bakerstreet | They may bear their teeth to all the world, but never to you

Entry tags:

[meme] shipping

They may bear their teeth to all the world, but never to you

S T R A Y
shipping meme

Taking in strays is, all in all, an understandable vice. The dips in between their ribs, those large and forlorn eyes, they can help you forget the claws and the teeth and the danger lurking beneath fur. But the habit's a knife edge; your efforts may not be rewarded with kindness (animal instincts aren't discretionary) and you may get bit despite what you've overlooked. A stray doesn't care about pity. All it can know is survival.

These warnings apply to strays of the more human(oid) sort, too.

But what may even more perilous with this type than any drawn blood is what you can get when they grow to trust you. You can earn their undying loyalty...or their love. Either from such a wild thing is a precarious path to go down, if you allow yourself to do it.

Comment with your character, preferences, desired roles, etc.
Reply to others.
Thread!

ＰＲＯＭＰＴＳ

ғɪɴᴅɪɴɢ — Who's that? They're no ordinary passersby! Were they in an accident? Are they foreign? ...should you approach them?

ʀᴀɪɴ, ʀᴀɪɴ, ɢᴏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ — The elements make this night no time to sleep out of doors.

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ — Cuts, broken bones, injuries all of sorts...you have to stitch them back up, then make sure they don't get any

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — It's all you can do to show gratitude to the person who took you in. Fix them a meal, care for their house, whatever you can do once you're able.

ʙᴀᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — FUCK THIS PERSON AND FUCK THEIR COUCH. You didn't ask to be brought here. Let them clean up after you, you don't even care.

ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ? — How you got into this situation is a mystery. Even more of a mystery is your identity, and why the person you were would be so displaced.

sᴇʟғʟᴇssɴᴇss —

ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ — If you've been injured badly enough or can't remember all too well, you might have to relearn a good deal. Luckily, you have a helping hand.

sᴄᴀʀs — Scars from the encounter that lead you here or scars from prior, you don't want them to see either. You still have your secrets to keep.

sᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ — Ugh, your house guest is so stubborn! They always get up when they should be resting, have the worst habits, and completely disrespect your home! You'll get to them, one way or another. Or you'll throw them out. You don't want to, but you will.

ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ — Bad memories or nightmares wreck you; your host and nurse comes to your side unexpectedly.

ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄʟᴀsʜ — The person who's taken you in is from a different culture or lifestyle than you, and adapting is harder than you thought.

ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ — Think learning about a new culture is hard? Try being a different species. Can you keep your little eccentricities at bay for the good of your station?

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ — Now that your emotions towards your caretaker/host/jailer are softening, you're finding yourself unusually jealous of those in their life who were close to them before.

ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs — You never thought you'd have fun after all that's happened, yet such simple gestures as a picnic or a movie make all the difference.

ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ — You love them, this person who's taken you in or this person you've found. It's not a pity or a thankfulness, it's love, and you know that now. What you choose to do with this information is

ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ — Suddenly, the person who's been so nice to you finds out that the two of you have a history. You killed their loved ones or caused something terrible. How can they forgive you?

ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ — So much has been done for you. The least you can do in return for the one who helped you at your lowest is make sure they never have such a low point.

ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ — Anyone in the way of getting to you will be destroyed, and that includes the person you're staying with.

ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ — You've been given a home, maybe which you've never had before. You don't want to leave.

ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ — Not only are you living with them, but you're starting a proper life with them.

ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ — All secrets are laid out on the table. You've decided to tell about your past and what lead you here.

ʀᴇᴠᴜʟsɪᴏɴ — What you've done and who you are is so heinous, they want nothing more to do. You're to leave their home and leave them alone.

ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ — It doesn't matter what they've done. You've opened your home and your heart to them, and nothing's changed.

ᴘᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ — All things must come to an end. No matter what you feel for each other, it's time to leave. Hopefully, you'll see each other again.

ʜᴀᴘᴘɪʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ — Come what may, you've decided to stay at your new home with the person you love. Now, it's safe enough to do so.

ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even before the 'yes,' she's reaching out to help him. The unexpected visible skeleton makes her yelp and back away a step. Of all the things she expected, it wasn't that.

"You might have told me you were a magic user. I have never seen anyone light up their body like that." That is one thing that could theoretically hurt her, given enough power. She's not sure if it's safe to touch him, and the indecision is plain on her face.

Oh, drat it. Grainne shakes herself, frowns again and reaches out a hand to guide him to at least a sitting position.

"It's not a parlor trick," the Master growls. Time Lord views of ideas like 'magic' are pretty dim as it is; the Master's pretty much dogmatic on the subject. Besides that, it's damned embarrassing to be seen in such a weakened state, even by a human girl. Not something he particularly wants to flaunt.

