you won't stop what's coming.
any pronouns.
Joined January 2021
- Tweets3.6K
- Following259
- Followers249
- Likes1K
Pinned Tweet
" time
is a storm
in which we are all
lost . . . "
irving braxiatel. the doctor's elder brother. collector. confidant. cardinal. #dwrp custom portrayal of an expanded universe character. canon/non. era-flexible. crossovers/ocs welcome. ships /w chem.
"Are you sure that ( you ) don't need to use this pipe, professor Summerfield?" Brax looked at her with a touch of bemusement, as always, offering it to her.
"It's terribly important. The relative stability of at least two or three galaxies relies upon finding a goldfish."
He made a uniquely alien noise, like the reverse of a hoover through a grate, but he said nothing of it.
The Time Lord attempted to compose himself, shuffling on his seat. "Oh, but Benny, I've already told you," Braxiatel said. "I'm looking for a goldfish."
" are you bored, benny ? is that why you're here ? you could at least be helpful and fetch me my tobacco case. i don't particularly fancy getting up. " he frowned, shaking his pipe a little.
" i could find you something useful to do, if you'd like. spring cleaning, perhaps. "
" yes. i'm looking for a goldfish. " silence. " goodness. professor rubeish, dead at 463. i hadn't realised that he'd been retired so long. "
but he made his point and had his fun. slowly, making a point of it, he closed his paper, resting it on the armchair for her to pick up.
braxiatel tersely retrieved the paper, his brows daring her to risk it a second time.
then the stream of smoke pouring out from behind the broadsheet. there was a rather fascinating article on caxtaridian economics.
"oh, good," his voice smiled. "they've printed my article."
braxiatel. retweeted
“What is this, Castellan?”
“A painting, sir.”
“Of?”
“We don't know, sir. The title doesn't name her, it's just one word. 'Safe.' That's not the point. The point is, sir, she's not a painting. She's suspended.”
“Suspended? You mean like—?”
“Like Gallifrey, yes, sir. Like us.”
if it moved him, he did not show it beyond his sneer. she was hardly a stranger; she was something worse to him, beyond words. perhaps in the caged, pruned language (that braxiatel no doubt controlled, somehow, somewhere) of english, she was like an acquaintance. --
-- that you are angry ? oh, ( grow up ). "
he turns from her fully, starting to leave. " resume your studies. go to your room. i don't wish to see something as dull as you. " his last request trembled with about as much emotion as he could muster. --