Borrowed Words: Act I, Scene I (1/7)
Synopsis: This is a very fluffy, syrupy-sweet story based on the play Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand (and later popularized by Steve Martin's 1987 film Roxanne). The Doctor and Rose take a much needed break from adventuring, and find themselves in 17th Century Paris. There a young Baron named Christian de Neuvillette falls in love with Rose and the convinces the Doctor to help him win her over through poetic verse.
Notes of interest: Adult rating in last chapter. I've cast French fashion model Nicolas Bemberg as the Baron, as you'll see in my beautiful graphic art, haha. Also important: some of the text of this story is taken from Rostand's play, notably the words I will italicize throughout the text so you can tell what's what. Enjoy!
The Doctor settled back in a heavy oak chair and watched Rose dance with the tavern keeper through brilliant candlelight. Her face was lighthearted and amused as the elderly man swept her around the room in punctuated steps, and the Doctor felt himself laughing along with her. He was surprisingly relieved when their trip to 17th Century France had not amounted to another chaotic adventure for once. Perhaps for the first time in their travels, the Doctor and Rose were simply enjoying themselves for the sights and sounds of their destination. The Doctor leaned back in his chair for a moment, just to savor the feeling of ease knowing that Rose was happy, and that he too, was content.
He admired Rose while his thoughts wandered, and was so deep in thought, he barely realized someone had taken up a chair next to him.
“Monsieur?” a gentle voice said. “Please pardon my imposition, but may I sit with you for a moment?”
“Certainly,” the Doctor replied. “I’m the Doctor. How do you do?”
The young man beside him smiled graciously. “My name is Baron Christian de Neuvillette. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The Doctor nodded and observed the Baron, who was staring dreamily across the room.
“I just had to sit down when I saw her,” Christian asserted. “I’ve never seen such beauty.”
The Doctor arched his eyebrow as he followed the Baron’s gaze, and realized the object of his affection was Rose Tyler! The Doctor couldn’t help a flash of pride that accompanied the revelation. Of course this man and many others would be besotted with Rose’s charms. As he observed her graceful manner and the blossoming flush of her cheeks, the Doctor understood just how lovely she really was. Her laugh tinkled across the room like a bell as the tavern keeper kissed the back of her hand, and she smiled sweetly at his attentions.
“Are you acquainted with the lady?” Christian asked hopefully.
“Rose?” the Doctor asked. “Of course! She’s my best friend and traveling companion. We go everywhere together.”
Christian covered the Doctor’s hand with his own, and sought his eyes beseechingly. “Oh good sir,” he heralded, “if you would but do me the honor of an introduction I’d be forever indebted to you!”
The corner of the Doctor’s mouth twitched as glanced at the Baron in a subtle but thorough appraisal. The young French gentleman was very handsome with his piercing blue-green eyes and ruffled mop of brown hair, but not likely to make any permanent attachments to Rose, considering their short stay. The Doctor pursed his lips in consideration, but decided that ultimately the young man was harmless. Why not?
“I would be happy to,” he said to the Baron’s delight.
At that moment, Rose arrived and added herself to their small party. She fanned her flushed skin with the wave of her hand.
“I didn’t realize such an old bloke would have the Lord of the Dance inside him!” she joked. “Oh, hello!” she said, only just noticing the Baron.
Christian stood from the table and bowed as he reached for her hand, which Rose happily bestowed.
“Baron Christian de Neuvillette, meet Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates,” the Doctor declared as Rose sent him a sly grin. She loved it when he called her that.
“My lady,” Christian said reverently before seating himself again.
“Nice to meet you,” Rose replied. “I like your accent!” She'd always loved the French language, and the TARDIS was kind enough to translate the words into English for her while leaving the unique inflection intact.
Christian colored as he adjusted his cravat. “Thank you Dame Tyler. And I yours. But I suppose you are used to it.” He then stared down at his hands in abject fear of her reply.
“Yeah,” Rose agreed. “I’m sure you are too.”
The Doctor snickered when Christian glanced up with so much gratitude he looked like he might combust.
“I am!” the Baron agreed. But then he seemed to run out of conversational topics and turned his attention to the wooden table.
Rose shrugged a shoulder and looked over at the Doctor. “I don’t suppose we’ll stay another night, shall we? I’m sure you’re ready for a wild adventure by now.”
The Doctor let out a sigh as he cradled his chin in one hand. “Oh I don’t know. I kind of like this, don’t you? No hysteric chases, no universal crises, no things blowing up. It’s good to switch up the pace every once in a while.”
