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oncoming_storms Prompt 37
Apr. 22nd, 2008 08:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unearthlysusanThey were sitting in a quiet little restaurant on the banks of the Seine, close enough to the city to hear the hustle and bustle, but not close enough to actually be a part of it. Susan had been surprised to learn that Paris was actually a very beautiful city when it wasn't caught up in a bloody revolution, but, then again, it was 1893. A quiet, 'nothing' sort of year, which the travelers were all too eager to savour.
Moments of peace were so rare during their wild adventures.
After exploring the city - Susan had laughed delightedly at the Eiffel Tower - the Doctor had suggested getting something to eat and Barbara had swiftly chosen a small restaurant not far from the Conciergerie, where they'd once been held as prisoners. Susan couldn't believe how much things had change. On their first visit, she and Barbara had been shivering in the cells. Now they were dining on escargot and red wine.
At least, the adults were dining on escargot and red wine. Susan was eyeing her own glass - which the waiter had filled without comment - worriedly.
"A toast," Ian proposed brightly, "To a more successful trip."
"To peace," agreed the Doctor, smiling and raising his glance.
"Don't worry," Barbara assured her, when Susan hesitated, "One glass won't do you any harm."
So, obediently - and with the air of someone who wasn't sure when she was going to be poisoned, but knew it was going to happen sooner or later - Susan sipped the wine.
To her great surprise, it wasn't actually that bad. A slightly bitter taste, yes, but her tongue soon became accustomed to it. Not unpleasant. Rather nice, actually.
In fact, the glass seemed to empty far too quickly. In the soft buzz of the restaurant, the others failed to notice Susan reach out for the bottle and top up her glass once, then twice, and then, finally, three times.
For some reason, it didn't seem to be having any effect on her. At all.
Even the snails didn't taste particularly bad now.
She hiccuped.
"Susan?"
The Doctor was looking straight at her. At least, Susan assumed he was looking straight at her. Her Grandfather's words seemed to be floating towards her from some distance away.
Such a beautiful city, Paris. Quiet. You could make a nice home here in France. It wasn't London, of course. But it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. Home. She wouldn't mind some more wine. Perfectly fine. Not effected her at all. Another toast? To Parisian wine? To snails, which weren't even slimy. Not even a little bit. Perfectly fine.
"Why, I do believe she's drunk!" Ian exclaimed, trying - and, for the most part, failing - not to laugh.
"Oh dear," said Barbara, apparently struggling with her own amusement with as much difficulty, "I did say she could have a little wine ..."
"A little?" Ian laughed, "I think she's drank most of the bottle."
Susan smiled amiably at her friends - her family - and allowed their words to wash over her like waves of water.
Tired now. A nice home. Who needs a nice home? Travel is fine. When you're with friends. And family. The same thing, really. Barbara and Ian and her Grandfather. Home. Tired. TARDIS. Home.
Perfectly fine.
"Has she fallen asleep?"
"Come on, let's get her back to the TARDIS."
Prompt: Get your character drunk.
Word Count: 568
Moments of peace were so rare during their wild adventures.
After exploring the city - Susan had laughed delightedly at the Eiffel Tower - the Doctor had suggested getting something to eat and Barbara had swiftly chosen a small restaurant not far from the Conciergerie, where they'd once been held as prisoners. Susan couldn't believe how much things had change. On their first visit, she and Barbara had been shivering in the cells. Now they were dining on escargot and red wine.
At least, the adults were dining on escargot and red wine. Susan was eyeing her own glass - which the waiter had filled without comment - worriedly.
"A toast," Ian proposed brightly, "To a more successful trip."
"To peace," agreed the Doctor, smiling and raising his glance.
"Don't worry," Barbara assured her, when Susan hesitated, "One glass won't do you any harm."
So, obediently - and with the air of someone who wasn't sure when she was going to be poisoned, but knew it was going to happen sooner or later - Susan sipped the wine.
To her great surprise, it wasn't actually that bad. A slightly bitter taste, yes, but her tongue soon became accustomed to it. Not unpleasant. Rather nice, actually.
In fact, the glass seemed to empty far too quickly. In the soft buzz of the restaurant, the others failed to notice Susan reach out for the bottle and top up her glass once, then twice, and then, finally, three times.
For some reason, it didn't seem to be having any effect on her. At all.
Even the snails didn't taste particularly bad now.
She hiccuped.
"Susan?"
The Doctor was looking straight at her. At least, Susan assumed he was looking straight at her. Her Grandfather's words seemed to be floating towards her from some distance away.
Such a beautiful city, Paris. Quiet. You could make a nice home here in France. It wasn't London, of course. But it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. Home. She wouldn't mind some more wine. Perfectly fine. Not effected her at all. Another toast? To Parisian wine? To snails, which weren't even slimy. Not even a little bit. Perfectly fine.
"Why, I do believe she's drunk!" Ian exclaimed, trying - and, for the most part, failing - not to laugh.
"Oh dear," said Barbara, apparently struggling with her own amusement with as much difficulty, "I did say she could have a little wine ..."
"A little?" Ian laughed, "I think she's drank most of the bottle."
Susan smiled amiably at her friends - her family - and allowed their words to wash over her like waves of water.
Tired now. A nice home. Who needs a nice home? Travel is fine. When you're with friends. And family. The same thing, really. Barbara and Ian and her Grandfather. Home. Tired. TARDIS. Home.
Perfectly fine.
"Has she fallen asleep?"
"Come on, let's get her back to the TARDIS."
Prompt: Get your character drunk.
Word Count: 568
