Fic: There Was a Master in a Game (11/25)
Fic: There Was a Master in a Game (11/25)
Title: There Was a Master in a Game
Author: azriona
Characters: The Master mostly. This week's guest star is Lynda Moss.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: Everything. The majority takes place after The End of Time, but there are references to events through the end of Season Five.
Betas: runriggers and earlgreytea68
Summary: Gallifrey wasn’t entirely lost when it went back into the Time Lock; it just got stuck. The Master wants out. Isn’t he lucky that the Doctor left him a way?
Chapters One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten
Chapter Eleven: Diagonal Right
“So long, suckers,” said the Master cheerfully to the other Time Lords. “It’s only a matter of - heh - Time!”
“Bingo!” called out Romana, equally as cheerful, and the other Time Lords groaned.
“Can we stop playing now?” asked one of them. “She keeps winning.”
“I’m rubbish at poker,” said Romana helpfully.
“You said you were rubbish at Bingo!”
“It’s like you don’t even want to get out of the Time Lock,” said the Master wonderingly, but if anyone replied (and he doubted it), he was no longer there to hear it.
*
“Who knew?” said Lynda. She hadn’t been properly “sweet” since she was twelve, not that she let that on to anyone else. And anyway, the man in the sweatshirt was growing increasingly bothersome, so anything she could do to antagonize him was all the better. When she looked over her shoulder for confirmation of his further annoyance, he was gone.
Time, however, lurched straight ahead, and with the onslaught of noise and pigeons taking wing, Lynda raced for the last ray gun, her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenaline back in her bloodstream.
“Bollocks,” she muttered, and it took all of her concentration to stop her hands from shaking. Blue - no, green - no, blue was right. No, blue was on the left. What was wrong with her?
“Oh, bloody hell, not you again,” groaned a now-familiar voice from behind her. Lynda’s hand slipped; she managed to reconnect the wires in the nick of time.
“Would you stop surprising me like that,” she hissed. “You nearly made me set the stupid gun off.”
“Yeah, tragedy,” said the Master, not terribly convinced. “I was hoping it wasn’t going to be you.”
“Should have picked a different rooftop,” replied Lynda shortly. “Could you shut up? I’m trying to save the world from annihilation here.”
“Not your job,” said the Master absently, and he wandered over to the rooftop edge. Lynda wanted desperately to throw something at his head, or maybe just ignore him, but found she could do neither.
“What?”
“The Doctor - he’s the one who saves the world,” continued the Master. “But you don’t know him. Or you say you don’t know him. Not that I believe you, of course - there’s something distinctly fishy going on here, and it’s his doing, and you’re part of it, and being a fairly intelligent - no, sorry, the proper term is genius - I’ve come to the conclusion that you are, indeed, acquainted with the Doctor and thus when you say you don’t know him, you’re lying.”
Lynda’s mouth dropped open. “Tell me you stopped time.”
The Master lifted his little golden rod and clicked.
Time. Stopped.
“Ow,” said Lynda as her skin began to prickle. Her hair, which had been waving in the breeze, stopped mid-wave, and Lynda brushed it back down with the flat of her hand.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Hazard of being human.”
“Thanks,” said Lynda awkwardly, and went back to her connections. It was hard to concentrate; she wondered if the Master was going to leap off the edge of the roof or not, and if he did, if she’d care.
“So,” said the Master, obviously trying to be nice, and even more obviously hating every minute of it, “tell me about yourself.”
“What?”
“Tell me. About. Yourself.” The Master turned to her now; his face was making strange contortions, as if he’d just eaten something particularly sour.
“Are you trying to smile?”
“No,” said the Master, still making the contortions. “I am smiling.”
“No, not really,” said Lynda. “Look, I appreciate the friendliness, but I’ve got some work to do here-“
“I froze time for you,” the Master pointed out. “You’re not exactly in a rush.”
Lynda sighed. “Can I just finish disabling this?”
The Master pulled his golden stick out again, and pointed it at the ray gun. There was a whirring noise, followed by a large bang. A puff of smoke rose from the ray gun. Lynda fell back to the gravel, skidding just a bit.
“There,” he said, pocketing his golden stick again. “Disabled. As you were saying…”
Lynda stared at the ray gun. “What did you do?”
“Disabled the ray gun,” said the Master, surprised. “Just - faster.”
“You destroyed it!” she shrieked.
“That’s what you wanted!” the Master yelled back.
“Not to destroy it, just to disable it! Destroy it and Torchwood will know someone was tampering!”
“Oh, come off it,” scoffed the Master. “Like they wouldn’t have figured the same thing out eventually.”
