's taken his shoes off for some reason that Lucie can't fathom, especially since he likes to go on about how amazing his shoes are for an annoying amount of time that can't be normal for a fully grown (over-grown) man of a thousand and something. He even has a secret little cubby in the heel for a spare key. If there was one thing Lucie had learned from her now reaching week's stay in the realm of the Doctor and his TARDIS, it was that he was a freak, by freak standards.
The sock covered toes wiggle nonchalantly, ankles crossed together in their own irritatingly haughty way. Yes, he could be arrogant with just his feet. Showed the size of his ego, certainly.
"In fact," he continues, suddenly slightly muffled, probably due to the sonic screwdriver that's mostly possibly stuck in his mouth as he connects some wires or another (she hopes he gets electrocuted), "I think 'hate' is too casually used nowadays. You 'hate' everything. Food, weather, clothing... people. And you."
"You sayin' I don't qualify as people?"
"Yes. Don't worry, that's a good thing. I wouldn't go outside if people were anything like you. Bodes well for the universe, at any rate."
She makes a rude gesture at his feet, then another, then starts getting creative before he interrupts.
"Anyway, while you're figuring out different ways to tell someone to do something that's physically impossible by just using hand gestures, my point was that 'hate' doesn't quite have the strong connotation it's supposed to any more. What I got from 'I hate you' was more of 'I really rather dislike you', but I have a feeling that wasn't what you were going for."
"Yeah, actually. It was more of 'I think you should go fu-'"
"Luck!" he starts loudly, interrupting the interruption before it can go anywhere, "-ily for you and your language, there are several alternatives, I don't see why you can't use them."
She plonks herself down into an armchair (his, and she knows he hates it when other people sit in his armchair), curls up her legs inside of it, trainers still on, purposefully scraping the bottoms of it with against the fabric as she reaches over to slip the bookmark out of the nearest and clearly most recently novel. "Well go on then," she prods, silently putting the book back in place. "Give us examples, since I know you're dyin' to."
"Well, no, not dying to, I wouldn't give you the pleasure, but examples I can do. Despise. Loathe. Nauseate. Oh, that's a good one. Lucie?"
"Yeah?"
"I just wanted you to know that you nauseate me," he tells her with blithe happiness that has no business being there.
She rolls her eyes so hard that for a moment she can't see. "Thanks, Doctor. That means a lot when it comes from a bloke who threw up because of a rabbit."
"That wasn't a rabbit!" he defends indignantly. "It might have looked like one to you, but apparently you keep frequent company around rabbits with fangs. And poison, which is the only reason why I got sick. Never felt so undignified in my life. And that includes dressing up as a... erm... never mind."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Huffing, she curls back up into her ball in the chair. "Whatever."
An audible shudder comes from under the console.
"Oh, what now?"
"I wish you wouldn't use that word," she hears him mumble.
"What? 'Whatever'?"
Again.
She blinks. "Are you serious? Are you going to do that every time?" Pause. "... Whatever."
And again. "Stop it."
"Whatever whatever whatever."
"Now you're just being difficult."
"It's only a word."
"It's a very annoying word. It sounds so... petulant. And immature."
"Riiight, because Time Lords aren't immature at all..."
"Or just dismissively indifferent. I mean, I know that you lot are known for being extremely apathetic to life in general, but you could do it with more enthusiasm. Oh, and 'whatevs', as well. Do you honestly need to abbreviate a slang? What, do people start keeling over at the strain of adding another syllable?" A yelp proceeds this as he accidentally presses the end of a wire into a finger, which helps to make the scowling Lucie feel a little better.
"I usually like slang, in all fairness, it's very interesting where it comes from. But 'whatever'... it doesn't have anything. It just happened, because people were too lazy. I'm surprised humans haven't just given up on language simply because it's just too much of an effort."
"That why you talk so much?"
"Very funny."
"Thanks, I thought so. Did you know you're not wearing any shoes?" She asks as if she's just noticed, rising up out of the chair.
"Yes, thank you for your minute powers of observation. You're better than Daleks. Constantly telling me I'm the Doctor as if I need to be reminded all the time."
She forgoes the comment that he usually does, since it's already become apparent that he has a habit of forgetting who he is. Instead, she just shivers at the sudden cold that blows in, rubbing her arms. "It's freezing in here, I dunno what you're doing, but I'm going to go make a cuppa." She turns toward the corridor. "I still hate you."
"Whatever."
The Eighth Doctor
Doctor Who
924 words
"I hate you," are the first words Lucie informs him of in the morning, walking into the console room with arms folded and head up high, with every implication of 'you ain't touching this today, mate.' "And I don't want to hear about how that's awful because it's 'such a strong word.' You're such a sissy."
