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]

((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.

[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."

[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]

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?"

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"Would you want me to be worried if you were?"

He's all smiles now. –like playing ping pong in the dark–

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

He straightens his tie. "Oh, on the edge and in between sounds about right. Good enough for you?" He wonders if those are the actual lands that exist in the real park. He'll have to look it up when he finally –getting more and more suspicious about not being able to– wakes.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

Adam doesn't rise to the bait. "Nah," he says thoughtfully after a moment. "Jesus was pretty understandin'. I dun't think he'd want anyone to be worried by him. 'Course they were, but I dun't think that's what he wanted..."

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

"Neato! Then I'll put you in Toon Town," he smiles. It's such an innocent little smile.

((Unless you really wanted him in Frontierland...))

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Oh, scoffing is indeed in order and in rather large supply too. "You've been beaten," he says –desperately even, needs the reassurance that is was real or it might as well have been a dream in reverse–. "Why would I do that?"

He has to find what happened, though. He has to....

His face gives way to true hesitation for the first time since he opened his eyes.

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

“Yes,” the Doctor answers, his expression empty. “But not here. Not now.” –well, that was arguable either way, really, but–

There is something missing in the conversation, something the Doctor only now begins to understand, struck by the hesitancy on the Master’s face. “You do realize what’s happened, don’t you? Where we are?”

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor stands a few feet back as Mickey and the Master talked, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets and rocking forward on his toes in a –nervous/anxious/excited– impatient sort of way.

When Mickey says Toon Town his face lights up.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master doesn't seem very impressed by that line of thought. "Aren't we quite the philosopher?" Understanding was –something that the other had claim over, not in his line of work– not something that he condoned.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

A breath exits sharply through his nose. "Right...."

He glares between the Doctor and Mickey –because they would be in league together, wasn't that just perfect– as his fingers brush against one jacket pocket for reassurance.

((Oh no, that is beyond perfect. XD))

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

He shrugs. "You dun't hafta agree. 's just my opinion."

Adam's a remarkably modest young man. Maybe he just has a wider perspective than most...

He tilts his head to one side to regard the Master more carefully. "I only know one other person who goes by 'the' somethin'," he observes neutrally.

[mickey-mous.livejournal.com]

Mickey giggles. "Keen! Your mail will go to you there at Master (http://community.livejournal.com/dizzy_land/tag/master). Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth!"

((And don't forget your contact info (http://community.livejournal.com/dizzy_backstage/1307.html). Thanks! :D))

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"They defended themselves, of course," he says, scratching the curve of his ear. "The Daleks are a genetically engineered mutant race of beings. They don't believe in individuality and don't feel any emotion besides hate. Everything in the universe is supposed to be uniform to them. Once they had exterminated enough people and planets, they decided that a race as ancient and powerful as the Time Lords would be no problem for them."

The Master had a tendency to inspire honesty in people, despite how unsettling he was in general. Which was mostly due to the hypnosis thing. Who knew what the other reasons could be. "Powers that equal Lucifer's? Seems a bit unfair," he observes –as he is well acquainted with the idea of unfairness–.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Well, at least he wasn't one of those religious nutters who rapped on doors and forced the bible on anyone capable of carrying it. Then again, he never got those on the Valiant. It might have been fun to watch someone try.

The Master's eyes go deceptively wide. "And who might that be?" he asks, feigning interest –and still feeling it at the same time– on the topic.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

"The Metatron," he says simply, not deceived.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"I realize that you are nothing more than a figment in my mind," he snaps, finally pulling the laser screwdirver from his inside pocket and pointing it right –at the centerpoint between two hearts– at the one in front of him. "And now might be a very good time for me to wake up, so as you spare you any more pain." His bottom lip puckers out in a mock of lip-trembling, his eyes going comically sad.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"Ah, the voice of the Almighty," the Master says at once. "You people do like to split things into parts, don't you? Holy Trinities and triumvirates, and such. One has to be the mouthpiece, one the fist, another the brain. So much delegation and red tape." Better to be able to do all of it together and leave the rest out.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

"You people?" Adam repeats. "It wasn't my idea. You'd hafta ask God why He set it up that way."

Oddly enough, he agrees with the Master's thoughts (not that he's reading them per se) but only if the person is someone he trusts. Himself, for instance. Although doing all the work yourself gets real old, real quick. He can see, too, why people delegate. Adam's funny that way, what with understanding all the different points of view in various situations...

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor flinches slightly as the Master pulls out –and oh isn’t he a fool for not thinking of– the laser screwdriver.

“What?” he exclaims, surprised, one hand rising in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture, although what he really wants to do is take a step forward and put that hand on the Master’s arm. “Master, this isn’t a dream.” –although he can understand perfectly how the other might think so–

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

He doesn't respond to the question about getting away. After all, they hadn't exactly –how can you ever escape– done that, either of them. "Everyone lost," he says as before. "Including the Daleks. No one to come looking."

The Master tuts at the cliche and that vulnerable flicker in his expression. "Too young to be such a cynic." And yes, he is well aware that Lucifer should be several thousand years old by now. But the Time Lords lived long enough themselves.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master pauses. His head cocks to one side. "I'll be sure to do that..." he says slowly, the way one might to a very small child or a crazy –he was one to judge– person. "If I get an inkling to go visiting the heavens any time soon." Not that he didn't find the Bible an excellent piece of literature –wonderful to quote from– but the many religions of Earth were mysteries all to themselves.

Perhaps the Master would be fonder of delegating if he were inclined to trust. He isn't. So he does all the important work and then puts disposable people in the grunt positions. The way every good dictator should.

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

When the Master pulls out a screwdriver, Setsuna pulls away from the wall and starts to walk a bit closer, concerned, but when the Doctor puts a hand up, Setsuna starts to run over. His first instinct is to lurch out and grab for the item, or the Master's arm and keep him from harming the other, not understanding the situation at all.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he shouts while rushing over.