The Seventh Match

[realitymods]

Characters: Gene, Diva, Spectators
Location: The Coliseum.
Time: Two days after the last fights.
Summary: The seventh of the death matches.
Warnings: Character death warning.





Today, Weber had let in a visitor early. With his coffee cup balanced on the seat between them, he was all smooth smiles, a performance designed for one.

The Doctor wasn't happy with Weber, but his conversation with Ten reminded him that he still owed the man a cup of coffee. So he brought him one, and got right down to business. "Tried to find the Emperor, but he never showed up. Any tips? Or are you gonna point a revolver at my head for interfering?"

Weber startled. He almost dropped his cup. Then he drew his revolver, not to point it at the Doctor, but to aim for the head of the man in sable robes who had appeared behind the Doctor, the one known to Naminé merely as the king. Weber got to his feet. “My liege.”

The king returned the smile. “My liar.”

Weber’s gun hand was severed from his wrist in the flash of the king’s sword. Silver blood fell from the wound, but Weber didn’t hesitate. He was forward in a moment, his other hand swinging up for the king's face, but the king caught that and twisted, forcing Weber to the ground.

“Oh, your most glorious majesty.” There was no stopping Weber’s smile, even as he cradled his injured arm to his chest. “How the sight of you brings me to my knees.”

“Were it that you would learn your place there.” With Weber now held down, the king offered the Doctor a brief flicker of his attention. “Another victim, my liar?”

The Doctor rose from his seat—no, the Oncoming Storm rose from his seat. "Let him go. I'm nobody's victim, and neither is he." He stepped forward, placing a hand on Weber's shoulder. "This ends now, your Majesty. I gave you a chance, and you've lost it."

“Doctor, don’t—”

Weber’s shout was pointless. In a gesture too easy and too familiar, the king shoved his sword through the Doctor’s chest and twisted.

The Doctor gasped, both in surprise and pain. His jumper was stained with blood as he collapsed to the ground, and he knew he was dying again. "Time to be a real boy, Pinocchio," he whispered, only for Weber to hear.

The two immortals watched the Doctor die. Then the king drew a card from his robes. As the Doctor's body dissolved into nothing, so too did a gold bracelet on the king's wrist. He drew out another card. One of his gold rings thinned, almost imperceptible to anyone at a distance. The king released Weber and offered him his hand.

And Weber, with his now-regrown hand, took it, sweeping his fallen hat up from the floor and putting it back on his head. “The fight, my liege?”

“Of course.” The king took the Emperor's throne with the arrogance of born royalty. Obedient, the man in the silver-stained cravat sat at his king's side. They were decadence and dissonance, gold jewellery and black fabrics, one's clothing from the West, the other from the East. They had held thrones like these so many times before, and each fell easily into the familiar parts.

The king waved a callous hand. “Gene Hunt.”

Weber gave a sad smile. “Diva.”

The king said, “Get on with it.”

The sand in the hourglass fell, unable to reach the black and silver blood lingering beneath its frame.

Comments

[realitymods]

At the fairytale reference, the liar's smile became almost sincere. "In that story, the bread crumbs were eaten. It isn't exactly the most feasible of tracking plans."

"And Theseus and his string only sought the way to walk free once they had met Asterion." The king put a hand on the liar's arm, and the liar turned to face him. But their blocking was perfect, and each angled himself to give their audience, the Doctor, an ideal view.

"Why, my king of kings, I never knew you listened to the stories I told you."

"My teller of tales, a king should always listen to his jester. His truths, oblique though they may be, are those which would best advise any royalty on his rule."

Normally, it would be the perfect starting point for another of their arguments. But this time, they didn't launch into banter. The liar simply drew his arm away from the king and tilted his head to look at the Doctor. "Can you play by those rules?"

[bit_impossible]

In spite of all his anger at the start of the conversation, a seed of sympathy and compassion had been growing somewhere within him--and that display between the king and Weber only just made him conscious of it.

"You've read about me, so you should know that I've come into possession of countless objects of power in my lifetime. Ones that would have made me a god ten times over with the universe a veritable piece of clay in my hands to mould and shape as I please. You should also know of the sort of choices I've had to make during my travels. Ones that can border the line of what some may consider good and evil but are, in fact, what's right for the situation so I can save as many lives as possible." He paused for a moment, his expression changing, softening. "And there is the single biggest and greatest decision I had to make that continues to affect me to this very day."

And in an instant, that expression was gone. Back was a far more neutral and hardened one, his mind containing those stray feelings. He regarded them both as he folded his arms across his chest and asked, "So. What do you think?"

[realitymods]

"I think we should wish you luck." The liar's smile changed into something secret. He wanted to be heard. "There is no tragedy in getting rid of us. It is only if we try to stop ourselves that the costs will be too great."

"What of wrath?"

The king's interjection caught the liar off-guard, and he looked back at him. "That's your speciality, not mine, my liege."

"Not our wrath, but the vengeance of he who arranged these."

"He thrives off of defiance." Yet the liar did hesitate, and a frown edged its way into his smile. "Though I wouldn't gamble on him opting out of retribution."

The king met the Doctor's eyes. Callous as he could be, he spoke now with conviction. "Whatever methods you may use, be careful for those you choose as allies."

And the liar rubbed the skin at his wrist, remembering. "Even winning has a price."

[bit_impossible]

He frowned. Why ask if he could play by those rules then? "Winning always has a price no matter where you are in any universe. I'm well aware there are going to be consequences for whatever I choose to do and whoever I travel with. That's how it's always been for me."

Granted, he and his current travelling companion always crept away and left in the TARDIS before they could really see any lasting effects of their actions. He wasn't about to land on a different Astral Plane after this.

"Besides, angering those in charge is one of the things I do best." And he gave them a rather cheeky grin. It might make him seem as though he weren't taking the situation seriously, but he couldn't have been any more serious.

He almost started turning away but stopped. "Out of curiosity--not that I think I'll be back or anything--but I doubt either of you are able to leave to fetch any refreshments once the matches begin. Surely there are some rules about that as well. Anything I, or anyone who comes after me, should keep in mind? I have noticed the chocolate thing, so no need to elaborate there."

[realitymods]

"Coffee," said the liar. "Black. And nothing but." To keep his smile, he didn't look at the cups that the Doctor had brought for them.

"Any variety of black tea. With the leaves, not a bag."

"And bring sugar. To your great surprise, I don't doubt, he loves it in his tea. Do you know how to get those sugar crystals? Like rock candy. That's what was traditional where we're from and it's what he likes best. You put them in your mouth and sip the tea through it, which no doubt would have been responsible for a remarkable rate of death by diabetes if anyone lived that long. But, oh, don't get ones with saffron. He has a thing about saffron."

The king gave the liar a warning look, and the liar sighed and mimed zipping his lips.

[bit_impossible]

"Then if I happen to be coming your way again, I'll be sure to remember your request," he said. He eyed the hourglass; the sand had nearly run out by then. With a wave of his hand, he gave the barrier a pat and turned away, keeping his back to the match about to end. He didn't wish to stay and see what happened to them when the time did run out.