i am the ground zero ex-friend you ordered

[inkdamage]

Continued from here, Martha and Severus work on her security warding. No warnings so far, will edit if needed.

It does sound completely mental, but not any more than the multiverse (which he misses, more than he thought he would). He steps back and crouches down, and begins drawing two circles around her on the concrete floor with chalk, and then sets to sketching out symbols and ancient lettering in between the lines.

"Did you go anywhere you liked?"

Maybe it's strange, that he accepts her explanation so easily - he sounds detached, though, and it's easier to give her prompts to keep speaking than it would be to engage in real conversation.

Comments

[toldastory]

"Loads of places, actually." And despite how bad some of the trips she'd been on were, Martha Jones had enjoyed spots before the inevitable badness had crept in.

Knowing that in this circumstance she was acting as pretty much background noise, Martha felt a bit more relaxed. The stories were old familiar friends, and she had used them like a shield before.

"I was quite fond of meeting Will Shakespeare."

[inkdamage]

"Was he an ill-tempered arse?"

Innocently. (Sure.) It'd be a dig at her husband, asked by anyone else, but from him it's almost funny in disturbed way - either that or flat-out offensive, but he doesn't seem concerned. Hell, he doesn't even look up from what he's doing, the faint noises of chalk on the floor the only other sound from his direction.

As the workspace wards begin to settle in, he can taste the immunity she speaks of, flitting through the air on the magic currents like atmosphere ionized after a lightning strike - but faint, of course, endlessly faint, delicate in a way even most magicians can't parse. Interesting. Stardust.

[toldastory]

Martha had spent a good amount of her time around ill-tempered arses as it were. The Doctor, her husband, her brother, several of her friends. It was just the sort of person whom she collected at random, mostly through her penchant for making the attempt to fix someone and make them better. So the dig didn't bother her at all, and she found it funny and responded with a smirk and a shrug.

"Well, he was a bit like Mick Jagger, really. All swagger and being a rockstar of his age. He was a bit handsy and chatted me up a fair amount as well." The words were spoken quickly, her favorite story shrunken down a bit and reduced to something smaller so she could ignore the urge that was rising in her to ask about a million questions of what he was doing.