#there is so little art of Gallifrey and Time lord robes!! so here is a contribution | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marrowskies · 6 years

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janeturenne

replied to your post

“art/word requests?”

I mean. It probably goes without saying that I want to request all the Gallifrey things in the world, in both fic and art form. Leela/Narvin, maybe? How about: Leela sends something to Narv, a note or a gift of some kind, and he (or she, if you’re feeling fem!Narv-ish) has a moment of blushing and OH NO FEELINGS THIS IS CUTE MAKE IT STOP. Y/N/Maybe?

a/n: hey so like I haven’t listened past s5 and I made up that Narvin broke his stazer at one point. maybe he’s actually done this. maybe birthdays are things that have been mentioned. this is all possible and nothing i could account for being that I only listened up to s5 and broke up with mainline Doctor Who about five years ago and haven’t listened to s1-5 in quiteeeeeeeee a whillllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee also i wrote this in a day and I haven’t written a fic in QQUIIIITEEEEE A WHIIII anyway i guess what i’m saying is i’m sorry jane ok

Of the list of ideals and morals that Narvin fell back on in times of crisis and doubt, that constituted a core of his being, he liked to think that Simplicity was at the top of it, perhaps in a reasonable orbit around Practicality. It was the way he liked to live his life, with simple and practical robes, simple and practical bodies, simple and practical weapons. It might have started during his time as a technician, where such habits were encouraged, but even after moving on into proper Celestial Intervening, excess had started to make him feel claustrophobic, constantly perceiving peas under mattresses he couldn’t smooth. The opulence of the Capitol often put him at odds with his duties. Worthless beauty. Design for the appearance of having design.

“Narvin.”

“Leela.”

“I will make you accept this gift. You are only making me have to decide whether I must use my words or my strength.”

Back when she was only a Savage, he didn’t think her very simple.

Well, there was simple and then there was simple. She was obviously the latter. The textures of her leathers were varied and cobbled together, and though the stitching was as even as humanly possible, it was no machine grade. (He’d hated seeing them, all minutely irregular, imitating perfection they couldn’t achieve. He still somewhat itched to redo them.) She spoke twice to three times as many words to capture her meanings, and though they were relatively simple words, they were flowery with little purpose. In fairness, most politicians overstuffed their speeches into inscrutability and this Narvin was used to, but at least they did it with the intention. And if she did not speak, she waved around a blade, an impractical weapon with excessive residue and a high probability of failure. Nothing like a clean couple of stazer shots through both hearts. And yet, despite the visual color and dichotomy of her being, it appeared only to coat an empty shell full of stupid instincts and guttural thoughts. So she was simple. But she was simple without elegance.

It felt bizarre to recall those opinions as old memories. There were still ghosts of them when he looked at her, echoes of how they’d burned his chest and churned his thoughts, gritting his teeth and crowding his skull with anger and betrayal at a human on this planet with him, a savage in the halls of the Citadel standing next to him, in the rooms of the President, upright at his side and as his equal…

Yet now, here he was, someone ready to defend against anyone who repeated his old arguments. To defend simplicity of make against simplicity of design. To defend a sharp edge and instincts against millennia of technological advancements and learned calculations. To defend the use of twenty small words to evoke a single, complicated emotion.

Yes, here he was, not in the mood to accept gifts for a pointless non-holiday that she was the only person insisting on this planet that he should get anything for.

“Leela, I have already told you this - repeatedly, and a few spans ago - that we don’t celebrate birthdays. And it’s not even my birthday.”

She pursed her lips at him. “At the core of such celebrations is to appreciate life as it was given to you. That that day is the reason you are here now. It does not matter if today is that specific day.” She thrust the box into his hands.

Impressed, “Eloquent argument. But I still don’t take gifts.” He pushed it back.

She was losing her patience, her jaw squaring as her teeth set themselves. “Narvin,” she snapped, “do not think that gift giving is merely about you! I am attempting to be kind. We have endured much together, and I consider you my friend. You said that you Gallifreyans do not celebrate your days of birth, and if you truly do not care for it, it is simply a day and shall be over soon. A day that I am trying to be grateful for, despite such foolish arguments. Take. My gift.“ The box re-entered his hands. “Or I shall regret this, and if I do, I will make you regret it too.”

