Small, Beautiful Events

I very much recommend you read this essay on the Master's sexuality. And then this one.

( Now read about the Doctor's! You know you want to. )

Warning: it got long. 1,463 words long.

The Doctor was used to feeling far older than he seems, but this was utterly ridiculous.

At least he'd managed to make it back to the TARDIS shortly after being…transformed. He take comfort in that as he leaned against doors that were entirely too big. At least his clothes had shrunk as well, he'd have looked quite a fool trying to run in them otherwise. (Of course, now his celery was larger than his lapel. Why did he wear it again? It was beginning to look tasty, how long was it since he'd eaten? He'd prefer something sweeter, though. Why didn't he wear something sweet? Like a lolly. He should stick a lolly on his hat.)

As he slid down to the TARDIS floor, he tried to ponder what, exactly, they had done to him. It had seemed like a beam (it was very red, like ripe cherries on Earth, he rather liked cherries, though when it came to berries the blue were best) but he never got a chance to examine the machinery – how did it work? Why did it work? What was there purpose?

No, he knew that, they were probably testing it out – they'd been using their people as test subjects for ages, it was the very thing he was trying to put a stop to; he frowned, then, looking quite serious for a little boy. He thought he did a fairly good job of rallying the people, organising some resistance. He would check back once he was normal again.

According to one of his allies – and insider who'd long had doubts which he may have helped along – it should wear off in several days. Until then, well, he would just have to manage being tinier, more easily distracted, and craving sweets. Did he still have jelly babies anywhere? Oh, and he'd probably have to sleep more, being a child. (He could probably use his old opera cape as a blanket, or wrap himself in that scarf. His bed would look very large, wouldn't it? Hardly a child's bed. Now he was getting sleepy. Was that normal?)

Focus, Doctor. You are still a Time Lord, you are still over eight centuries old, you are not a seven year old boy who's never seen the Schism.

That thought both sobered and awakened him, and he went off to find a step stool so he could work the TARDIS.

She made it easy for him – rather like when she gave him that wheelchair, very kind of her, would this be like a new regeneration? – and soon they were in flight.

Several days, he thought, settling down on the stool. His fingers began to tap the sides – it had never taken this long before, had it? – and he hummed an old lullaby none of his friends would recognise.

Oh, dear, they'd be quite a lot larger than him too, wouldn't they? Perhaps they would have sweets.

((If anyone would like to interact with little!Five, do feel free - any community, meta or otherwise.))

My typist, however, seems inclined to campaign. Honestly I think she's simply bored, and taking it out on me - and apparently I do 'flustered' well?.

Well then, let's get on with it, shall we? We can skip the long-suffering sighs and lectures on childish narcicism and objectification.

Hmm, I might as well get the least important bits out of the way first.

( The Physical )

Now, I wouldn't presume to tell you which category you ought to nominate us for, but simply to say we're here:

( Nyssa and I )

I am rather tragic I suppose. Again, however, I believe my Ninth self has me outdone, and possibly my Tenth as well. Nyssa, perhaps, although most wouldn't know it.

I wouldn't call myself a flirt but I seem to have fallen in love with several people at once.

I'm a fairly good dancer, but honestly, Nyssa is much more fit for that award. I could never hope to emulate such grace.

I am an alien to most of you, and a 'good guy', though I hardly think I'm anyone's favourite.

That's...well, that sums it up, I suppose. Good luck, and do enjoy yourselves. I'll be in that corner pretending this was never posted.

((Oh, that was fun. Please, feel free to embarass him.))