Lynda screamed in frustration, and slammed the control panel door closed. It bounced back open again, but considering the ray gun was still smoking (and now letting off a distinctly acrid smell), Lynda couldn’t be bothered to close it again properly. Instead, she marched away from the Master and towards the door.
“Where are you going?” he called out.
“Home!”
“You can’t go home, I need your help!”
“No!”
“You can’t leave me here!”
“Watch me!”
“You know, I’m not killing you, and that’s really unusual for me, so the least you could do is stop and listen.”
Lynda let out a puff of angry air, and turned on her heel to face him. She crossed her arms and glared, waiting.
The Master didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Lynda thought he might be at a loss for words - not that she cared, considering she didn’t want to really listen to him anyway, but the sooner he started, the sooner she could go home.
“So,” he said finally, “what are your hobbies?”
Lynda blinked. “Are you coming on to me? Because you’re really bad at it.”
“I am not coming on to you!” sputtered the Master.
“I mean, you show up and moan about how you didn’t want to see me, and then you stop time and destroy the ray gun, and now you’re asking about my hobbies,” said Lynda. “Mixed messages, you know.”
“As if I’d try to flirt with a human!” shrieked the Master.
“See, there you go again with the insults. I guess you’re going to try to kiss me next.”
The Master made a choked cry.
“I’ve got a boyfriend,” Lynda informed him. “He’s not you.”
“I should hope not,” said the Master. “Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you.”
As soon as the words were spoken, the Master clamped his hands over his mouth. Lynda tried not to grin.
“He probably doesn’t,” Lynda said. “But he’s kind of waiting for me to get back, and I don’t know if you stopping time here stopped time there, and if it didn’t, I’m way overdue, so he’ll be worried.”
“Doesn’t trust you, does he?”
“Not much,” Lynda admitted. “But I don’t trust him either, so it works out.”
“He’s not the Doctor, is he?” asked the Master suspiciously, and Lynda let out a peal of laughter. “Well?”
Lynda held up her hand, trying to stop her laughter. “Sorry - sorry. Just…” She let out another howl of laughter, and bent over double.
“You know, you’re not the only one who has places to be and worlds to destroy,” snapped the Master. “Can we please stay on topic so that we can both get out of here?”
“You’re the one veering off topic,” giggled Lynda.
“Hobbies,” snapped the Master. He pulled a roll of papers out from his back pocket. “Spill. Now.”
“Grand Theft Spaceport,” replied Lynda, choking down the last of her giggles. “You know, the computer game, not the actual event.”
“Figures,” muttered the Master, scribbling it down. “Jack Harkness.”
Lynda blinked. “Didn’t you ask me about him before?”
“Might have. What did you answer?”
“Never heard of the guy,” Lynda lied, and the Master looked up.
“Now, I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You’re standing atop Torchwood Tower in the 21st century, and you’re telling me you didn’t at least bother to do some minor research before you arrived?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lynda.
“Jack Harkness is in charge of Torchwood Cardiff in the early part of the 21st century.”
Lynda couldn’t help it; her mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible.”
The Master didn’t miss a trick. “Oh? And why is that?”
Lynda swallowed. “I mean. Irrelevant. This? Is Torchwood London.” She pointed down.
The Master mimicked her, using his papers to point. “This? Is still Torchwood. And you’re changing the subject.”
“I am not.”
“Then why do you think it’s so impossible for Jack Harkness to be heading Torchwood Cardiff in the 21st century?”
“Because….because…” Lynda racked her brain.
“I’m waiting!” sang the Master.
“I’d know if he was!” she yelled.
“You didn’t even do the research!” the Master yelled back.
“It wasn’t relevant!”
“You’re telling me you think you get to pick and choose what parts of history are relevant and what aren’t?”
“Well - yeah.”
The Master groaned. “Humans - this is how you’ll manage to destroy the world without any assistance from yours truly, you know.”
“I see we’re back to insults now,” observed Lynda. “Plus I think I heard some egotistical notes there, too. Very smooth.”
“You have no idea how much I’d rather just blow up the Sycorax ship and be done with it,” said the Master icily. “Or better yet, activate one of the ray guns to fire at it, so that they’d have good reason to turn around and turn this planet into ash.”
“Except you’re standing on it,” said Lynda.
“It’d be worth it.”
“So go ahead,” said Lynda calmly.
The Master stilled. “Pardon?”
“Go on,” said Lynda. “If you’re going to destroy the planet, I suppose now’s as good a time as any.”
“I could,” said the Master, sounding almost defensive.
“Oh, sure,” said Lynda, not believing him for a moment.
“I have a history,” the Master warned her. “You’ve probably read about some of it.”