But he accepts the proffered hand. She may feel a little tingling, and his skin temperature is hotter than normal, even for his own species, but she won't be harmed unless he wants her to be.

And, of course, only once he is able to replenish his life force.

"Naturally not." Grainne sounded just a bit disconcerted, there's a lot of power in that tingling. It leads her to wonder what happened, and what could make someone practically bleed power through their skeleton.

The moment he touches her, he might be able to tell she's not entirely human. Human enough in looks, but few humans are made up entirely of magical energy.

"Are you able to walk?" Actual concern colors her voice, breaking her carefully cultivated grumpiness. "Do you have any place to go?"

Oh, he can feel it, all right, and the rush is nearly intoxicating, enough that he closes his eyes briefly and inhales a deep breath. It's like smelling a buffet while you're starving. He's certainly hit the jackpot with this one. Time to play up the sympathy aspect.

"I'm... not sure." He makes a show of trying to stand and failing, letting his legs crumple under him pathetically. And then, head bowed, he uses a word that he only has under the direst of circumstances.

"Please. Help me."

After having five children and gaggles of foster children, Grainne's compassion drained away very quickly. She can tell the signs of genuine injury, and the signs of faking.

"You already have my attention, there's no need to ham it up." Huffing, Grainne pulls her hand back, folding her arms and letting him crumple. Well, it serves him right.

The Master sighs and glares up at her, his impatience causing another blue wave to pass through him. She's quick, quicker than most, maybe, and that might be impressive if it weren't so obviously out of his favor at the moment. There is nothing more irritating than failing to manipulate.

"All right," he says. "The truth, then. I'm... dying." He spits the word out like a curse. "That light show you're so entranced by-- every time, that's a little more of me leaking out. So I really can't walk, you see. I simply can't afford to expend the energy."

The glaring didn't faze her, but she did relax her arms. "I see. If there is a leak, then it needs a cork."

If he is that sure he will have difficulty walking, getting him to another place to start tending his wounds first might not be such a good idea. Then and there, she decides to do what she can there, in the street. The witch starts chanting softly, lifting hands to mark glowing figures in the air. The spell starts toward him, warm and healing rather than malicious.

"If that works, it might seal it a little..."

It's a simple answer that actually makes him chuckle, because as true as it is, he fails to see what she can do about it. When she starts chanting, and energy begins to emanate from her hands, though, the Master's eyes go wide and the sardonic smirk slides off his face, replaced by a look of perplexity. And a little fear.

Seconds later it occurs to him that everything hurts a little less; that constant ache like every nerve is on fire is... not gone, but not as all-consuming. He holds out one hand and tries to concentrate some of his remaining energy into it, and it does comply, blue sparks tingling in his fingers. But after a bit more effort, the Master finds for the first time since his resurrection that he is also able to return it, the energy reabsorbed into his body. He's... contained.

"What did you do?" Not exactly a show of gratitude, but definitely one of curiosity. Anything that appears to be magic can be explained by science. And he wants to know what makes her tick.

Her arms fold again, accompanied by another huff. "A simple sealing spell. A magical bandage." Maybe not quite so simple, but she wasn't about to admit that to him.

But if even that little makes a difference, he must be badly off. Too much for her to just leave him. "Don't try anything just now, if it fails you'll be right back where you were." A bit more gently, "If you can walk now, I can take you somewhere you can rest."

"I can try." He would never admit how close he was to death when the girl found him, especially now that he knows how little she can be swayed by pity. He'd almost write her off as a lost cause, save for all that power inside her.

In the interests of making nice, he'll let the 'magic' explanation slide without comment, taking all she says as a sort of metaphor he'll fully decipher later. So the Master just nods at the advice, inwardly discarding the overly cautious aspects, and reaches up for her hand again with a questioning expression.

This time, Grainne takes his hand easily enough. Metaphors aren't something she dabbles in very often. Her voice is still gentle when she speaks.

"I won't leave even if you can't, though I am not sure how I'll get a taxi." She's still irritated from when hers didn't show up, but there wasn't very much she could do except call the company and lodge a complaint. "It really isn't all that far."

"All right." And this time when she pulls him to his feet, he stays there. It really is remarkable how much better he feels, enough that he can actually start to focus on when he is. She's mentioned taxicabs, and the surroundings look vaguely 20th to 21st century. He can only hope he isn't supposed to have been Prime Minister yet. The uncanny resemblance would be rather awkward to explain.

When they begin to move off in the direction of what he assumes must be 'home' for the girl, he finds to his dismay that he still has to rely on her for balance. It's something that stings at his pride. And all that untapped energy practically baking off her... it makes it hard to think straight. After a while he just lets her lead the way, keeping his head down as much to conserve energy as to avoid being recognized.