"It's not," say the two feet sticking from under the wood-panelled console, breezily ignoring the insult that was tacked to the end.
He's taken his shoes off for some reason that Lucie can't fathom, especially since he likes to go on about how amazing his shoes are for an annoying amount of time that can't be normal for a fully grown (over-grown) man of a thousand and something. He even has a secret little cubby in the heel for a spare key. If there was one thing Lucie had learned from her now reaching week's stay in the realm of the Doctor and his TARDIS, it was that he was a freak, by freak standards.
The sock covered toes wiggle nonchalantly, ankles crossed together in their own irritatingly haughty way. Yes, he could be arrogant with just his feet. Showed the size of his ego, certainly.
"In fact," he continues, suddenly slightly muffled, probably due to the sonic screwdriver that's mostly possibly stuck in his mouth as he connects some wires or another (she hopes he gets electrocuted), "I think 'hate' is too casually used nowadays. You 'hate' everything. Food, weather, clothing... people. And you."
"You sayin' I don't qualify as people?"
"Yes. Don't worry, that's a good thing. I wouldn't go outside if people were anything like you. Bodes well for the universe, at any rate."
She makes a rude gesture at his feet, then another, then starts getting creative before he interrupts.
"Anyway, while you're figuring out different ways to tell someone to do something that's physically impossible by just using hand gestures, my point was that 'hate' doesn't quite have the strong connotation it's supposed to any more. What I got from 'I hate you' was more of 'I really rather dislike you', but I have a feeling that wasn't what you were going for."
"Yeah, actually. It was more of 'I think you should go fu-'"
"Luck!" he starts loudly, interrupting the interruption before it can go anywhere, "-ily for you and your language, there are several alternatives, I don't see why you can't use them."
She plonks herself down into an armchair (his, and she knows he hates it when other people sit in his armchair), curls up her legs inside of it, trainers still on, purposefully scraping the bottoms of it with against the fabric as she reaches over to slip the bookmark out of the nearest and clearly most recently novel. "Well go on then," she prods, silently putting the book back in place. "Give us examples, since I know you're dyin' to."
"Well, no, not dying to, I wouldn't give you the pleasure, but examples I can do. Despise. Loathe. Nauseate. Oh, that's a good one. Lucie?"
"Yeah?"
"I just wanted you to know that you nauseate me," he tells her with blithe happiness that has no business being there.
She rolls her eyes so hard that for a moment she can't see. "Thanks, Doctor. That means a lot when it comes from a bloke who threw up because of a rabbit."
"That wasn't a rabbit!" he defends indignantly. "It might have looked like one to you, but apparently you keep frequent company around rabbits with fangs. And poison, which is the only reason why I got sick. Never felt so undignified in my life. And that includes dressing up as a... erm... never mind."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What?"
"Nothing!"
Huffing, she curls back up into her ball in the chair. "Whatever."
An audible shudder comes from under the console.
"Oh, what now?"
"I wish you wouldn't use that word," she hears him mumble.
"What? 'Whatever'?"
Again.
She blinks. "Are you serious? Are you going to do that every time?" Pause. "... Whatever."
And again. "Stop it."
"Whatever whatever whatever."
"Now you're just being difficult."
"It's only a word."
"It's a very annoying word. It sounds so... petulant. And immature."
"Riiight, because Time Lords aren't immature at all..."
"Or just dismissively indifferent. I mean, I know that you lot are known for being extremely apathetic to life in general, but you could do it with more enthusiasm. Oh, and 'whatevs', as well. Do you honestly need to abbreviate a slang? What, do people start keeling over at the strain of adding another syllable?" A yelp proceeds this as he accidentally presses the end of a wire into a finger, which helps to make the scowling Lucie feel a little better.
"I usually like slang, in all fairness, it's very interesting where it comes from. But 'whatever'... it doesn't have anything. It just happened, because people were too lazy. I'm surprised humans haven't just given up on language simply because it's just too much of an effort."
"That why you talk so much?"
"Very funny."
"Thanks, I thought so. Did you know you're not wearing any shoes?" She asks as if she's just noticed, rising up out of the chair.
"Yes, thank you for your minute powers of observation. You're better than Daleks. Constantly telling me I'm the Doctor as if I need to be reminded all the time."
She forgoes the comment that he usually does, since it's already become apparent that he has a habit of forgetting who he is. Instead, she just shivers at the sudden cold that blows in, rubbing her arms. "It's freezing in here, I dunno what you're doing, but I'm going to go make a cuppa." She turns toward the corridor. "I still hate you."
"Whatever."
The Eighth Doctor
Doctor Who
924 words