Birthday Fic for Neadods: The Play's The Thing
Story: The Play's The Thing
Author: wmr/ wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: Apart from the characters, there's also a lot of lines in here that don't belong to me...
Summary: You would answer very well to a whipping.
With acknowledgements to very many of William Shakespeare's plays, and to
dark_aegis for beta services. Written for neadodsas a birthday gift. 1000 words exactly.
The Play’s The Thing
“So I’m thinking this Shakespeare guy’s a bit of a misanthrope.” Emerging from their twelfth Shakespeare play in as many days, Jack frowns at the Doctor. “And you say that for at least two thousand years he’s considered the greatest writer in history?”
“What’s wrong with Shakespeare?” the Doctor demands, sounding huffy.
“What’s wrong? Well, nothing if you want to be reminded of all the bad things that can happen in life. I mean, what’ve I learned so far? Don’t fall in love, because it’ll end badly. Don’t get married, because either your partner or your best friend will betray you. Don’t have kids because... well, you get the picture. Oh, and don’t try to conquer the known world, either.” He clasps his hand to his chest and rolls his eyes. “Et tu, Brute!”
“Shakespeare was a genius!” the Doctor protests, and now he’s definitely huffy. “Weren’t you listening in there? Hamlet’s soliloquy, one of the best pieces of theatre ever written!”
“I dunno,” Rose says, and Jack can see the corners of her mouth twitching. “Don’t seem to be many happy endings. An’ I thought Romeo and Juliet was s’posed to be a romance. Not a lot romantic ‘bout killin’ yourself because you think your lover’s dead.”
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Romeo and Juliet’s not a romance! ‘S about the futility of trivial feuds.”
Rose shrugs. “Yeah, well, if he wanted to make people care he shouldn’t have written the so-called heroes as too stupid to live.” Catching Jack’s eye, she winks. “An’ what’s the point of King Lear, either? Rocks fall, everyone dies?”
The Doctor seems, for once, lost for words. “You have no appreciation of your own culture,” he says finally, sounding disgusted. “One of the greatest writers the human race has ever seen, an’ you call him a misanthrope?”
“Frailty, thy name is woman!” Jack quotes. “And what was that about a whoreson cullionly barbermonger?”
“He likes callin’ people whoresons,” Rose comments. “Heard that one a few times.”
“I’m sure odiferous stench came up more than once, too.”
“Yeah, an’ what was that about men and women bein’ April and May when they meet an’ December after they marry? What a cynic!” Rose bumps her hip against Jack’s thigh; they share a grin at the Doctor’s expression.
“That’s the characters, not Shakespeare!” The Doctor stops dead in the street, hands on his hips. “You can’t hold him personally responsible for things his characters say! That’s like sayin’ JK Rowling’s in favour of racial purity!”
Jack looks at the Doctor. “Who’s JK Rowling?”
Rose laughs. “Need to find some fifty-first-century culture, Doctor.”
The Doctor’s eyes widen, but his voice is bland. “What fifty-first-century culture?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jack rolls his eyes. “Least I’m not forcing it down your throat.”
“And I am?” The Doctor’s doing his best incredulous expression now. “You sayin’ you didn’t like a single one of the plays I’ve taken you to? After all the trouble I went to: the Globe - the original Globe, mind - the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford, none other than Sir John Gielgud playin’ Lear, Derek Jacobi’s Hamlet...” He shakes his head in a semblance of despair. “Pearls before swine, I tell you.”
“You want to try harder to beat Shakespeare when it comes to insults, Doctor,” Rose says with a grin.
The Doctor sighs. “Come on, what about the comedies? You must’ve liked those!”
Rose shrugs. “I dunno. Think you need to do more to make people laugh than jus’ call a character Bottom.”
“Yeah, and we’re supposed to believe in that other one that Olivia falls out of love with Viola once she realises she’s a woman?” Jack sighs. “You people and your quaint little categories.”
