Five Things Meme #2
Feb. 26th, 2007 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityvixenThis one is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
viridian. She requested the following:
Five Stories Rose Tyler Never Got to Tell
All This Has Happened Before
Stretching out trembling fingers, Rose found a scrap of silk and pulled. At first, it gave, going slack after the initial jerk she’d given it. Soon, it was being pulled back the other way, and she with it until her head was up out of the toilet, the rest of her going along for the ride. Latched onto the end of the Doctor’s tie, she had his full attention.
“This,” she hissed, blowing foul air right into his face. “Is nothing. You should have seen me celebrating my anniversary with—”
When all was said and done, the casualties totaled her top, his tie and shoes, the toilet lid, and the bathmat. The latter was not a loss, as both decided it was probably time for a new one anyway.
This Can't Happen Here
“We have no openings,” Rose said, a good deal more terse than necessary.
The applicant, an older woman with an air of confidence unflagged in the face of Rose’s dismissive tone, nodded once and sat forward in her seat. She made, Rose noticed, no move to leave.
“Do you mind if I ask why?” She smiled, self-delighted and perfectly at ease. “It may be immodest of me, but I know I’m Torchwood material, and my resume and skill set are highly enviable.”
“Whether or not a candidate is ‘Torchwood material,’” Rose parroted, snidely, “is for us to determine. And I’m afraid we’ve found you lacking.” She hardly felt she needed to add a polite but strained, “Sorry,” after, for the woman’s conviction of character had not wavered upon a second refusal.
She slid the woman’s resume across the desk to send a very permanent message: they would not keep her name to give her hope that Torchwood might reconsider its position on one Yvonne Hartman.
Hartman accepted the thick sheet of paper and tucked it away in her professional-looking leather portfolio. “I suppose you aren’t looking for management at this time.”
It was a credible enough excuse, but Rose felt compelled to disabuse her of the dignity-saving measure. “No,” she said, “we are. You just aren’t anything we’re looking to have in our management.”
Affronted for the first time, Yvonne stood up, her limbs stiff with rage. “I had hoped for a better reception from an agent of a venerable, worthy organization like this.”
“That’s just it,” Rose told her truthfully. “If we want to be better, we can’t hire you.” Better than what, she didn’t need to say as Hartman stormed out.
Can't Be Happening
Rose picked up the tiny green man by the scruff of his jumpsuit and turned his little face away from her so he could see her living room.
“You see? My entire flat is a mess, and that suits me fine. That’s not an invitation for you to just go and--”
The phone rang, cutting her off. She put the bitty alien down with a stern command that he “Stay,” and she fished for her mobile. “Tyler.”
“We got a situation,” Jake informed her.
“Well, so’ve I. There’s this little man here who’s been messing with my things—”
“No time!” Jake shouted over her. “There’s a van outside your place. Hop in and let’s go.”
Rose clicked off with Jake and ran to retrieve her field kit and weapon. When she got back to her alien, a larger, lumpier, more furniture-ridden ball than the one made of paper clips and hair products in her bedroom was sitting where her living room had been. He seemed rather proud of himself, and with good reason; even she had to admit that that was quite a feat for someone who’d be undersized at Thumbelina’s ball.
“You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”
All This Will Happen Again
“I understand, now.”
Frederick glanced at his wife, unable to really see her. “What d’you mean?”
It was the first thing either of them had said all day; Mickey--blessed, sweet, constant, heart-broken, no-longer-Uncle Mickey--had run interference for them, accepting the condolences on their behalf. Now, it was just them, a bitterly sunny and spitefully warm day, and they’d been out for hours in it, sweating in scratchy dark clothes.
“It’s too hard to talk,” Rose said, and he wasn’t certain if that was the answer to his question or part of a conversation he wasn’t privy to. He’d had a few of those himself. “You never want to.”
“We probably should.” In that way that couples do, they both knew he wasn’t disagreeing with her.
“I understand,” she said again. “I didn’t get it. Before, I mean.”
He turned to her, with questions and tears, only to find her looking heavenwards. “I understand,” she told the sky. “And I am so sorry.”
Couldn't Have Happened to a Nicer Girl
“And what else?”
His voice was softer now, something that came with the latest model, as he explained it. It fit with the tawny hair shading perpetually towards grey and the soft jumper she was leaning against. When he cried, his eyes were greener for being red about the rims. When he laughed, he had dimples. In any body, he could put her to perfect ease.
“Tell me, Rose, tell me of your adventures.”