Christian perked up with a sudden epiphany. “Why, if you’d like to stay another night in Paris, you should attend the Latterly ball tomorrow! It’s going to be a grand occasion, and I’ve seen you like to dance, Dame Tyler.”
“Please call me Rose,” Rose insisted. She missed the worshipful look that Christian offered her in return.
“I suppose it could be fun,” Rose continued. “What do you think Doctor?”
The Doctor was so tickled by the situation that he nearly laughed out loud. Poor Baron de Neuvillette could hardly keep his hands from trembling with excitement as the Doctor pretended to consider it.
“I think I agree,” he stated gravely. “One more night in Paris to attend the grand ball? It can’t be missed!”
Rose smiled at both men before she felt a light tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she found the mischievous gaze of the tavern keeper upon her.
“Not already!” Rose blanched. “How do you recover so fast?”
The old man tittered and held out his hand, knowing that his fair partner would not refuse him. With a wry smile, Rose conceded and disappeared into the fray of dancing bodies, leaving her gentlemen friends behind.
“Sir, I owe you the world,” Christian began.
“Not at all,” the Doctor deferred.
“But oh, how I botched it!” Christian continued, burying his forehead under his hands.
“Not at all!” the Doctor objected.
“I’m a nightmare with words!” Christian lamented. “I cannot steer the course of conversation nor banter so wittily as others. I feel all knotted when she speaks to me, like I’m helpless to communicate. It never fails.”
The Doctor cleared his throat and tried to hide his discomfort with the topic at hand. “Listen, Baron. Rose is not the kind of lady who needs to be impressed or inveigled. I’m sure she appreciated your open manner and amicable nature. You shouldn’t…challenge yourself to a duel over it.”
Christian snickered, “My pride competes with my honor, sir. You mark me well. But I wonder how I might express myself better in lady’s company? You seem not at all afraid to address her. Do you not find her intimidating?”
The Doctor laughed brightly at the thought before musing aloud. “Afraid of Rose Tyler? Well perhaps I should be. That woman has done marvelous things, spectacular things. She’s held the whole of time in her soul, and wielded the power of the stars against those who would destroy them. Perhaps she is to be feared.”
The Doctor drummed on the table while Christian gaped. “You are a poet, sir!”
“Oh no,” the Doctor replied. “I was speaking quite literally…oh never mind. Yes, I’m a poet.”
“Then maybe here is the answer to my woes!” Christian declared. “A poet and a friend combined to the task of winning lady’s admiration! Doctor, could you not assist me in framing the words I might use to court Dame Tyler? Your verse would win Helen of Troy!”
The Doctor’s face betrayed his distaste for such a plan. “I don’t think I’m the right man for the job,” he said in a flat refusal.
“You don't believe me?” Christian protested before considering another tactic. “Then just look there at the lady, and tell me what you see. What words are fair and worthy of her?”
The Doctor peered over at Rose and sighed to himself. The Baron was very persistent, but if spouting a bit of poetry would satisfy him then so be it. He felt his face soften as he observed her dancing in and out of the shadows.
“Rose is…just a moment in time really, when you consider the brevity of her existence. Out of all of time and space, in the infinite vast reaches of the cosmos, here on this planet and in this town and even in this room…she’s just a simple moment amongst so many others.” The Doctor smiled as she twirled with the rhythm of the dance.
“You make her sound like everyone else!” Christian dissented.
“But I don’t!” the Doctor retorted, coming back to himself. “Yes, she’s a moment as others are, but what happens in that moment is extraordinary. She’s…the moment when you relearn something forgotten like you’ve never known it.”
He surprised himself there and flinched, getting more into the sentiment of his poetic verse than he’d planned. “She’s the moment that challenges you to be something better than you are. And more’s the pity that not everyone can be touched by her limited duration, because being a moment she’s contracted to pass by.”
The Doctor looked down at the table with an impenetrable darkness in his eyes, having just told himself what he had not previously been able to admit.
“You fear her diminishment,” Christian observed. “But is that a reason not to love her?”
“That is love,” the Doctor returned with a start. “To suspend a moment, to extend it through time and space as I do through our travels together.”
“You do love her, sir,” Christian alleged. “Do not deny what I see plainly in your eyes and hear markedly from your own lips. You love her, but you will not claim her. Tell me, would you deny her love with another, if given the choice?”
The Doctor watched Rose’s face burn white in the firelight, reminding him of the fearsome power she once wielded on the Game Station. “I would wish her happy,” he replied. “It would go better for her, to be with someone else.”