“Sorry, wasn’t pertinent to my mission,” said Lynda with a shrug.
“I am evil,” insisted the Master.
“So far, you’re just talk,” said Lynda.
The Master’s mouth dropped open. “Talk? Talk?!?!”
“That’s all I’ve seen, yeah. Well, plus you stopped time so that I could disable all the ray guns. And you’ve been chatting me up. And you actually destroyed one of the ray guns, too - not my original intention, but it was well-meant. I’m kind of doubting your evil status here.”
The Master made a noise. It did not sound like a pleased noise at all.
“If I didn’t know better,” mused Lynda, “I’d say you were trying to be…well…good.”
The Master whipped out the golden rod. “I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND, GIRL.”
“Or you could fire a ray gun,” said Lynda sweetly, not worried a bit.
“I destroyed a ray gun! And you didn’t want them destroyed!” howled the Master. “How is that not evil?”
“Well, you destroyed it,” said Lynda. “I only disabled mine. They could be made operational again pretty quick, really. Yours, though - it’ll take weeks of work to get it back to full operating condition. I mean, that kind of makes me more evil than you, doesn’t it? Since the ray guns are bad and all.”
“You are not more evil than I am!” shouted the Master.
“If you say so,” said Lynda gently.
The Master raised the golden rod again. His hand was shaking.
“You know, the amount you play with that thing,” said Lynda thoughtfully. “It’s almost like you’re compensating for something.”
The Master turned purple, and then wailed in fury. “I can’t kill you, you’re the center square!”
He disappeared. Lynda could almost make out the smoke from where his head had nearly exploded.
She sighed, and sat down on the nearest section of wall to wait. She didn’t think she’d have to wait very long.
*
The Time Lords were setting up the next game when the Master popped back into the Control Room. There were cards involved, but beyond that, the Master didn’t pay much attention.
“I AM SO EVIL,” he yelled at them.
“Of course you are,” said Romana soothingly. “Do you want to play Apples to Apples with us?”
“NO,” howled the Master.
“Suit yourself,” said Romana.
The Master had been about to kick the wall, but left his foot hanging in midair behind him. “You know,” he said, suddenly a great deal calmer and much more contemplative, “I think I will.”
He disappeared again, and this time, Romana watched him go with a worried expression, wondering just what she’d said.
Chapter Twelve
Title: There Was a Master in a Game
Author: azriona
Characters: The Master mostly. This week's guest star is Lynda Moss.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: Everything. The majority takes place after The End of Time, but there are references to events through the end of Season Five.
Betas: runriggers and earlgreytea68
Summary: Gallifrey wasn’t entirely lost when it went back into the Time Lock; it just got stuck. The Master wants out. Isn’t he lucky that the Doctor left him a way?
Chapters One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten
Chapter Eleven: Diagonal Right
“So long, suckers,” said the Master cheerfully to the other Time Lords. “It’s only a matter of - heh - Time!”
“Bingo!” called out Romana, equally as cheerful, and the other Time Lords groaned.
“Can we stop playing now?” asked one of them. “She keeps winning.”
“I’m rubbish at poker,” said Romana helpfully.
“You said you were rubbish at Bingo!”
“It’s like you don’t even want to get out of the Time Lock,” said the Master wonderingly, but if anyone replied (and he doubted it), he was no longer there to hear it.
*
“Who knew?” said Lynda. She hadn’t been properly “sweet” since she was twelve, not that she let that on to anyone else. And anyway, the man in the sweatshirt was growing increasingly bothersome, so anything she could do to antagonize him was all the better. When she looked over her shoulder for confirmation of his further annoyance, he was gone.
Time, however, lurched straight ahead, and with the onslaught of noise and pigeons taking wing, Lynda raced for the last ray gun, her heart pounding in her chest, the adrenaline back in her bloodstream.
“Bollocks,” she muttered, and it took all of her concentration to stop her hands from shaking. Blue - no, green - no, blue was right. No, blue was on the left. What was wrong with her?
“Oh, bloody hell, not you again,” groaned a now-familiar voice from behind her. Lynda’s hand slipped; she managed to reconnect the wires in the nick of time.
“Would you stop surprising me like that,” she hissed. “You nearly made me set the stupid gun off.”
“Yeah, tragedy,” said the Master, not terribly convinced. “I was hoping it wasn’t going to be you.”
“Should have picked a different rooftop,” replied Lynda shortly. “Could you shut up? I’m trying to save the world from annihilation here.”
“Not your job,” said the Master absently, and he wandered over to the rooftop edge. Lynda wanted desperately to throw something at his head, or maybe just ignore him, but found she could do neither.
