Subject: More C&C love for the interludes.
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Posted on: 2018-09-03 20:18:00 UTC

And relational fluff, I guess. Will see for flames later. Grilled corn looks interesting.


The Reader sighed and, in time honored alien tradition, switched screens to read the Librarian's latest message. It, at least, was written in familiar (if snippy) Gallifreyan. She skimmed it, already familiar with the contents.

...In short, I am well. No one is “closing doors in my face” as you have so eloquently put it. My research is proceeding…

Essentially, the Reader translated to herself, he's not run into any insurmountable problems in his retirement, or at least not any he wants to discuss with me, and I should stop bothering him about it unless he hints at a real problem. And never mind what happened the last time he did research in Gallifreyan territory, no, because history never repeats itself...

Sigh... I miss Des, SeaTurtle, July...


She sighed and flicked back to the first screen. The sky so bright as dark as night reminds me of the way you might stay for a slight amount of...night? Ugh. Awful. She erased the entire attempt, and sat glaring at the blank screen.
Yeeeaaah, preferable. Sorry, but no nice words were coming for this one.

How could it be that writing poetry was so difficult? She could speak for hours, couldn't she? And spot bad writing, and read very quickly, even if her tastes had never really run towards fiction except for those few years...why couldn't she do this?
Yeah can be quite hard. I remember my first French teacher in middle school asked us to compose one for a homeschool work all in alexandrines. He was a genuine sadist.

The Reader sighed. “Perhaps you're right,” she said, although the creature had done nothing but sit on her foot. “I'm no poet. Even my best attempts are rubbish.” She paused, considering. “Perhaps I should attempt to make her a piece of art…”
Alternative roads are always a thing. And that's coming from a guy seeing doggedness as a virtue.

Ten hours later, the pov had grown bored and wandered off again. Kozar had come back, had dinner, and gone to sleep; when he awoke and came out of his bedroom to find breakfast, the Reader had barely moved. The main difference was her hair: it had still been in the usual bun before, albeit with wisps beginning to come loose. Now, only a very little bit of the bun remained; most of the Reader's wavy light brown hair hung loose around her face, fluffier from the way she'd been clutching at it. Some of the ends were still caught in the bun, but that didn't much help: what was left of it was hopelessly lopsided.
Funny way to do your hair. Any tips for achieving this look?

“Ah,” said the Klingon. “It's a courtship ritual. You are finally going to attempt less pathetic flirtation with Naya.”
Hey, 'pathetic flirtation' is a time-honored tradition. It set up the foundation for the 'Just Kiss/Choice Verb Already' moment. Also makes the latter more worth it. As long as a direct moment does exist later down the line.

“Her partner does, though,” the Reader said. “He'd see it, and he'd know if it was done poorly.”

Kozar’s eyebrow went up again. “Isn't his handwriting so terrible you claim he’s invented Rectangular?”

Excellent point. He can't go glasshouse on a gift to your girlfriend with this, you know?

“He would still know,” the Reader insisted. “This needs to be perfect. I can't give her an inferior gift—and that would be insulting, as though I thought less of her because she's an alien—no, this must be done as well as though I were giving it to a fellow Time Lord. It has to be—”
Euuuu–

Kozar refrained from pointing out that neither he nor Naya nor even most of HQ could tell from looking at her work. “Then an imperfection or two is logical. Besides—don't aliens frequently prize handmade pieces with their small imperfections? Dawn once said it ‘means more.’”
Well, this for starters. Second, genuine gift to girlfriend. Will she really mind minor faults?

The Reader considered this, tapping her short fingernails against the table. “It still feels like I’m giving her something inferior. And she deserves the best, Kozar.”
Oh right, Gift To Love Interest. Logic doesn't apply.

The Klingon sighed. Aliens.
Resiting urge to comment about glasshouses and culture scorning... well, everything about culture except war.

The Reader blinked again. “I...could do that.”
Dunno, the 'all by yourself' always has its own appeal, like free stuff... No, I don't tell this to feel better about not being able to wrap up presents properly at twenty four.

Kozar rolled his eyes. “Make your own breakfast, Time Lord.”
That, and vital considerations like 'what is the proper dosage for coffee' can e different for some people. Don't ask breakfast from heretics using sugar.

He leveled a savage grin at her. “You should try it. Even with the Guardsman's training, your combat skills are abysmal.”
Your future poor dodge none withstanding, Xan, he has a point. Sure surprise and sneaky are the supposed ways to go, but you never skip on 'stay alive' skills... No matter how many extra lives you have.

The Reader rolled her eyes. “Yes, I believe it will be, for once. Let's eat and move.”

Kozar nodded, and picked up his fork. “A good plan.”

Dunno, it misses both a 'fight' step, and the so important '???, Profit!' ones.


Curious to see both the mission and the reaction to the gift... This interlude is just begging for a sequel, please!

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