“Then let it be me!” Christian remarked spiritedly. “I will love Rose, would you but give me the words to do so. If you could help me speak as artfully as you, then I will claim what you will not, and we may both love her. Isn’t that a fulfillment of both our desires? What say you sir?”
(Next Chapter)
Notes of interest: Adult rating in last chapter. I've cast French fashion model Nicolas Bemberg as the Baron, as you'll see in my beautiful graphic art, haha. Also important: some of the text of this story is taken from Rostand's play, notably the words I will italicize throughout the text so you can tell what's what. Enjoy!
The Doctor settled back in a heavy oak chair and watched Rose dance with the tavern keeper through brilliant candlelight. Her face was lighthearted and amused as the elderly man swept her around the room in punctuated steps, and the Doctor felt himself laughing along with her. He was surprisingly relieved when their trip to 17th Century France had not amounted to another chaotic adventure for once. Perhaps for the first time in their travels, the Doctor and Rose were simply enjoying themselves for the sights and sounds of their destination. The Doctor leaned back in his chair for a moment, just to savor the feeling of ease knowing that Rose was happy, and that he too, was content.
He admired Rose while his thoughts wandered, and was so deep in thought, he barely realized someone had taken up a chair next to him.
“Monsieur?” a gentle voice said. “Please pardon my imposition, but may I sit with you for a moment?”
“Certainly,” the Doctor replied. “I’m the Doctor. How do you do?”
The young man beside him smiled graciously. “My name is Baron Christian de Neuvillette. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The Doctor nodded and observed the Baron, who was staring dreamily across the room.
“I just had to sit down when I saw her,” Christian asserted. “I’ve never seen such beauty.”
The Doctor arched his eyebrow as he followed the Baron’s gaze, and realized the object of his affection was Rose Tyler! The Doctor couldn’t help a flash of pride that accompanied the revelation. Of course this man and many others would be besotted with Rose’s charms. As he observed her graceful manner and the blossoming flush of her cheeks, the Doctor understood just how lovely she really was. Her laugh tinkled across the room like a bell as the tavern keeper kissed the back of her hand, and she smiled sweetly at his attentions.
“Are you acquainted with the lady?” Christian asked hopefully.
“Rose?” the Doctor asked. “Of course! She’s my best friend and traveling companion. We go everywhere together.”
Christian covered the Doctor’s hand with his own, and sought his eyes beseechingly. “Oh good sir,” he heralded, “if you would but do me the honor of an introduction I’d be forever indebted to you!”
The corner of the Doctor’s mouth twitched as glanced at the Baron in a subtle but thorough appraisal. The young French gentleman was very handsome with his piercing blue-green eyes and ruffled mop of brown hair, but not likely to make any permanent attachments to Rose, considering their short stay. The Doctor pursed his lips in consideration, but decided that ultimately the young man was harmless. Why not?
“I would be happy to,” he said to the Baron’s delight.
At that moment, Rose arrived and added herself to their small party. She fanned her flushed skin with the wave of her hand.
“I didn’t realize such an old bloke would have the Lord of the Dance inside him!” she joked. “Oh, hello!” she said, only just noticing the Baron.
Christian stood from the table and bowed as he reached for her hand, which Rose happily bestowed.
“Baron Christian de Neuvillette, meet Dame Rose Tyler of the Powell Estates,” the Doctor declared as Rose sent him a sly grin. She loved it when he called her that.
“My lady,” Christian said reverently before seating himself again.
“Nice to meet you,” Rose replied. “I like your accent!” She'd always loved the French language, and the TARDIS was kind enough to translate the words into English for her while leaving the unique inflection intact.
Christian colored as he adjusted his cravat. “Thank you Dame Tyler. And I yours. But I suppose you are used to it.” He then stared down at his hands in abject fear of her reply.
“Yeah,” Rose agreed. “I’m sure you are too.”
The Doctor snickered when Christian glanced up with so much gratitude he looked like he might combust.
“I am!” the Baron agreed. But then he seemed to run out of conversational topics and turned his attention to the wooden table.
Rose shrugged a shoulder and looked over at the Doctor. “I don’t suppose we’ll stay another night, shall we? I’m sure you’re ready for a wild adventure by now.”
The Doctor let out a sigh as he cradled his chin in one hand. “Oh I don’t know. I kind of like this, don’t you? No hysteric chases, no universal crises, no things blowing up. It’s good to switch up the pace every once in a while.”
Christian perked up with a sudden epiphany. “Why, if you’d like to stay another night in Paris, you should attend the Latterly ball tomorrow! It’s going to be a grand occasion, and I’ve seen you like to dance, Dame Tyler.”