'Home' appears to be Westminister district, or rather in a residential block near it. Grainne held him up, seemingly without effort, but doesn't speak much along the way. The streets are decidedly nicer here, and perhaps unsurprisngly, she guides him to the door of one of the buildings. Her flat.

Even to someone barely magically inclined, the feeling of a 'barrier' at her door would be obvious; a magical disinclination to visitors. Or maybe more of a warding.

It's a nice place, well kept and furnished on the inside, though the magical protections stayed mostly around the door and windows.

"Here, you can sit down. It's safe here."

Ah, Westminster. The Master can't help feeling a pang of nostalgia as he recognizes their surroundings. It wasn't a particularly satisfying reign, nor was it nearly as long as it should be. And it ended horribly. Still... those days on the Valiant were definitely a high point. Until the Doctor ruined it all, as he so often does. He sighs, wistful, but keeps his head down.

It's not exactly a barrier that he senses-- more of a queasy feeling in the gut that he can easily pass off as part of his current physiological problems. Once they're inside, he tries not to simply collapse into the chair; he still has his dignity, after all.

"Do you have anything to eat?" Honestly, he's not just asking to be obnoxious.

"I can get some tea." As an afterthought, she took a throw blanket and handed it to him. "And I have some cold roast in the refrigerator."

It was the easiest and quickest meal she could make, though if he asked for something else she wouldn't have complained. "I do not entertain often."

At the mention of the roast he perks up noticeably; he doesn't even care what sort of meat it might be.

"That would do nicely," he says, winding the blanket around his shoulders, and omitting the for starters that should follow. Make no mistake-- he hates that he needs the blanket, but he snuggles into it anyway, almost without realizing it.

"Nobody else is here, then?" She did mention it was safe, but safe for whom, exactly?

Luckily, the flat had a kitchen that was part of the main floor plan, so while she retrieved the roast which turned out to be beef, she kept an eye on him.

"No, but I am fully capable of defending myself." She replied as she turned on an electric kettle. "Now, what kind of incident left you on the street, making you glow?" The beef sliced nicely, as it was a lean roast and Grainne had cooked it perfectly. She piled a plate high with beef, then turned her attention to preparing a teapot.

He grins at that, despite himself; she sees right through him, even without the little physiology issue. Then the smell of cold beef assaults him and it's all he can do not to launch himself across the room at the platter. It's only the knowledge of his own fragility that holds him back. Barely.

"Botched resurrection," he says hurriedly (and rather offhandedly; whether she believes him or not isn't really his concern, and he's far too busy watching that roast). "Please. The tea can wait. I'm so hungry."

Refraining from comment for the moment, she took the plate and walked over to him. She set it on the coffee table within reach. There wasn't just cold roast there, but some buns as well and a little butter.

"Eat all you like."

She would ask about the resurrection later, when he was more comfortable. All her life she had been chasing magic of life and death, and now it seemingly dropped in her lap. It would be her luck it turns up after she managed without it.

Oh, and he would. By the time she came back the plate would be licked clean, and if she happened to turn around, curious about the frantic slurping and smacking sounds, she'd probably wish she hadn't. The Master devoted his full attention to devouring the roast (and the buns, and the butter, without even bothering to combine the two) as soon as it was set before him.

Before, such a feast would have been a drop in the bucket. But now, sitting back and wiping his mouth, he could actually feel his body beginning to repair itself. Far too slowly still, but it was progress.

"Do you have any more?"

"I have bacon and sausage." Bemused, Grainne brought over the tea and looked at the plate. Had he actually licked it? "I have seen the after-spell binge many times, but rarely so strongly. Either way I will have to cook the meat, and all I have are scones in the meanwhile."

She was lucky he hadn't eaten it; he'd tried ceramics, and found them not very filling at all. He thought about telling her she needn't bother to cook the meat, but the scones gave him pause. Perhaps he could wait after all. The edge of desperation he'd felt before was fading.

"I'm sure this is much different," he said dryly. 'After-spell binge' indeed.

Don't judge, it's just a different world!

"I suppose you want all of it." She let out a sigh and made a mental note to go shopping again. Here, she got the scones from the kitchen and set them in place of the empty plate, and returned to the sink to set it aside for the moment. "You are eating my stores and haven't even told me your name. Do you do this often?"

Of course he wanted all of it, but he knew a rhetorical question when he heard one. The Master simply watched her from his blanket cocoon as she retrieved the scones in question. He immediately reached for one, but rather than gobbling it whole, he forced himself to take his time chewing it. It was excruciatingly difficult.

"You've let me into your home and you haven't even asked for my name," he countered between bites. "Do you do that often?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They may bear their teeth to all the world, but never to you

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject