"I can try to get bigger photo paper, Samson, but I can't promise anything. Maybe we can get Mal to paint you a mural."
She scans the street until she finds an appropriately grand backdrop against a fountain and a flower cart: traditional, but subtly allowing for their sensitive side. "Go right ahead, Doctor. .... Samson, if you stand right there I can get the light in your mane."
If someone had told her she would be doing Glamour Shots for horses ... She grinned as she got out her camera and set up the tripod, adjusting its height to be mindful of the angle. If a horse had a preferred pronoun, well. Certain things should not show up in the shot. "Okay, give me your best pose!"
As she started snapping, and Samson gave her Warhorse, Black Beauty, Misty of Chincoteague, Hidalgo, and that Blue Steel of equines - Seabiscuit - the Doctor would find a marvelous variation of shots. Artsier photos of the jungle from her trips, more informative ones meant to teach Apprentices about what was out there, and of course, plenty of portraits and candids. There was a gorgeous portrait of Dreamfinder with Figment on his shoulder where she'd caught them both laughing, a shot from training of a disgruntled yet regal Hades using Pain as a foot stool and Panic as a donut holder (half a dozen on each horn), and Merlin poring over his books, Archimedes snoozing on top of his chair, the light artfully catching the steam from his tea so that it looked aglow. But there are two prints of one particular piece, and she's taped a note with his name to one.
It's a candid. He probably didn't even notice that she caught him on his break, lounging in the cart with a cup of coffee and his guitar beside him, arms crossed behind his head, sunning himself. The Doctor, domestic, comfortable, and somehow, even briefly, appearing to be at peace. The funniest thing is... if he touches it, he might feel an echo of that moment. Lydia has yet to realize it, but healing has many forms.
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She scans the street until she finds an appropriately grand backdrop against a fountain and a flower cart: traditional, but subtly allowing for their sensitive side. "Go right ahead, Doctor. .... Samson, if you stand right there I can get the light in your mane."
If someone had told her she would be doing Glamour Shots for horses ... She grinned as she got out her camera and set up the tripod, adjusting its height to be mindful of the angle. If a horse had a preferred pronoun, well. Certain things should not show up in the shot. "Okay, give me your best pose!"
As she started snapping, and Samson gave her Warhorse, Black Beauty, Misty of Chincoteague, Hidalgo, and that Blue Steel of equines - Seabiscuit - the Doctor would find a marvelous variation of shots. Artsier photos of the jungle from her trips, more informative ones meant to teach Apprentices about what was out there, and of course, plenty of portraits and candids. There was a gorgeous portrait of Dreamfinder with Figment on his shoulder where she'd caught them both laughing, a shot from training of a disgruntled yet regal Hades using Pain as a foot stool and Panic as a donut holder (half a dozen on each horn), and Merlin poring over his books, Archimedes snoozing on top of his chair, the light artfully catching the steam from his tea so that it looked aglow. But there are two prints of one particular piece, and she's taped a note with his name to one.
It's a candid. He probably didn't even notice that she caught him on his break, lounging in the cart with a cup of coffee and his guitar beside him, arms crossed behind his head, sunning himself. The Doctor, domestic, comfortable, and somehow, even briefly, appearing to be at peace. The funniest thing is... if he touches it, he might feel an echo of that moment. Lydia has yet to realize it, but healing has many forms.