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]

"You don't have a mind for anything, clearly," the Master replies jovially, "or you wouldn't be arguing about it in such small words."

My, this little figment certainly has the chip on his shoulder. This is almost as fun as that first fellow had been. "Does dismissal bother you? Does it make you feel insignificant? Put upon? Owned?" –because you are– He turns his gaze sideways and smirks creepily.

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

"Who cares about that? Words are just showing off, or flamboyant curtains for inconsideration and social stupidity," Setsuna ends up spitting out, silently thanking Kira for using larger vocabulary around him.

As for what dismissal did to the blond's emotions, he could only respond with, "I don't bother feeling any of that. I just know you don't get a right to tell me when to leave. That's my place. And that's all there is to it."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"Very small words," the Master repeated boredly. After all, compared to his native language most English words were ridiculously simple.

The Master isn't paying any attention after that –tomorrow I think I'll set off the fire alarm on the Valiant and wake everyone up early...– until there's silence again. He glances back at the boy. "Did you say something?"

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

Setsuna just fumed, until the Master asked him if he had said anything, to which he replied, "Yeah. Fuck off!" giving his middle finger out. He had a bad habit of doing that lately.... What was with this recent arrivals grating on his nerves? Not that Setsuna would ever consider the fault belonged to his short temper. Oh no, never.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Unlike the Doctor, the Master is well aware of what that gesture –it came from watching too many American movies– means. Unfortunately for Setsuna, not being raised with the implication of such a gesture meant that the Master had very little reaction to it being proferred in his direction.

Instead he pretends to think for a few moments. "No, I'm fairly certain that you said more than that, you did seem to go on longer." He laughs suddenly, all pretense of airheaded-ness vanishing, replaced by giddy delight. "I'm sorry, it's just too amusing. You just let it go on and on and never get anywhere. You must love being pointlessly angry."

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

While this routine was much more subtle, much more refined, much less obvious, after dealing with enough jerks that delighted in toying with his anger Setsuna's one-tracked mind finally expanded beyond what was irritating him to recognize the signs and realized something.

Whether he was wrong or not, most of Setsuna's anger was forced on a back burner while he bluntly told the Master, "Oh, I get it. You're one of those antagonizing bastards that gets his jollies off of pissing people off."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"Enjoyment has nothing-" –everything– "-to do with it; when the mark is that easy it's my job to continue," the Master informs him, eyes alight. "I thought you knew, you went along so well with it, especially after that challenge at the beginning." He wipes what could be tears –but aren't– away from his eyes –pantomime could do some people a world of good... not him... other people...– and shrugs. "Well, glad you were such a good sport about it, it entertained me immensely." He could be ever so friendly when he wanted to be.

((Doctor-mun would like to know if at some point in this conversation she can run interrupt and get appropriately shocked over the Master. XD So I thought I would, you know, ask.))

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

Setsuna watches the pantomime routine without a trace of amusement. He certainly wasn't someone's little pawn to play with. The thought this man was so manipulative just seems to enrage him, although he's forcing control over his urges now, not wanting to be toyed with any longer.

When the Master is done speaking, Setsuna hisses out, "I certainly didn't do it for you."

[[Of course! Whenever she likes. XD You two are making me want to watch this series SO BAD.]]

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"Well, of course you didn't!" the Master exclaims. "If you had you'd be a court jester or something equally humiliating." Oh, he was nothing if not manipulative. –and homicidal and cunning and always one step ahead– "But doing it for yourself didn't prove to be very rewarding, either way. Shame." Under all those layers there was frequently a real comment being made, but when someone fixed you with an expression that cartoonish it could be difficult to suss it out.

((Awesome! She'll come in after this post. :D Also, that makes us unbelievably happy; spreading fandom makes us feel like Santa and the Easter Bunny combined. XD))

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor knows the Master is there before he hears his voice.

He’s hooked up the TARDIS via an interior-exterior auditory link so that he’ll hear any announcements or music played over the park’s systems –even if he’s deep in some forgotten side-room working on climate circuits– anywhere in the ship. He’s almost to the consol room by the time he hears the Master speak.

