Application for The Master, Doctor Who

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Arranging universal domination... was not as easy as it looked.

Okay, that was complete bullocks. It was very easy. Also fun, convenient and –so satisfyingly destructive after that endless stasis– surprisingly simple to set on autopilot once all the essentials were put in place. Also oddly merciful this time around; he was saving two great civilizations from terrible fates, after all. How could that not be –and it isn't, it's only to save his precious mind from it, the drums, the neverending– merciful? –da-da da-da, da-da da-da–

Well, the Doctor didn't seem to think so. Then again, they rarely –never– agreed on anything, and the Doctor's opinion didn't matter so much now that he was in the doghouse. Literally.

Hedonism agreed with him. He had fallen asleep on the floor between his manicurist and the woman –curvy, graceful, dark-haired and full-lipped, who made Lucy's eyes dim like crushing a firefly between his fingertips, yes– who had been brought on board to arrange all the rooms on the Valiant so that they kept with the rules of Feng Shui. He had found it endlessly amusing to chase her around all day, rearranging her work; it wasn't what she'd really been brought on board for anyway. Feng shui. What an idiotic concept that was. –Everything still looked like shit, only now it was all blocking the door to prevent "negative energies," ooooo, how inspired– Just another example of the funny ideas humans came up with to make their existence more meaningful. Big scary world, but maybe it would be more bearable if your bed faced the rising sun...

He had a feeling that he was going to wake up soon. Somewhere in the middle of his subconscious he was thoroughly aware of this, which was an odd sort of thing –all that flickering and burning, like knowing you have a cold before it hits full on– to know. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked into... sunlight? But the blinds had been closed.

There's an emptiness and an echo right at the edge of his mind that he can't expel. It makes him restless enough to sit up and slump forward, dazed.

Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"

He gets up, takes his time doing it too, gesturing with one hand in a 'go away while I get rid of this hangover' sort of manner. Dusting off his suit jacket, he remembers a dream he had about teletubbies the other night.... –Dream! Oh, of course.– He smirks like the cat who ate the cockatiel. With whipped cream and peaches –yum–. "The Master. As in 'Your Lord and --'. I used a human name to make people comfortable for a bit, which was bloody tedious. Harold Saxon. You've probably heard the whole story, though. Remember this?" And he clasps his hands and smiles, wide and seemingly genuine, though it is plain that there is something not right –but they always missed it, didn't they, with their little human brains, so easily hypnotized and trusting, taken in by the drumming because now they felt it too– about the expression.

"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.

Well, that's enough to make certain that he doesn't take any of this seriously. Loopy and sarcastic it is, then. "My semi-corporeal friend, you've really got your Time Lords crossed. I'm rubbish at the chivalry... thing. Why don't you give me a quest?"

"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"

He lets out a held breath in a big puff, shifting his hands behind his back –because he doesn't wish, he never wishes, he either has his way or it's one more for the airlock– in a harmless sort of way. "Oh... how about the Doctor on his knees, begging me to be forgiven for both of his mawkish hearts? Mawkish... that's a good word. Or!" he pipes up excitedly, "a really big strawberry sundae? Or maybe an encyclopedia collection and a few chimpanzees, it would make work so much easier." He tilts his head from side to side, grimacing as though the line of questioning is far too trying. "I really can't decide, can you give me a minute on that one?"

"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"

He pauses for a moment, lips pursed together in a manic manner, before beginning to guffaw like a deranged hyena. He wants to respond, he really does, it's just... giving. Giving wishes. Being benevolent, like a saint or that foundation for little children dying of cancer –or a Doctor; see definition: a man who makes people better–. Can't breathe-

Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"

He rolls his eyes and buffs his immaculate fingernails on the lapel of his jacket before inspecting them boredly. "Why would the one leading the revolution need to do that? Stop having a laugh Mickey, you go run your evil empire and leave me to mine."

The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"

Oh, he likes that cat. –da-da da-da– "Er... white. Dark. No, milk. Though it must be white because they always say that your initial impulse is the correct one, right?" He wiggles his eyebrows. "The real question is why are you asking that? Are there psychological reasons behind the question, for instance; dark means you're unthinkably evil, or something?" There's no response from the inquisitors - not that there has been for any of his answers - and so he shakes his finger in a 'got you' sort of way. "I think true, true evil should prefer white. Traditional colour symbolism is such a bore."