“I lived,” she breathed, taking the scent of honey and cinnamon with her as she closed her eyes.
viridian. She requested the following:Five Stories Rose Tyler Never Got to Tell
All This Has Happened Before
Stretching out trembling fingers, Rose found a scrap of silk and pulled. At first, it gave, going slack after the initial jerk she’d given it. Soon, it was being pulled back the other way, and she with it until her head was up out of the toilet, the rest of her going along for the ride. Latched onto the end of the Doctor’s tie, she had his full attention.
“This,” she hissed, blowing foul air right into his face. “Is nothing. You should have seen me celebrating my anniversary with—”
When all was said and done, the casualties totaled her top, his tie and shoes, the toilet lid, and the bathmat. The latter was not a loss, as both decided it was probably time for a new one anyway.
This Can't Happen Here
“We have no openings,” Rose said, a good deal more terse than necessary.
The applicant, an older woman with an air of confidence unflagged in the face of Rose’s dismissive tone, nodded once and sat forward in her seat. She made, Rose noticed, no move to leave.
“Do you mind if I ask why?” She smiled, self-delighted and perfectly at ease. “It may be immodest of me, but I know I’m Torchwood material, and my resume and skill set are highly enviable.”
“Whether or not a candidate is ‘Torchwood material,’” Rose parroted, snidely, “is for us to determine. And I’m afraid we’ve found you lacking.” She hardly felt she needed to add a polite but strained, “Sorry,” after, for the woman’s conviction of character had not wavered upon a second refusal.
She slid the woman’s resume across the desk to send a very permanent message: they would not keep her name to give her hope that Torchwood might reconsider its position on one Yvonne Hartman.
Hartman accepted the thick sheet of paper and tucked it away in her professional-looking leather portfolio. “I suppose you aren’t looking for management at this time.”
It was a credible enough excuse, but Rose felt compelled to disabuse her of the dignity-saving measure. “No,” she said, “we are. You just aren’t anything we’re looking to have in our management.”
Affronted for the first time, Yvonne stood up, her limbs stiff with rage. “I had hoped for a better reception from an agent of a venerable, worthy organization like this.”
“That’s just it,” Rose told her truthfully. “If we want to be better, we can’t hire you.” Better than what, she didn’t need to say as Hartman stormed out.
Can't Be Happening
Rose picked up the tiny green man by the scruff of his jumpsuit and turned his little face away from her so he could see her living room.
“You see? My entire flat is a mess, and that suits me fine. That’s not an invitation for you to just go and--”
The phone rang, cutting her off. She put the bitty alien down with a stern command that he “Stay,” and she fished for her mobile. “Tyler.”
“We got a situation,” Jake informed her.
“Well, so’ve I. There’s this little man here who’s been messing with my things—”
“No time!” Jake shouted over her. “There’s a van outside your place. Hop in and let’s go.”
Rose clicked off with Jake and ran to retrieve her field kit and weapon. When she got back to her alien, a larger, lumpier, more furniture-ridden ball than the one made of paper clips and hair products in her bedroom was sitting where her living room had been. He seemed rather proud of himself, and with good reason; even she had to admit that that was quite a feat for someone who’d be undersized at Thumbelina’s ball.
“You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”
All This Will Happen Again
“I understand, now.”
Frederick glanced at his wife, unable to really see her. “What d’you mean?”
It was the first thing either of them had said all day; Mickey--blessed, sweet, constant, heart-broken, no-longer-Uncle Mickey--had run interference for them, accepting the condolences on their behalf. Now, it was just them, a bitterly sunny and spitefully warm day, and they’d been out for hours in it, sweating in scratchy dark clothes.
“It’s too hard to talk,” Rose said, and he wasn’t certain if that was the answer to his question or part of a conversation he wasn’t privy to. He’d had a few of those himself. “You never want to.”
“We probably should.” In that way that couples do, they both knew he wasn’t disagreeing with her.
“I understand,” she said again. “I didn’t get it. Before, I mean.”
He turned to her, with questions and tears, only to find her looking heavenwards. “I understand,” she told the sky. “And I am so sorry.”
Couldn't Have Happened to a Nicer Girl
“And what else?”
His voice was softer now, something that came with the latest model, as he explained it. It fit with the tawny hair shading perpetually towards grey and the soft jumper she was leaning against. When he cried, his eyes were greener for being red about the rims. When he laughed, he had dimples. In any body, he could put her to perfect ease.
“Tell me, Rose, tell me of your adventures.”
“I lived,” she breathed, taking the scent of honey and cinnamon with her as she closed her eyes.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-26 05:40 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it! I love the Prince. He's adorable.