“What?”
“The Doctor - he’s the one who saves the world,” continued the Master. “But you don’t know him. Or you say you don’t know him. Not that I believe you, of course - there’s something distinctly fishy going on here, and it’s his doing, and you’re part of it, and being a fairly intelligent - no, sorry, the proper term is genius - I’ve come to the conclusion that you are, indeed, acquainted with the Doctor and thus when you say you don’t know him, you’re lying.”
Lynda’s mouth dropped open. “Tell me you stopped time.”
The Master lifted his little golden rod and clicked.
Time. Stopped.
“Ow,” said Lynda as her skin began to prickle. Her hair, which had been waving in the breeze, stopped mid-wave, and Lynda brushed it back down with the flat of her hand.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Hazard of being human.”
“Thanks,” said Lynda awkwardly, and went back to her connections. It was hard to concentrate; she wondered if the Master was going to leap off the edge of the roof or not, and if he did, if she’d care.
“So,” said the Master, obviously trying to be nice, and even more obviously hating every minute of it, “tell me about yourself.”
“What?”
“Tell me. About. Yourself.” The Master turned to her now; his face was making strange contortions, as if he’d just eaten something particularly sour.
“Are you trying to smile?”
“No,” said the Master, still making the contortions. “I am smiling.”
“No, not really,” said Lynda. “Look, I appreciate the friendliness, but I’ve got some work to do here-“
“I froze time for you,” the Master pointed out. “You’re not exactly in a rush.”
Lynda sighed. “Can I just finish disabling this?”
The Master pulled his golden stick out again, and pointed it at the ray gun. There was a whirring noise, followed by a large bang. A puff of smoke rose from the ray gun. Lynda fell back to the gravel, skidding just a bit.
“There,” he said, pocketing his golden stick again. “Disabled. As you were saying…”
Lynda stared at the ray gun. “What did you do?”
“Disabled the ray gun,” said the Master, surprised. “Just - faster.”
“You destroyed it!” she shrieked.
“That’s what you wanted!” the Master yelled back.
“Not to destroy it, just to disable it! Destroy it and Torchwood will know someone was tampering!”
“Oh, come off it,” scoffed the Master. “Like they wouldn’t have figured the same thing out eventually.”
Lynda screamed in frustration, and slammed the control panel door closed. It bounced back open again, but considering the ray gun was still smoking (and now letting off a distinctly acrid smell), Lynda couldn’t be bothered to close it again properly. Instead, she marched away from the Master and towards the door.
“Where are you going?” he called out.
“Home!”
“You can’t go home, I need your help!”
“No!”
“You can’t leave me here!”
“Watch me!”
“You know, I’m not killing you, and that’s really unusual for me, so the least you could do is stop and listen.”
Lynda let out a puff of angry air, and turned on her heel to face him. She crossed her arms and glared, waiting.
The Master didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Lynda thought he might be at a loss for words - not that she cared, considering she didn’t want to really listen to him anyway, but the sooner he started, the sooner she could go home.
“So,” he said finally, “what are your hobbies?”
Lynda blinked. “Are you coming on to me? Because you’re really bad at it.”
“I am not coming on to you!” sputtered the Master.
“I mean, you show up and moan about how you didn’t want to see me, and then you stop time and destroy the ray gun, and now you’re asking about my hobbies,” said Lynda. “Mixed messages, you know.”
“As if I’d try to flirt with a human!” shrieked the Master.
“See, there you go again with the insults. I guess you’re going to try to kiss me next.”
The Master made a choked cry.
“I’ve got a boyfriend,” Lynda informed him. “He’s not you.”
“I should hope not,” said the Master. “Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you.”
As soon as the words were spoken, the Master clamped his hands over his mouth. Lynda tried not to grin.
“He probably doesn’t,” Lynda said. “But he’s kind of waiting for me to get back, and I don’t know if you stopping time here stopped time there, and if it didn’t, I’m way overdue, so he’ll be worried.”
“Doesn’t trust you, does he?”
“Not much,” Lynda admitted. “But I don’t trust him either, so it works out.”
“He’s not the Doctor, is he?” asked the Master suspiciously, and Lynda let out a peal of laughter. “Well?”
Lynda held up her hand, trying to stop her laughter. “Sorry - sorry. Just…” She let out another howl of laughter, and bent over double.
“You know, you’re not the only one who has places to be and worlds to destroy,” snapped the Master. “Can we please stay on topic so that we can both get out of here?”
“You’re the one veering off topic,” giggled Lynda.
“Hobbies,” snapped the Master. He pulled a roll of papers out from his back pocket. “Spill. Now.”
