Doctor Who One Hundred

Sarah was relaxing in the library, idly doodling with watercolours in the notebook she used for ceramics design ideas. She’d painted a series of stylised floral patterns that she thought had the potential to be a series, but she needed to run a few test pieces to see if her concept would work.

“How did the last function go?” Bishop was working on his own designs and was colouring a pencilled geometric tile design with pastels.

Pushing her notebook aside, Sarah made a noise of disinterest as she shook out her hand. “It was reasonably boring. There was no pressing business to discuss and any of the usual tentative approaches were derailed by a relationship imploding. Most of the gathering regarded it as sport and were taking bets on the progress of the fight.”

Jareth was pleased with himself at scoring a crate of well aged brandy to add to the castle’s cellars after predicting that one of the combatants would end up in the decorative water feature.

“It was difficult to stay awake long enough to be able to depart without causing offence.” She didn’t know why leaving early was regarded as a faux pas when having an overly dramatic public break up wasn’t, but perhaps it was just the spectacle of it all. Sarah wondered if feigning an argument with Jareth and chasing him from the room would have allowed them to depart in a more timely manner.

“Aside from betting on the theatrics, how did you amuse yourselves?” Bishop smudged the pastels to the edges of his design.

Sarah snorted a laugh and covered her mouth as she giggled. “Do you remember the dowager with the precarious hair?”

Bishop chuckled. “The one who insists that the elaborate monstrosity on her head is not a wig despite the wig makers using her to market their wares across the Underground?”

“That’s the one,” Sarah grinned. “She has a new boy toy.” As long as everyone was consenting, she didn’t care, but quietly pondering the dynamics at play with Jareth, had amused them enough to kill time.

“Didn’t she have the last one adorned in a layer of slime that turned the ballroom floor into a slip and slide?” Bishop asked.

“Yeah,” Sarah nodded. “She found another weak chinned young man. This one she dressed in a body suit of leather he appeared to be sewn into. It had such a limited range of movement that he couldn’t sit down. When you got close enough, you could hear it creak as he moved.”

The outfit caused him to waddle like a penguin and Sarah was surprised he hadn’t been knocked over by the disagreeable couple and had to wonder if he would have floundered like an upturned turtle.

“His outfit did provide us with an amusing distraction, especially as the dowager would stop mid conversation to rush over and delicately place a morsel of food in his mouth like he was a Pekingese.” Sarah shook her head at the dramatics.

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labyfic — drabble #250: weak
Part of the Balance!verse