Ficlet: Wise
Title: Wise
Rating: G
Characters: Donna, Sylvia, Ten
Genre: fluff
Words: ~400
Disclaimer: Borrowing DW like library books--except I never return them. Hopefully they won’t make me pay a fee.
Summary: Just a little short Sylvia-observing-Donna’s-denial ficlet.
Warnings/Spoilers: The Runaway Bride should be solid background info
A/N: I was working on my “But He’s Like Fire” fic, but rewatching Poison Sky and consequently watching Sylvia’s scenes made my muse just totally shift everything towards her. Why can’t I resist writing the Nobles?
A/N2: Oh, and I bleeping hate this new LJ post thing.
EDIT: I REALLY HATE THIS NEW LJ POST THING
Cutting coupons in the kitchen. That was the new mother-daughter quality time now.
It was once every blue moon again, when Donna came home. Sylvia would always notice something different about her each time she came. A little older. Not in that sad miserable spinster sense, but older as in...wiser. Happier.
“Where’d you two go off to this time?” she asked, not taking her attention away from the coupons as she snipped away at them.
Donna took a few moments to answer. “We...went to Barcelona.” Sylvia could tell it was a half-lie.
“Spain again, I see? Was it any good?”
“Yeah. Always is, with him.”
She rose her head to look at her daughter, who was still nonchalantly cutting the papers like it was her hobby. Anyone could bet that she was completely unaware of how things seemed to Sylvia. In retrospect, she saw it coming even on the first day he showed up, when Donna had stared long and hard at her before running off with him. “Who is he?” she had begged, and Donna’s eyes could have said many things, like “my runaway groom” for instance.
“Is it,” Sylvia said, returning her attention to the coupons. “Sounds like less of a free hitch around the world and more of some marriage you’re not telling me about.”
Donna sighed, putting down the scissors and facing her mother. “I keep telling you, it’s not like that.”
Almost on cue, the Doctor came into the kitchen with an open jar of jam. “What’s not like what?”
“Oi, have you been eating that with your finger again?” Donna scolded as she went up to snatch it away from him, avoiding his question completely. “Hopeless, you are.”
Sylvia was now a silent bystander with no involvement of the demonstration of how wrong Donna was. She only sighed, a faint smirk on her face as she, from the corner of her eye, watched her daughter yell and argue at her dunce of a troublemaker. She took high notice of how her scolds and rough smothering with wet tissue paper turned into teases and fixing his poorly done tie.
And so maybe her observations were wrong. Donna didn’t come back wiser. She came back thicker than ever, because whatever “that” was, it was definitely like it.
Rating: G
Characters: Donna, Sylvia, Ten
Genre: fluff
Words: ~400
Disclaimer: Borrowing DW like library books--except I never return them. Hopefully they won’t make me pay a fee.
Summary: Just a little short Sylvia-observing-Donna’s-denial ficlet.
Warnings/Spoilers: The Runaway Bride should be solid background info
A/N: I was working on my “But He’s Like Fire” fic, but rewatching Poison Sky and consequently watching Sylvia’s scenes made my muse just totally shift everything towards her. Why can’t I resist writing the Nobles?
A/N2: Oh, and I bleeping hate this new LJ post thing.
EDIT: I REALLY HATE THIS NEW LJ POST THING
Cutting coupons in the kitchen. That was the new mother-daughter quality time now.
It was once every blue moon again, when Donna came home. Sylvia would always notice something different about her each time she came. A little older. Not in that sad miserable spinster sense, but older as in...wiser. Happier.
“Where’d you two go off to this time?” she asked, not taking her attention away from the coupons as she snipped away at them.
Donna took a few moments to answer. “We...went to Barcelona.” Sylvia could tell it was a half-lie.
“Spain again, I see? Was it any good?”
“Yeah. Always is, with him.”
She rose her head to look at her daughter, who was still nonchalantly cutting the papers like it was her hobby. Anyone could bet that she was completely unaware of how things seemed to Sylvia. In retrospect, she saw it coming even on the first day he showed up, when Donna had stared long and hard at her before running off with him. “Who is he?” she had begged, and Donna’s eyes could have said many things, like “my runaway groom” for instance.
“Is it,” Sylvia said, returning her attention to the coupons. “Sounds like less of a free hitch around the world and more of some marriage you’re not telling me about.”
Donna sighed, putting down the scissors and facing her mother. “I keep telling you, it’s not like that.”
Almost on cue, the Doctor came into the kitchen with an open jar of jam. “What’s not like what?”
“Oi, have you been eating that with your finger again?” Donna scolded as she went up to snatch it away from him, avoiding his question completely. “Hopeless, you are.”
Sylvia was now a silent bystander with no involvement of the demonstration of how wrong Donna was. She only sighed, a faint smirk on her face as she, from the corner of her eye, watched her daughter yell and argue at her dunce of a troublemaker. She took high notice of how her scolds and rough smothering with wet tissue paper turned into teases and fixing his poorly done tie.
And so maybe her observations were wrong. Donna didn’t come back wiser. She came back thicker than ever, because whatever “that” was, it was definitely like it.