"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'"

"Can't I have one of each?" he suggests sensibly.

"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"

Laser screwdrivers –his toys always were more fun– weren't sharp per se, so he felt no need to mention it. "Why, are you going to frisk me?" he asks, feigning shock. "If the answer is yes, please choose someone else to do it, would you? I've never had a cavity search by a two-dimensional being, and though I'm sure you're very nice, we've only just met."

((Well, folks, you've met the good Doctor. Now meet his archnemesis - the Master. Yes, it does sound very kinky. Because it kinda is.... But I digress. I should warn those who are only familiar with Classic Who, this regeneration of the Master is a little different from the ones you've been used to; he's about 90% kooky-er and much less vampiric. Still just as evil, though. For more info, see his profile. The Master was taken some time between The Sounds of Drums and Last of the Time Lords, the last two episodes of season 3. Also, it would be great if no one mentioned the Doctor just yet. ;) Oh, and this would be Crichton-mun. *waves*))

Comments

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master glances pointedly at the Cat, as though he is expecting some kind of answer –great minds, that whole chestnut– from it. After all, this random arrival seems odd, even for a dream. When nothing is provided, he looks the boy up and down with an unimpressed air; this was the best his imagination could come up with?

"If you like to think of planet Earth as a brothel then I suppose you might come to that conclusion," he states blandly. "Do you have a purpose here? Or are you just mucking about?" Not that he has a problem with mucking about. He loves mucking about. He would just rather be the one doing it.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Really. Now was hardly the time for an existential crisis. –He's saying 'here' like I should know what that means– People with consciences could have those.

"Ah now, you know," he begins in a chipper tone, "you just made a very bad mistake. You admitted that you had no purpose... not very smart, really." He tilts his head like an amused child. "It makes other people more inclined to dispose of you." He smiles, and this time there is something horrifically eerie about it, a true madness beating its rhythm out –da-da da-da– on the backs of his eyes.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"Well... I was planning on taking over the universe," he shouts right back at the new arrival. Then he smiles and in a disturbingly cheerful tone continues with, "If that bothers you, please hang back over there until the ride has come to a complete stop."

In any case, he had already said the name of his species, so unless this thing is... –defective– deranged, there's no reason why.... "Time Lord, yes. From Gallifrey. You probably have no idea, it might make your tiny brain explode with wonder. Now that you've been so exceptionally rude, you might tell me what you are."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Wings, now where had he seen that- oh good. It left.

The Master ate another jelly baby, smiling all the while.

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

Oh sure, Setsuna heard everything else, but once again, the kid's mind focused on one thing and one thing only as he listened to the Master.

Frowning, he plainly says, "I sure as Hell ain't callin' you My Lord, or anything of the sort. That aside, if you want a quest, I got one for you." This brings on a challenging grin from the blond. "Find a way out of here. That's your quest."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master blinks at him. "It's rude not to call people by their given names," he says plainly. At the rest of the comment –order, really, isn't it funny that he thinks he can try that– he applauds manically and shakes his head. "Spoken like a true King Arthur. Well, without his presence, but that has to be learned, doesn't it?"

He pauses in his clapping. "I'm sorry, did I give you the impression that I was looking for a quest from any old person lying about? Because I was asking him." He fingerwaves at the Cat.

[that-depends.livejournal.com]

(The Cat appears to be trying to catch a butterfly. Not that there's a butterfly there, so possibly it's trying to catch a particular air current or a speck of dust.)

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master grins in understanding - he does that all the time. Not catching invisible butterflies or dust, but trains of thought or the upper hand, or sometimes even –victory–.... It had been a good year.

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

"Well, he isn't going to give you a quest," Setsuna hisses out, then rolls his eyes after speaking. He has little else to say, other than, "As for names, I don't care what your given name is. All you've earned is being called Pretentious Prick."

reposted after being noted...*is bery sorry*

[nobodypyro8.livejournal.com]

Axel's grinning like the cheshire cat, only the cat doesn't normally wear a black coat and a mane of over-gelled red spikes. This is good. This is very...good. He's been waiting for a chance to play this game for a while.