“Grand Theft Spaceport,” replied Lynda, choking down the last of her giggles. “You know, the computer game, not the actual event.”
“Figures,” muttered the Master, scribbling it down. “Jack Harkness.”
Lynda blinked. “Didn’t you ask me about him before?”
“Might have. What did you answer?”
“Never heard of the guy,” Lynda lied, and the Master looked up.
“Now, I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You’re standing atop Torchwood Tower in the 21st century, and you’re telling me you didn’t at least bother to do some minor research before you arrived?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lynda.
“Jack Harkness is in charge of Torchwood Cardiff in the early part of the 21st century.”
Lynda couldn’t help it; her mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible.”
The Master didn’t miss a trick. “Oh? And why is that?”
Lynda swallowed. “I mean. Irrelevant. This? Is Torchwood London.” She pointed down.
The Master mimicked her, using his papers to point. “This? Is still Torchwood. And you’re changing the subject.”
“I am not.”
“Then why do you think it’s so impossible for Jack Harkness to be heading Torchwood Cardiff in the 21st century?”
“Because….because…” Lynda racked her brain.
“I’m waiting!” sang the Master.
“I’d know if he was!” she yelled.
“You didn’t even do the research!” the Master yelled back.
“It wasn’t relevant!”
“You’re telling me you think you get to pick and choose what parts of history are relevant and what aren’t?”
“Well - yeah.”
The Master groaned. “Humans - this is how you’ll manage to destroy the world without any assistance from yours truly, you know.”
“I see we’re back to insults now,” observed Lynda. “Plus I think I heard some egotistical notes there, too. Very smooth.”
“You have no idea how much I’d rather just blow up the Sycorax ship and be done with it,” said the Master icily. “Or better yet, activate one of the ray guns to fire at it, so that they’d have good reason to turn around and turn this planet into ash.”
“Except you’re standing on it,” said Lynda.
“It’d be worth it.”
“So go ahead,” said Lynda calmly.
The Master stilled. “Pardon?”
“Go on,” said Lynda. “If you’re going to destroy the planet, I suppose now’s as good a time as any.”
“I could,” said the Master, sounding almost defensive.
“Oh, sure,” said Lynda, not believing him for a moment.
“I have a history,” the Master warned her. “You’ve probably read about some of it.”
“Sorry, wasn’t pertinent to my mission,” said Lynda with a shrug.
“I am evil,” insisted the Master.
“So far, you’re just talk,” said Lynda.
The Master’s mouth dropped open. “Talk? Talk?!?!”
“That’s all I’ve seen, yeah. Well, plus you stopped time so that I could disable all the ray guns. And you’ve been chatting me up. And you actually destroyed one of the ray guns, too - not my original intention, but it was well-meant. I’m kind of doubting your evil status here.”
The Master made a noise. It did not sound like a pleased noise at all.
“If I didn’t know better,” mused Lynda, “I’d say you were trying to be…well…good.”
The Master whipped out the golden rod. “I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND, GIRL.”
“Or you could fire a ray gun,” said Lynda sweetly, not worried a bit.
“I destroyed a ray gun! And you didn’t want them destroyed!” howled the Master. “How is that not evil?”
“Well, you destroyed it,” said Lynda. “I only disabled mine. They could be made operational again pretty quick, really. Yours, though - it’ll take weeks of work to get it back to full operating condition. I mean, that kind of makes me more evil than you, doesn’t it? Since the ray guns are bad and all.”
“You are not more evil than I am!” shouted the Master.
“If you say so,” said Lynda gently.
The Master raised the golden rod again. His hand was shaking.
“You know, the amount you play with that thing,” said Lynda thoughtfully. “It’s almost like you’re compensating for something.”
The Master turned purple, and then wailed in fury. “I can’t kill you, you’re the center square!”
He disappeared. Lynda could almost make out the smoke from where his head had nearly exploded.
She sighed, and sat down on the nearest section of wall to wait. She didn’t think she’d have to wait very long.
*
The Time Lords were setting up the next game when the Master popped back into the Control Room. There were cards involved, but beyond that, the Master didn’t pay much attention.
“I AM SO EVIL,” he yelled at them.
“Of course you are,” said Romana soothingly. “Do you want to play Apples to Apples with us?”
“NO,” howled the Master.
“Suit yourself,” said Romana.
The Master had been about to kick the wall, but left his foot hanging in midair behind him. “You know,” he said, suddenly a great deal calmer and much more contemplative, “I think I will.”
He disappeared again, and this time, Romana watched him go with a worried expression, wondering just what she’d said.
Chapter Twelve