And he halts, there, in the middle of a corridor and he can’t breathe because –he’s thinking ‘give me this. give me this day, just once,’ which is hurt and twisted and wrong he knows but– it’s that new-familiar voice with those old-familiar words, and then he’s running, and it’s a long way from Toon Town to the gates and – the TARDIS would have been faster, but he’s not bringing her back so close to the Master, not yet, and– then he’s there, and he stops again, and stares.

He stands there –as he once stood on a landing strip, thinking himself so clever, so invisible– until that new-familiar face turns towards him.

And then he forgets –himself, everything– and throws himself on the other Time Lord in a death-grip of a hug.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

He is all ready to hear another tantrum from the boy when that presence that he always feels at the edge of his consciousness in recent days –from where it's kept in that little doghouse by the stairs, all broken and lost– throws itself into sharp relief, refocuses and sings too brightly, not the feel of a man defeated the way it should be -

–oncoming storm, listen to the flowers whisper it, here it comes–

The Master feels those eyes on him, knows they're shining and can't understand why, wants to ask but can't because that's admitting defeat right there, is about to bark an order or make a mockery of him, regain some balance, until suddenly he's having trouble breathing and he's forced to ask the question:

-why would he have a dream where the Doctor was hugging him?

There is no sense in this at all, not even a pathetic one, but his spine is cracking and realigning under the pressure and there's nothing for it. He brings up his hands, shoving at the Doctor's ribcage as he manages to choke out, "Blue... is not your colour."

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

The kid finds himself speechless, and just watches, eyes round. Why anyone would want to hug this obnoxious guy is beyond him, which is why he's glad it's not him doing it and the Doctor making an idiot of himself. He knew that guy was a bit too weird.

It takes sometime, but after the Doctor gets shoved away, Setsuna manages to ask the Doctor, "You know him? And why did you hug him?"

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor’s eyes are squeezed closed as tightly as his arms are wrapped around the Master, and in that moment he can’t even think, –which is quite something, considering– because he can feel that dual heartbeat against his own chest and because the Master is exasperated with him.

“What do you mean it’s not my color?” he asks in a voice that’s a little too high and a little too fast, even for him, and lets go reluctantly. “I think it’s a perfect color, and look! It even has maroon pinstripes.” He points to his shoulder, turning so the Master can see. “I thought that was brilliant, when I saw it in the shop, blue and maroon, snazzy…” Actually it was Rose who had told him he looked good in blue, and she was the reason –and he had never had a chance to show it off to her– he had bought the suit.

But Setsuna –oh, Setsuna’s there– is asking him a question too so he turns and says, as though it were completely obvious; –of all the people in the Universe–

“Of course I know him! He’s the Master.” And he has to take a breath then, because he finally realizes– “I hugged him because… because…” he flounders suddenly, and Rassilon help him he is going to cry.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

And there are those eyes, all crazy-sparkling –and panicked, why panicked– and at least he's letting go because the Master had been very close to slamming a foot down on those Converse-covered toes just to pry him off.

The Doctor's babbling on now just like he had before, but without the fear, the urgency, the worry. Going on about his suit and his pinstripes, and begging –for approval, acceptance, something shiny– with that ridiculous smile; honestly, there had been a reason he had put the puppy in a doghouse, though no one seemed to find it as funny as he did....

Rassilon help him, is the Doctor going to cry?

He steps in when the words jumble in the other's throat. "Because he's a right soft-headed imbecile and-" without pausing to note the new thought, simply turning on the blue suit "-shouldn't you look about, oh, a hundred-fifty plus years old right now? I don't recall letting you out of the kennel, Gramps."

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor sighs and the tears stay in his eyes and off his cheeks as he gives the Master a very small smile.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he murmurs softly. “What day is it for you, Master?”

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master rolls his eyes. "My un-birthday, of course. I do hope you baked me a cake? No?" The Doctor appears to want a real answer to –what kind of dream game is this?– his question. "I have lorded over your precious Earth and all its inhabitants for... hm, three-hundred and twenty-two days. And nights, and I assume you have somewhere to go with that? Do dazzle me with another magic trick of yours."

