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*))

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[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.

[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]

It is almost as if his own brain is quizzing him –like back at home, control tests, only home isn't there anymore, the Doctor saw to that– and the feeling is irritating. But honestly, killing someone in your dreams seems rather pointless. He might get some amusement from this one yet since he seemed to think he had an idea of what was going on.

"Why would they punish killing?" he asks reasonably and it nearly seems like he's being serious for a change. "It's a perfectly natural aspect of nature. Oh, and you are aware that when you speak of a place as though it has a will of its own it makes you sound crazy." That comment is accompanied by an eye roll that is all too reminiscent of the Cat.

[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]

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.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master is not really listening –yes I am–. Okay, he is, but it's not registering in the same place it would register for a human. It's like soaking up background noise. The boy really isn't all that interesting. He's just yammers on and on, and that makes the Master less inclined to take him seriously. Which was just as well, since he still thinks he's dreaming.

"It's a funny sort of game to play with yourself," he says after a moment, as though he is responding to an entirely different set of information –but he isn't–. "Play God. Let something play Him for you. Nice way to lift the burden off your shoulders." Perhaps that was what the boy had meant when he referred to the S&M brothel. That made much more sense.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

Oh, but he knows –always, eternally, because manipulation is the same no matter what species you're communicating with– exactly what he is saying. Things just got fun again. "Rather touchy, aren't we?" His eyebrows go up in a disconcerted manner. "You should talk to someone about that anger problem." He shrugs. "And someone is always playing God, you know. Even with good intentions. Someone has to." –Because you always know what's best for them, don't you, Doctor?–

[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]

He pauses on that one. "Good question. I'm inclined to think..." And he stands there muttering to himself for a moment, eyes flicking about, like he's doing some very complicated math in his head. "...yes. Of course, it depends a bit on how you're thinking of God." –raw power of Time and Space, and it lights up right in front of your eyes, and you can see it with a clarity that no one else possesses– "Why? You're not jealous, are you, because I can't get you an appointment."

[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.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

And baiting was something that Master had always been good at. Exceedingly so. Baiting someone in a dream was almost as enjoyable as baiting them in realtime, so he sees no reason to stop. "I'm sorry, your perception of the infinite is a bit narrow," he tsks. "But if it makes you happy to think that I have no idea what you're talking about, continue by all means. Tell me about your God-God and His terrible unfairness."

He pulls a paper bag from his –depthless– pocket and reaches into it for something small and bright. "Jelly baby?" He holds the bag out harmlessly.

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."

[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."

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

"You didn't have to say it," the Master tells him –really, it's pathetic the way they always give everything away– blandly. "It's all over your sad, sad face."

At the claims to having 'invented that trick' the Master can only chuckle aloud. Anyone claiming to have invented any sort of behavior generally amused him. Simply coming from his planet voided –it's the universe, it's older and broader than your teensy mind can contain, you didn't invent anything– thoughts like that. "I wanted to know something from you? How did you come to that fine conclusion?" Hilarious. Truly.

[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.

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

The Master feigns affrontedness at the boy's words about the Cat. "And how would you know that? I doubt you have any idea what it's saying-" he lowers his voice to a stage whisper, "-you don't seem to have the mind for it."

As for his name, he did earn it. It was one of the few things –years and years of tedious study and lecturing and daydreaming in the citadel– he had bothered to earn in his life. But it wasn't as though the child's opinion mattered on it. Even if he had existed, it would have made no difference. "Well, if that's as original as you can get, I suppose you can leave." And he fingerwaves at Setsuna this time.

*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."

[swordandchalice.livejournal.com]

Setsuna's mouth twitches a bit as he sputters out, "I don't need a mind for anything to know the Cat doesn't give out quests." Of course, it's not like Setsuna knew that for certain. That sort of thing was no longer the point.

The fingerwave makes Setsuna's eyes narrow and shout out, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll leave when I want to. You're no one to dismiss me like that."

[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]

Not a mind reader, no, not exactly –have to be closer to the subject for that–. But honestly; everyone who was ever betrayed liked to think that they were the first or that it was worse for them. It left a mark embedded –it never stops, never does– in a person's features. This kid overflowed with it.

That didn't make his pain more important. It just made it more important to him.

And to top it all off, this one had delusions of Satan-hood. Which, even if there were the slightest chance –and their wasn't– that it could be true, didn't change the fact that- "Well, you got some angels at least. Good for you." Why would his mind be conjuring up the Dark Prince, anyway? And more importantly, why this version of him? There was a severe lackage of horns and a pointed tale. It was too Milton for his liking.

[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?"

[hear-the-drums.livejournal.com]

It was a little of both, if he were honest. Bait because it's funny, humor because it was ever-so-interesting to see where that lead.

This one just wouldn't see good fortune if you smacked him in the mouth with it. Cast out with a league of minions is far different from cast out alone. Or loneliness in general. –Ask the man in the blue box, he'll tell you...–

"Time Lord," he answers simply. No drumroll there.

[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.