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A Draught of Mischief and a Tonne of Trouble

AN: Quail here! Due to an increased workload, my current upload schedule of once per two weeks is unfortunately unsustainable. I will still be uploading! Though I do plan on cutting back to once per month.

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In which 035 discovers one of the few instances in which 049 will actively fuck with people. Apparently, all one has to do is take the man wine tasting and he will resort to figuring out who does and does not know what they're doing via absolute shenanigans a la listening to the wine and talking absolute nonsense.

Warning: Consumption of alcohol

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Dýo had been subjected to a very long day. It was about halfway through the typical rehearsal process and, while her actors had been doing quite well by means of memorization, the process of costume measurements had unfortunately proven to be the same torturous, lengthy chore it always was, each actor taking absolute ages to get accurate sizing for, and the fabric store she'd gone to after the fact ending up being fresh out of about half of the costume materials she needed. Luckily, her costuming schedule wasn't too tight, but it was still bothersome to know how close she'd likely be cutting to dress rehearsal. Then, of course, when she'd made her usual stop to collect money from a group of people she'd brainwashed into being a convenient pack of cash collecting minions with the sole goal of piling on their funds to her current, already rather sizable savings in the stead of her usual cycle of possession, she'd ended up stuck in traffic for a full two hours on her way back home.

The mask stepped through the door slouched, burned out, and exhausted, dropping her bag in the entry and acknowledging the Doctor's greeting with a wave as she went straight for the kitchen. 

The nanosecond that she stepped on the tile, about half of her exhaustion was immediately usurped with deep suspicion.

Of course, the kitchen was as obscenely clean as it always was. Frankly, it would have been more concerning if it wasn't considering how the Doctor loved keeping the thing so clean even a pristine new one would look shabby next to it. No, that wasn't the issue. Nor was the boxed pastry her dove had left out for her as he did say he was going grocery shopping earlier that day, and often enjoyed bringing her some sort of sweet or brand of alcohol she hadn't tried yet. The concerning factor lied in the bouquet of peonies - no, wait... Those were definitely marigolds - that sat upon the counter beside the pastry. Dýo took one of the many cartons of milk from the fridge, opened the pastry box, and began snacking on the chocolate éclair within while she hunted down a vase for the flowers. After all, it was suspicious, but that was no reason to ignore such a sweet gift from her bird.

The mask opened her milk carton, taking a swig as she headed into the living room where the doctor was still on the same page of his book, none too subtly sending brief glances her way in the search of some sort of reaction.

Dýo sat on the couch next to him, leaning against his side as she took another sip of her milk. "Dove?"

The Doctor put his book aside far to quickly to have actually been paying any attention to it, even closing the thing rather than turning it pages-down and leaving it open like he normally would. "Yes, darling?"

"Did you get me flowers?" she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I should hope that was me. I'd be terribly upset if some flower faeries or something of the like were out trying to win your fancy."

The mask snickered, kissing him on the cheek as a bit of a reward for a good bit of sarcastic humor and, the intentions of the bouquet verified so that he wouldn't be able to skirt around the subject, she went right in to her initial suspicion. "You know, you could always just tell me when you break something." He'd certainly done it before, the poor bird having not been aware that her typewriter was on its last legs with corrosive damage, then promptly panicking when he went to clean it and the platen simply snapped off. That time, of course, the bouquet had been Camellias since it was mid December. Of course, she hadn't been upset at him, then. Especially knowing how damaged the typewriter was, and he wouldn't be upset now, either. The Doctor was a very careful man. If he managed to break something, whatever it was was either doomed to break anyway, or there had been some freak accident resulting in the same.