The Doctor sighs again, this time louder. “I give up. Philistines!” He starts to stalk off, wounded pride in every movement of his body.
Rose nudges Jack. He winks at her in return.
“I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”
“God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.”
Obviously struggling not to laugh, Rose retorts, “Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.”
“Thanks,” he retorts, pretending to look hurt. “What’s wrong with my face?”
The Doctor swings around sharply. “I didn’t take you to see Much Ado About Nothing.”
Her expression impish, Rose says, “No, you didn’t.”
The Doctor looks from one to the other of them. “You... you...”
Jack laughs. “And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends. And seem a saint when most I play the devil.”
“What, you a saint? No chance.” The Doctor grins, walking back to them. “Degenerate and base art thou, a most toad-spotted traitor.” He turns to Rose. “And as for you - you fry of treachery!”
Rose curls into the Doctor’s side. “Yeah, yeah. Think we can manage without the Shakespearean insults now?”
“Suits me,” Jack agrees.
“Course, you’re in good company if you don’t like him, even if you do have rubbish taste,” the Doctor adds. “Ben Jonson, DH Lawrence - they both hated his work. An’ George Bernard Shaw’s supposed to have said he’d like to dig him up and throw stones at him.”
Rose bumps the Doctor’s side. “We didn’t actually say we didn’t like him, did we?”
The Doctor pauses, head on one side, obviously thinking. “S’pose you didn’t, did you?”
“Nah.” Jack grins.
“And you knew who he was, right?”
His grin grows wider. “Course I did. We’re not uncultured where I come from, Doctor. Not that you ever asked. You just assumed I didn’t know.”
The Doctor shuffles a little. “S’pose I did.”
“Come on.” Rose links arms with both of them. “Back to the TARDIS. I vote for popcorn and Keanu Reeves.”
The Doctor’s expression perks up. “Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing?”
She bursts out laughing. “Nah! Had enough Shakespeare for now, thanks. The Matrix trilogy!”
- end
Author: wmr/ wendymr
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler
Rated: PG
Disclaimer: Apart from the characters, there's also a lot of lines in here that don't belong to me...
Summary: You would answer very well to a whipping.
With acknowledgements to very many of William Shakespeare's plays, and to
dark_aegis for beta services. Written for neadodsas a birthday gift. 1000 words exactly.
The Play’s The Thing
“So I’m thinking this Shakespeare guy’s a bit of a misanthrope.” Emerging from their twelfth Shakespeare play in as many days, Jack frowns at the Doctor. “And you say that for at least two thousand years he’s considered the greatest writer in history?”
“What’s wrong with Shakespeare?” the Doctor demands, sounding huffy.
“What’s wrong? Well, nothing if you want to be reminded of all the bad things that can happen in life. I mean, what’ve I learned so far? Don’t fall in love, because it’ll end badly. Don’t get married, because either your partner or your best friend will betray you. Don’t have kids because... well, you get the picture. Oh, and don’t try to conquer the known world, either.” He clasps his hand to his chest and rolls his eyes. “Et tu, Brute!”
“Shakespeare was a genius!” the Doctor protests, and now he’s definitely huffy. “Weren’t you listening in there? Hamlet’s soliloquy, one of the best pieces of theatre ever written!”
“I dunno,” Rose says, and Jack can see the corners of her mouth twitching. “Don’t seem to be many happy endings. An’ I thought Romeo and Juliet was s’posed to be a romance. Not a lot romantic ‘bout killin’ yourself because you think your lover’s dead.”
The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Romeo and Juliet’s not a romance! ‘S about the futility of trivial feuds.”
Rose shrugs. “Yeah, well, if he wanted to make people care he shouldn’t have written the so-called heroes as too stupid to live.” Catching Jack’s eye, she winks. “An’ what’s the point of King Lear, either? Rocks fall, everyone dies?”
