paradisa | empty in the valley of your heart

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empty in the valley of your heart

[when the sun comes up through the windows, that's the Doctor's first clue that the castle is up to its tricks - normally, in the TARDIS, he's not woken by the onset of light, he just ... wakes up whenever he wants.

so at first he's completely up for this, curious as he sits up in the bed he's been placed in. no TARDIS, that's fine - he'll be alright without the old girl and she can handle herself. but it looks like a normal castle room ... ]

Hm.

[well, nothing for it. he gets to his feet and stretches - then turns to survey the rest of the room and realizes who's sleeping on the other side of the --

oh no. Rassilon's earlobes, NO. he is NOT staring at a sleeping Master. he's just NOT.

except he totally is.]

Well, damn.

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Mmmm. Well, I've known my Eleventh for two years now, so I'm still ahead of you. [so there]

Burn them?! Really now. And soot up the walls? [honestly, he's suprised that he'd even recommend it - but, then again, on second thought, it's been years since Sarn for him, probably even centuries.]

I thought you approved of burning things you disapprove of.

[This is said with just enough acid to assure the Doctor that Sarn is not forgotten at all.]

Soot can be cleaned, Doctor, and I make sure my chimney stays clean. As for your eleventh self, I've yet to see him in person, so I cannot comment on his tastes. They certainly can't be worse than some of your earlier regenerations.

And you said I was the one making uncouth remarks. [that's all the attention he'll give that. he doesn't need to try and deal with his Conflicting Feelings About Sarn right now. he needs to solve problems. he abandons his breakfast and gets to his feet, starting to gather up the decorations]

Far better than the Sixth, if how I spent a day my first year here is to be believed.

Rassilon's ears, this garland is hideous.

You are. [The Master smirks, watching the Doctor as he works.] I doubt it's possible to have worse taste than your Sixth. [He eyed the garland and chuckled.] It is. Are you sure you don't want to burn it?

Quite certain. Who knows what sort of fumes that material might give off. [he makes a face] The last thing we'd want to do is suffocate ourselves. I'd rather not have two weeks in limbo, personally.

[The Master pauses, a forkful of eggs halfway to his lips. He peers at the Doctor suspiciously.]

Limbo, Doctor? What does that mean?

Ah, so you haven't heard. [he shrugs, mildly] Death is ... well, I suppose you could say it doesn't exist, here. Not as we know it. Nor does regeneration. One is simply ... not present, for two weeks. In some cases the body disappears for the allotted time, in others it lies in state, either in the clinic or in their room.

You still get a gravestone, though, morbidly enough. I've one of my own - on a previous visit, apparently, I was killed. Not that I remember it, of course.

[The Master finishes his bite, chewing thoughtfully. Part of him is elated at this turn of events. To never die...it is something he's long desired. To be dead is to be useless and the Master can't stomach that. But...part of the Master is suspicious. Even in death, there is no escaping Paradisa? That seems wrong.

He also wonders how the Doctor died. He swallows, before answering.]

That's interesting. Why do you put up tombstones, if the dead always return?

Oh, no one consciously puts them up, they just ... appear. It's unnerving, really.

That would be, yes. [Said with the mildest of sarcasm.] Then again, everything about this place, so far, has been. Tell me, Doctor, of all the people here, why did the Castle put us together? It seems an odd choice, whether or not it knows our history.

I'm afraid I can't say for certain, but personal experience has shown that it likes to agitate people as much as possible, whenever it can. It's entirely plausible it was doing this to ruffle our proverbial feathers.

In which case, our response is to not give it the satisfaction. It's not as if we've never shared quarters before.

Precisely, though -- not quite in the manner I would think it intends us to.

[he's already moving to the window, intent on chucking out that godawful garland. no. no burning. he ... doesn't want to start any fires near the Master any time soon if he can help it. there's still a good bit of guilt attached to that combination]

Certainly not. We were, after all, merely boys, then.

[The Master gets up and starts pulling down some of the gaudier decorations. He can always destroy them, later, after all.]

Who takes care of cleaning this place, Doctor?

Well, it's all rather arbitrary. In the case of actual structural damage and common areas, the castle repairs itself, but when it comes to individual rooms, it tends to leave things to the occupants, for the most part.

[he shifts the garland all into one arm so that he can get the window open. a curl of snow swirls in off the windowsill]

[The Master frowned.]

We clean our own rooms? How very inconvenient and absurd. I'll have to make other arrangements.

[The Master crowds next to him, his own arms full of decorations, but he waits for the Doctor to get rid of the garland, so he can toss out his own items.]

I highly doubt anyone would be open to the concept of serving as your maid. [he shoots him an amused yet perturbed look over his shoulder as he dumps the Garland out over the sill.]

You'd be surprised what people can be talked into, my dear Doctor.

[The Master tosses out his own load, giving the Doctor a wide grin.]

I've known you how long? [he dusts his hands and turns away, to gather more decorations]

Trust me, I doubt I'd be surprised.

Almost my entire life, so you should know better than to challenge me on such an issue. I'm fairly certain I'll find better things to do than change sheets.

[The Master considers not helping, just to prove a point, but the decorations truly are ghastly, so he gathers up more to be rid of.]

You never know, it could be quite enriching. [now he's just being difficult, grinning as he gathers up some ridiculous heart-shaped throw pillows]

Why do humans consider an organ that pumps blood, a lump of meat, to be a symbol of sexual and emotional desire?

[He's not dignifying that bit of flippancy with a response, Doctor.]

Actually, that stylized heart shape wasn't originally meant to be a heart, it's the shape of silphium fennel. [he holds a pillow out at arm's length and considers it]

Mind you, it was hardly actually red. But silphium was harvested to extinction by the Romans as a rather popular means of, [ahem] oral contraception. So I should think that would solve the mystery rather nicely as to the symbolism.

How it came to be seen as anything remotely resembling a heart, however, is entirely beyond me.

Indeed it does. I have a theory for that last: humans are silly and poorly educated. Frankly, I don't find contraceptives particularly alluring either. Necessary, depending on the species and gender of my lover, but hardly romantic or erotic.

Most of them are, yes, but on occasion some will surprise you. [he's just going to ignore the fact that a conversation about the Master's sex life just tried to get started, and toss the pillows out the window too]

There. Now the rest of it will at least have a soft landing.

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