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

With this insanity unfolding before him -- not sure what to think of the Doctor and his reaction to the Master -- Setsuna decides it's time he fled the scene. At least, that makes the most sense for the moment.

"I'll...leave you two be, then," he says as a parting, then starts to head off, shaking his head as he goes.

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

Three hundred and twenty-two days. So near the end. Only forty-three short little Earth days left. –He thinks of how long they felt at the time, and doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse.– The Doctor forces the dying smile to stay on his face.

“It’s been three hundred and sixty eight for me,” he tells the other gently. “I’m from your future, Master.”

Setsuna is saying something about leaving them be. –and the Doctor thinks in some part of his mind that he’s been rude again and he flounders–

“Oh, I, uh… I’m sorry, Setsuna, terribly rude of me, it’s just, the Master and I… well, you see we... we didn’t… part… on the best of terms. And I…”

The half-hearted attempt at asking him to stay might be more convincing if he could tear his gaze away from the Master’s face.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

He's about to make the now-so-old quip about how he loves his name falling from the Doctor's lips –because it's so important that their roles be laid out, that he be paid his due and given his respect after all the crushing defeats he's had to endure across countless centuries and planets– because it's funny humiliating him when there are -

Future. No.

Three sixty-eight. Three days after his paradox should come to fruition. Why was his own mind telling him this? Why did the Doctor's presence feel too vivid –too close to mending– the way it shouldn't in a dream?

Why was the Doctor looking at him as though he had –discovered a planet or a stream flecked with gold– to keep staring to be sure he wouldn't vanish? "Part," he repeats coldly, squaring off toe to toe, his eyes a cocktail mix of confusion and violence. "I think you have some explaining to do."

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

"Heh," was all that parted from Setsuna at the Master's words. He wasn't really sure, and couldn't place it, but Setsuna knew there was a strange connection or closeness that his presence was imposing on, even if they were ignoring him.

Quite the contrary to what the Doctor thought, Setsuna didn't find him rude in the slightest, just occupied, and with good reason. He didn't want anyone to try to convince him to stay, so Setsuna only turned back around to shake his head at the Doctor and offer him a warm smile. "You're not rude. Don't fret about it. And no use being sorry either. This ain't something I should be present for. You two just catch up."

But...just in case, the kid didn't leave the entrance area, he walked far away enough he wouldn't be able to hear them talk and leaned against a wall. Ever vigilant and ready in case this reunion turned sour at any point.

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor gives the Master a very small smile and –it’s not sad, not quite, as– he murmurs;

“You don’t really think I’m going to tell you your own future, Master.”

He thinks maybe he wants to thank Setsuna, but he settles for a grateful smile in the boy’s direction –see, he knew they’d be friends– before turning his full attention back to the other Time Lord. –the other, just for a little while, a little stolen time–

“Whatever this is,” he tells the other gently. “It’s just a moment, you know? A pause in the game. Sooner or later it’ll go back to how it was, and then…” –and he knows that he will lose this.–

His attention wanders down to their feet, the Master’s shiny black shoes and his own battered red –look Rose, I match– converses. He feels the power of the Master’s eyes on his face.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

He pulls the words apart and shuffles them back together the way a codebreaker might, looking for an anagram, a sequence, a key, something or anything that made sense of the world now that it was -

–still, silent and scrambled, how the hell had he not realized it before–

But it was only a dream. Just a –deep, deep breaths– stupid dream. Someone playing an unimaginative trick. Or a –pause in the game...–.... He trails the Doctor's gaze and finds his eyes on their –red trainers with maroon suit stripes, and you still don't match, you old fool– shoes.

He's about to get very, very angry, it's right there lurking in the corners, behind his ear like a bad magician's trick. "You're blathering and it is not rearranging my calm to your benefit."

[a-lonely-god.livejournal.com]

The Doctor frowns.

“I’m not blathering,” he protests. “Look, I don’t know where or how this place is- I mean, I was sort of hoping, now that you’re here…” –And the Master will scoff, he’s sure, but he knows that the other won’t be able to resist the allure of a mind that follows the same patterns and logics as his own any more than the Doctor can–

“Couldn’t we have some sort of truce?” he ventures. “Just for” –here– “now?”

[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?”