A Little Drink Between Friends
Mar. 6th, 2015 04:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: A Little Drink Between Friends
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Genre: Humor
Characters: The Master (Ainley), River Song
Warnings: None, unless you feel that way about drinking.
Length: One-shot, but belong to a series of fics where River and the Master meet on several occasions and rather like each other. Can be read alone but comes after Sliding Down the Razorblades of Life and before Dead Girls Like Us.
Summary: Two old friends meeting each other in a bar.
AN: I have wanted to write a fic where River meets Ainley’s Master, but I didn’t know how. Then I saw MistressAinley’s wonderful fanart and the fic fell into place. Short and sweet and just for fun.
The bar was full, but no one was occupying the space beside that tall woman in a black gown. She was methodically working through a row of glasses, filled with an amber-coloured liquid, drinking with great focus. She had an excellent figure, the Master noted and the budding black eye that more than one of the customer’s were nursing indicated that she had won her space in a not so subtle way.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said when he came to stand beside her. “I’m just here to drink.”
“My dear River, you can hardly blame a man from thinking about it.”
She turned and looked at him. “Oh, it’s you. You have gone and changed on me, I see.”
“Indeed I have. Does it meet your approval?”
River looked him over again, not without appreciation. “Nice figure, but black velvet? With gold details? Isn’t that a bit twee?”
“If one remember’s some of the things your husband has been seen in, so; no.”
They both fell silent while they contemplated a few of the Doctor’s more outrageous outfit.
“Point taken,” River said eventually.
“Are you going to tell me why are you so upset?”
“I’m not upset. I’m pissed.” A brief pause. “In both sense of the word.”
“Obviously. Can I buy you another drink?”
“You can buy me another bottle.”
The Master obliged and motioned River to a side table. She walked steadily, belying both the drinks she had and the sky-high heels of her red shoes. Instead of sitting down opposite the Master, however, she slid down in his lap, managing to untangle the top button if his jacket as she did so.
“So what has he done now?”
“Gone and shacked up with a gang of otters.”
“What?”
“I know. We had an argument and the end of it was that he went of to co-habit with these otters. He said I could come and apologise any time.”
“And he has been living with them for how long?”
“A month, or so. And he can go on doing it for all I care!”
“Hence the drinking, I gather.”
“Perhaps.”
“Not that I mind your hands inside my clothes, my dear, but one do get a feeling I have to thank the otters for it and not my charm.”
“Well, we could ask him to join in, he is probably very tired of being damp by now.”
The Master snorted. “He would go spare.”
“Probably, yes.”
“Mind you,” the Master said after a pause. “One could try to get him properly drunk.”
River looked at the bottle on the table with some speculation. “Are you sure?”
“Oh River,” he breathed. “I’m not sure, but I am very ready to try.”
She smiled, a slow cat’s smile. “Well then, I am game if you are.”
END
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Genre: Humor
Characters: The Master (Ainley), River Song
Warnings: None, unless you feel that way about drinking.
Length: One-shot, but belong to a series of fics where River and the Master meet on several occasions and rather like each other. Can be read alone but comes after Sliding Down the Razorblades of Life and before Dead Girls Like Us.
Summary: Two old friends meeting each other in a bar.
AN: I have wanted to write a fic where River meets Ainley’s Master, but I didn’t know how. Then I saw MistressAinley’s wonderful fanart and the fic fell into place. Short and sweet and just for fun.
The bar was full, but no one was occupying the space beside that tall woman in a black gown. She was methodically working through a row of glasses, filled with an amber-coloured liquid, drinking with great focus. She had an excellent figure, the Master noted and the budding black eye that more than one of the customer’s were nursing indicated that she had won her space in a not so subtle way.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said when he came to stand beside her. “I’m just here to drink.”
“My dear River, you can hardly blame a man from thinking about it.”
She turned and looked at him. “Oh, it’s you. You have gone and changed on me, I see.”
“Indeed I have. Does it meet your approval?”
River looked him over again, not without appreciation. “Nice figure, but black velvet? With gold details? Isn’t that a bit twee?”
“If one remember’s some of the things your husband has been seen in, so; no.”
They both fell silent while they contemplated a few of the Doctor’s more outrageous outfit.
“Point taken,” River said eventually.
“Are you going to tell me why are you so upset?”
“I’m not upset. I’m pissed.” A brief pause. “In both sense of the word.”
“Obviously. Can I buy you another drink?”
“You can buy me another bottle.”
The Master obliged and motioned River to a side table. She walked steadily, belying both the drinks she had and the sky-high heels of her red shoes. Instead of sitting down opposite the Master, however, she slid down in his lap, managing to untangle the top button if his jacket as she did so.
“So what has he done now?”
“Gone and shacked up with a gang of otters.”
“What?”
“I know. We had an argument and the end of it was that he went of to co-habit with these otters. He said I could come and apologise any time.”
“And he has been living with them for how long?”
“A month, or so. And he can go on doing it for all I care!”
“Hence the drinking, I gather.”
“Perhaps.”
“Not that I mind your hands inside my clothes, my dear, but one do get a feeling I have to thank the otters for it and not my charm.”
“Well, we could ask him to join in, he is probably very tired of being damp by now.”
The Master snorted. “He would go spare.”
“Probably, yes.”
“Mind you,” the Master said after a pause. “One could try to get him properly drunk.”
River looked at the bottle on the table with some speculation. “Are you sure?”
“Oh River,” he breathed. “I’m not sure, but I am very ready to try.”
She smiled, a slow cat’s smile. “Well then, I am game if you are.”
END
