for badcompany_muse: Wrath
You're angry. So angry. Vicious, mind-splitting anger the kind that boils and bubbles and makes your skin crackle and hiss when you move.
The Master. It's so easy to blame him.
Why not blame him? He's caused you so much pain.
Pain ache ache friendship means nothing---
The buzz in your head is awful. It pulsates like soda candy on a pair of drums. Beat. Fizzle. Beat. Fizzle. Your feet are cold on the wet grass as you search for him.
Suburbia. That's where you meet him. Right in the middle of all these homes, but it's night so that somehow makes it better.
Somewhere nearby someone is cooking something with mint and peppers. Your stomach growls in a most irritating fashion and you wonder if eating something might not calm you, make the fizz-drumbeat go away. Reinette always does say that you're far too crotchety when you don't eat. Maybe you should go home. Sit down. Have a cup of tea. Put away the gun and just think about what you're doing.
No, no, fuck that.
Reinette never listens to you. Not then, and not now as you drag her to see who you really are. What you know. You know how things are going to turn out. You see things she can't possibly imagine. You know how things are and how much they will hurt if you don't take care of it now. How things are, were, will be. You know. He's evil. You have to…you have---
And there he is. A twisted grin that suited another man better. A sneer. His tooth gleams like a wolf's. Which makes you the hunter, you suppose. You should have a better gun. This one won't stop shaking in your hands.
You're supposed to be braver than this.
But what bravery is found in a gun?
You can't think. Can't think. Fizz drum angry furious you know what's evil and you have no choice, you must eradicate it from the universe like the Daleks like the twisted and corrupt Time Lords and he's there right there and you can do it. You can do it.
Finger meets trigger, as these things end up inevitably.
The
night
is
impossibly
quiet
for
a
long
moment.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
She drops. The victim of a ricocheted bullet. The drumbeats silence like the police cut the electric from your fizzly club. Someone's pumped Freon into your veins and warm red wet is pouring from her shoulder.
She's too weak. This is…she's too weak.
The enemy calls for an ambulance. Some part of him cares. Or doesn't want to get shot. Whichever it is, you can't focus because all of the anger. The wrath. The rage it's all gone.
And she's bleeding. She's dying. She's dying because you were too angry to control yourself.
Coward or killer, Doctor?
Coward or killer, Doctor?
Coward or killer, Doctor?
She asks what happened. You tell her it was the gun, it was the gun. How easily you pour your guilt into the weapon that has somehow dropped onto the grass. It wasn't the gun and you amend your reply. It was me. I shot you.
Her expression is unreadable. Your stomach coils tight like a twisted neon light, coiled and burning in your belly.
Her words are contrite.
"Of course."
But then she always did have a knack for seeing things you don't. Of knowing how things were (you should never have left) how things are (you're too angry, just calm down) and how things will be (you'll regret this)---
You silently swear that wrath will never be your vice, not ever again. Not after this.
But from the sneer on her face, she knows what you're thinking and doesn't believe you.
But why should she?
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)(AU)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 606
Based on RP with ambitious_woman and crispymaster
The Master. It's so easy to blame him.
Why not blame him? He's caused you so much pain.
Pain ache ache friendship means nothing---
The buzz in your head is awful. It pulsates like soda candy on a pair of drums. Beat. Fizzle. Beat. Fizzle. Your feet are cold on the wet grass as you search for him.
Suburbia. That's where you meet him. Right in the middle of all these homes, but it's night so that somehow makes it better.
Somewhere nearby someone is cooking something with mint and peppers. Your stomach growls in a most irritating fashion and you wonder if eating something might not calm you, make the fizz-drumbeat go away. Reinette always does say that you're far too crotchety when you don't eat. Maybe you should go home. Sit down. Have a cup of tea. Put away the gun and just think about what you're doing.
No, no, fuck that.
Reinette never listens to you. Not then, and not now as you drag her to see who you really are. What you know. You know how things are going to turn out. You see things she can't possibly imagine. You know how things are and how much they will hurt if you don't take care of it now. How things are, were, will be. You know. He's evil. You have to…you have---
And there he is. A twisted grin that suited another man better. A sneer. His tooth gleams like a wolf's. Which makes you the hunter, you suppose. You should have a better gun. This one won't stop shaking in your hands.
You're supposed to be braver than this.
But what bravery is found in a gun?
You can't think. Can't think. Fizz drum angry furious you know what's evil and you have no choice, you must eradicate it from the universe like the Daleks like the twisted and corrupt Time Lords and he's there right there and you can do it. You can do it.
Finger meets trigger, as these things end up inevitably.
The
night
is
impossibly
quiet
for
a
long
moment.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
She drops. The victim of a ricocheted bullet. The drumbeats silence like the police cut the electric from your fizzly club. Someone's pumped Freon into your veins and warm red wet is pouring from her shoulder.
She's too weak. This is…she's too weak.
The enemy calls for an ambulance. Some part of him cares. Or doesn't want to get shot. Whichever it is, you can't focus because all of the anger. The wrath. The rage it's all gone.
And she's bleeding. She's dying. She's dying because you were too angry to control yourself.
Coward or killer, Doctor?
Coward or killer, Doctor?
Coward or killer, Doctor?
She asks what happened. You tell her it was the gun, it was the gun. How easily you pour your guilt into the weapon that has somehow dropped onto the grass. It wasn't the gun and you amend your reply. It was me. I shot you.
Her expression is unreadable. Your stomach coils tight like a twisted neon light, coiled and burning in your belly.
Her words are contrite.
"Of course."
But then she always did have a knack for seeing things you don't. Of knowing how things were (you should never have left) how things are (you're too angry, just calm down) and how things will be (you'll regret this)---
You silently swear that wrath will never be your vice, not ever again. Not after this.
But from the sneer on her face, she knows what you're thinking and doesn't believe you.
But why should she?
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)(AU)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 606
Based on RP with ambitious_woman and crispymaster