"Hello," he says, not ceasing that shit-eating grin for one second. "I hear you've tried to take over your world. Not the smartest thing t'do, in my opinion. There's been others. Not very sucessful. You people should form a club, got it memorized? Meglomaniacs Anonomous. Catchy."

*no worries* ;)

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master rolls his eyes. "Universe," he corrects. "The world is already taken care of. Not that it's my world, my world-" –is ashes and dust and rock and screaming with the drums in my head– "-is much better than that dull lump. Though they do have Mexican food and popcorn, which is a plus that inclines me toward forgiveness."

[nobodypyro8.livejournal.com]

"Tch, that's even more stupid," he remarks, "Why the hell would you want all that responsiblity?"

Axel's one of those people who sees things unfortunately very clearly, but considers himself past such things. Good guys win, bad guys lose. Taking over anything that involves any sort of sentient beings is just asking for trouble. He's not good or evil, he just likes to pick the winning side, is all.

[iron-and-latin.livejournal.com]

Sam doesn't usually come to meet new arrivals, mostly because after he did a such terrible job trying to explain things to Mr. Strange, he decided he wasn't really cut out for this particular meet-and-greet excercise. The answers that this guy gives, though, draw him cautiously to the gates, where he sees a pretty average looking guy in a perfect black suit. He approaches slowly, one hand in his pocket and the other casually wrapped around the neck of a Dasani bottle.

"Hi," he says. "I'm Sam. Welcome to alternate dimension Disneyland."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Goodness. He thought he had been recognizing a pattern with everyone that showed up in his dream, but this one just threw the loop. "Oh, that's what it is!" he says when the young man informs him as to the location. He's turns very serious all of a sudden. "I've never been here. Must be wishful thinking. Then again, I don't remember wishing for it either."

Brightens again, easier than Jack Nicholson about to get electric shock therapy. "Well, Sam. You're a strapping American chap; have you been enjoying your stay so far?" It's like listening to a census taker who's had –it up to here and is about to pull out a shotgun– too much caffiene.

[iron-and-latin.livejournal.com]

“It’s what it looks like, anyway,” Sam clarifies blandly. “People have different theories about what it really is.”

The man’s weird mood swings set Sam further on edge, and if he doesn’t take a step back it’s only because he’s had a lot of practice staring creepy-as-fuck in the face. Still, he shifts his weight a little and his hand flexes on the bottle.

“Well, the food’s pretty good,” he offers, playing along. “Better if you actually know how to cook and aren’t stuck eating hotdogs and pizza all the time. And you don’t have to wait in line for any of the rides. But it’s not such a great place to live in, since the décor kinda sucks and there aren’t any showers. I’d give it a C+ for overall comfort.” And a D for eerie and weird and stuck here.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

((I'm so late to the party, feel free to ignore Adam if you like... Sorry!))

Adam tends to show up when the crazy and powerful ones arrive. Certain things are easier in person. He looks at the Time Lord and says simply, "Hullo."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

((It's possible to ignore Adam? XD))

The Master grimaces like he has tasted sour milk, a reaction occurring without his express permission. He turns a little on his heel to see the new face better.

Well, there had been a Lucifer and something like an angel, so clearly- "Let me guess..." he says, feigning excitement and pointing. "Jesus."

Unless they could move a few pantheons over. The young man –something not right about this one, maybe he's not human– looked more like Apollo, but then, having the saviour of mankind around would just be –ironic– funny.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

((Depends on how insane you are, I guess... XD))

Well, he is a saviour of mankind if you look at it sort of cross-wise. But Adam is more bemused than anything.

"Would you be worried if I was?" he asks.

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

"Well, o-kay, The Master. Are you ready to find out which of our excitin' lands you'll be livin' in?" Mickey asks sweetly.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master's eyes drag down to regard the little 2-D wonder with something like homicidal loathing. His tone, however, matches the Mouse's in every way. "Oh, do tell."

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

Mickey, as always, is oblivious to the loathing and the sarcasm.

"We've got eight neato lands that you could live in." He ticks them off on his fingers and there are just enough fingers for lands.

"There's Adventureland for tough guys and gals, Tomorrowland for people of the future, Critter Country for critters and the people who love 'em, Toon Town (that's where I live), Fantasyland is a magical place, Main Street for normal folks, New Orleans Square which is a little spooky, and Frontierland for those folks who are on the edge and in between. If you could choose your home, where would you want to be?"