“Please call me Rose,” Rose insisted. She missed the worshipful look that Christian offered her in return.
“I suppose it could be fun,” Rose continued. “What do you think Doctor?”
The Doctor was so tickled by the situation that he nearly laughed out loud. Poor Baron de Neuvillette could hardly keep his hands from trembling with excitement as the Doctor pretended to consider it.
“I think I agree,” he stated gravely. “One more night in Paris to attend the grand ball? It can’t be missed!”
Rose smiled at both men before she felt a light tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she found the mischievous gaze of the tavern keeper upon her.
“Not already!” Rose blanched. “How do you recover so fast?”
The old man tittered and held out his hand, knowing that his fair partner would not refuse him. With a wry smile, Rose conceded and disappeared into the fray of dancing bodies, leaving her gentlemen friends behind.
“Sir, I owe you the world,” Christian began.
“Not at all,” the Doctor deferred.
“But oh, how I botched it!” Christian continued, burying his forehead under his hands.
“Not at all!” the Doctor objected.
“I’m a nightmare with words!” Christian lamented. “I cannot steer the course of conversation nor banter so wittily as others. I feel all knotted when she speaks to me, like I’m helpless to communicate. It never fails.”
The Doctor cleared his throat and tried to hide his discomfort with the topic at hand. “Listen, Baron. Rose is not the kind of lady who needs to be impressed or inveigled. I’m sure she appreciated your open manner and amicable nature. You shouldn’t…challenge yourself to a duel over it.”
Christian snickered, “My pride competes with my honor, sir. You mark me well. But I wonder how I might express myself better in lady’s company? You seem not at all afraid to address her. Do you not find her intimidating?”
The Doctor laughed brightly at the thought before musing aloud. “Afraid of Rose Tyler? Well perhaps I should be. That woman has done marvelous things, spectacular things. She’s held the whole of time in her soul, and wielded the power of the stars against those who would destroy them. Perhaps she is to be feared.”
The Doctor drummed on the table while Christian gaped. “You are a poet, sir!”
“Oh no,” the Doctor replied. “I was speaking quite literally…oh never mind. Yes, I’m a poet.”
“Then maybe here is the answer to my woes!” Christian declared. “A poet and a friend combined to the task of winning lady’s admiration! Doctor, could you not assist me in framing the words I might use to court Dame Tyler? Your verse would win Helen of Troy!”
The Doctor’s face betrayed his distaste for such a plan. “I don’t think I’m the right man for the job,” he said in a flat refusal.
“You don't believe me?” Christian protested before considering another tactic. “Then just look there at the lady, and tell me what you see. What words are fair and worthy of her?”
The Doctor peered over at Rose and sighed to himself. The Baron was very persistent, but if spouting a bit of poetry would satisfy him then so be it. He felt his face soften as he observed her dancing in and out of the shadows.
“Rose is…just a moment in time really, when you consider the brevity of her existence. Out of all of time and space, in the infinite vast reaches of the cosmos, here on this planet and in this town and even in this room…she’s just a simple moment amongst so many others.” The Doctor smiled as she twirled with the rhythm of the dance.
“You make her sound like everyone else!” Christian dissented.
“But I don’t!” the Doctor retorted, coming back to himself. “Yes, she’s a moment as others are, but what happens in that moment is extraordinary. She’s…the moment when you relearn something forgotten like you’ve never known it.”
He surprised himself there and flinched, getting more into the sentiment of his poetic verse than he’d planned. “She’s the moment that challenges you to be something better than you are. And more’s the pity that not everyone can be touched by her limited duration, because being a moment she’s contracted to pass by.”
The Doctor looked down at the table with an impenetrable darkness in his eyes, having just told himself what he had not previously been able to admit.
“You fear her diminishment,” Christian observed. “But is that a reason not to love her?”
“That is love,” the Doctor returned with a start. “To suspend a moment, to extend it through time and space as I do through our travels together.”
“You do love her, sir,” Christian alleged. “Do not deny what I see plainly in your eyes and hear markedly from your own lips. You love her, but you will not claim her. Tell me, would you deny her love with another, if given the choice?”
The Doctor watched Rose’s face burn white in the firelight, reminding him of the fearsome power she once wielded on the Game Station. “I would wish her happy,” he replied. “It would go better for her, to be with someone else.”
“Then let it be me!” Christian remarked spiritedly. “I will love Rose, would you but give me the words to do so. If you could help me speak as artfully as you, then I will claim what you will not, and we may both love her. Isn’t that a fulfillment of both our desires? What say you sir?”
(Next Chapter)