The Doctor seems, for once, lost for words. “You have no appreciation of your own culture,” he says finally, sounding disgusted. “One of the greatest writers the human race has ever seen, an’ you call him a misanthrope?”
“Frailty, thy name is woman!” Jack quotes. “And what was that about a whoreson cullionly barbermonger?”
“He likes callin’ people whoresons,” Rose comments. “Heard that one a few times.”
“I’m sure odiferous stench came up more than once, too.”
“Yeah, an’ what was that about men and women bein’ April and May when they meet an’ December after they marry? What a cynic!” Rose bumps her hip against Jack’s thigh; they share a grin at the Doctor’s expression.
“That’s the characters, not Shakespeare!” The Doctor stops dead in the street, hands on his hips. “You can’t hold him personally responsible for things his characters say! That’s like sayin’ JK Rowling’s in favour of racial purity!”
Jack looks at the Doctor. “Who’s JK Rowling?”
Rose laughs. “Need to find some fifty-first-century culture, Doctor.”
The Doctor’s eyes widen, but his voice is bland. “What fifty-first-century culture?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jack rolls his eyes. “Least I’m not forcing it down your throat.”
“And I am?” The Doctor’s doing his best incredulous expression now. “You sayin’ you didn’t like a single one of the plays I’ve taken you to? After all the trouble I went to: the Globe - the original Globe, mind - the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford, none other than Sir John Gielgud playin’ Lear, Derek Jacobi’s Hamlet...” He shakes his head in a semblance of despair. “Pearls before swine, I tell you.”
“You want to try harder to beat Shakespeare when it comes to insults, Doctor,” Rose says with a grin.
The Doctor sighs. “Come on, what about the comedies? You must’ve liked those!”
Rose shrugs. “I dunno. Think you need to do more to make people laugh than jus’ call a character Bottom.”
“Yeah, and we’re supposed to believe in that other one that Olivia falls out of love with Viola once she realises she’s a woman?” Jack sighs. “You people and your quaint little categories.”
The Doctor sighs again, this time louder. “I give up. Philistines!” He starts to stalk off, wounded pride in every movement of his body.
Rose nudges Jack. He winks at her in return.
“I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”
“God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face.”
Obviously struggling not to laugh, Rose retorts, “Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.”
“Thanks,” he retorts, pretending to look hurt. “What’s wrong with my face?”
The Doctor swings around sharply. “I didn’t take you to see Much Ado About Nothing.”
Her expression impish, Rose says, “No, you didn’t.”
The Doctor looks from one to the other of them. “You... you...”
Jack laughs. “And thus I clothe my naked villainy with old odd ends. And seem a saint when most I play the devil.”
“What, you a saint? No chance.” The Doctor grins, walking back to them. “Degenerate and base art thou, a most toad-spotted traitor.” He turns to Rose. “And as for you - you fry of treachery!”
Rose curls into the Doctor’s side. “Yeah, yeah. Think we can manage without the Shakespearean insults now?”
“Suits me,” Jack agrees.
“Course, you’re in good company if you don’t like him, even if you do have rubbish taste,” the Doctor adds. “Ben Jonson, DH Lawrence - they both hated his work. An’ George Bernard Shaw’s supposed to have said he’d like to dig him up and throw stones at him.”
Rose bumps the Doctor’s side. “We didn’t actually say we didn’t like him, did we?”
The Doctor pauses, head on one side, obviously thinking. “S’pose you didn’t, did you?”
“Nah.” Jack grins.
“And you knew who he was, right?”
His grin grows wider. “Course I did. We’re not uncultured where I come from, Doctor. Not that you ever asked. You just assumed I didn’t know.”
The Doctor shuffles a little. “S’pose I did.”
“Come on.” Rose links arms with both of them. “Back to the TARDIS. I vote for popcorn and Keanu Reeves.”
The Doctor’s expression perks up. “Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing?”
She bursts out laughing. “Nah! Had enough Shakespeare for now, thanks. The Matrix trilogy!”
- end