Good old fashioned threats. How could he not accept?

He took the box.

He stood there, staring down at it.

“Are you not going to open it?”

He winced. “Do I have t-”

“Yes.”

With a long-enduring sigh, he put his hand on the lid. “It’s not a pig-rat corpse, is it? Not that I don’t appreciate the thought, but there’s better food to be had-”

“Narvin! Open the box!”

He opened the box.

When she had stopped being the Savage to him, he never told her.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, after all. One day, he despised sharing clean, opulent, Gallifreyan existence with the Savage, and then, during a civil war that constantly pressed questions of loyalty, in the squalor of righteous revolution, she had become Leela. At some point he’d realized a kinship in their appreciation for the more simple things in life that allowed a comfort he never felt around most Gallifreyans with their layers of robes, a thousand gilded edges, and hours of traditional droning. Still, he was relatively sure it was something about her blade that had really done it. As stazers became rarer to come by, their limited military forces less trained in precision aiming, there was something simple and practical about a sharp edge held between two pieces of wood to protect the fingers, leather wrapped around for the grip, and two quick motions to render an enemy dead. Motions that everyone knew, and that any fool could learn. As the war began to stretch longer and longer, and the supplies began to get thinner, he found himself admiring it more and more.

“A savage weapon for a savage,” she’d said, once.

“No,” he’d replied suddenly, in a moment of revelation. The first, but not the last time he’d defend her. “A simple weapon with a thousand purposes. Never runs out of charges. What could be less savage than that?” He remembered staring at his broken stazer, its once smooth exterior cracked open to reveal its microchips and generators. A complicated weapon with a single purpose, broken to pieces in a battle. And with only a few charges left, anyway. Instead, a simple and practical weapon, held in the hand of a simple and practical woman, had saved his life.

Several times.

“Leela, I-…”

The blade, pristine and new, seemed to suck in light from its surroundings and reflect it back two-fold. He blinked, momentarily dazzled by the beam and by his chest. A plain double edged blade, a carefully carved but unadorned handle, a required slice of metal for the hilt.

Simplicity. Practicality. Defined in a single object.

He tried again. “Leela, I-…,” but he couldn’t speak.

“It is made from one of your old weapons. I asked one of the people in the Capitol to melt it down for me - they thought I was being foolish!”

One of his old stazers. Thrown into a pile to be recycled and remade. Thousands of years of design, engineering, and craft, melted down into hunk of sharp metal. Arguably a waste. Absolutely a waste, he would have once insisted.

“I know you do not like your items ornate, and I was not much of a carver when I was with my people. But look how I make a fine blade! See how it gleams! The light itself could pierce a mouse! I think it is some of my best work.”

He couldn’t speak.

Leela quieted for a short while. Then, disappointedly, (perhaps a little distraught?)

“You do not like it.”

He couldn’t speak.

A sigh. “It is alright, Narvin. Though you cannot appreciate it, as I thought you might not, it is still a magnificent blade. I will find a use-…”

He grabbed her arm before she could take the box back entirely. In her moment of confusion, he picked up the knife and slipped it in its sheath.

Gently, “Narvin, you do not have to take it just because-…”

He slid the sheath smoothly onto his belt, next to his stazer. A complicated weapon with a simple use, a simple weapon with a thousand uses. He shook his head and tried again. “No, Leela, I… You don’t know how much this… This is…” His face began to heat in frustration, a bizarre sensation when not accompanied by its usual undercurrent of anger.

A realization finally bloomed on Leela’s face and she laughed. “I have taken your words! I have won many victories in my life, but I shall treasure this one, Narvin! The savage steals the voice of a Time Lord with but a gift!”

At this he’s able to scoff and roll his eyes. “Hardly. As I’ve said, birthdays are not a tradition around here. You can’t blame me for not having a proper reaction to-…”

“And with the same generosity, she has restored him!”

She laughed for a time at this and at him, and he decided to let her; his simple gesture of gratitude.

#janeturenne #gallifrey audios #look i'm really sorry about how read mores don't work in the app everyone #alice does writing

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