FIC: Thirsting for Moonlight
Community: N/A
Prompt: Needs-a-Hug!Master from this meme
Character(s): The Master
Words: 1,917
In light of Halloween, I have werewolves? LOL IDK. I blame one of my classes, where someone had drawn a werewolf onto one of the desks. It looks pretty cool, despite defacing campus property. Eh, at least it's in pencil?
Anyway, this ends up covering a fair amount of time and it's likely a bit confusing as to how much time that is, buuut whatever... I do plan on (and already have started) writing the Doctor finally showing up to the planet and that might end up being slash, whoops. Heck if I know when I'll finish it, though.
Brought to you by Write or Die. :|
Thirsting for Moonlight
It's complicated. Utterly complicated. This is what he thinks, among thoughts of blood and pain, but those are less important. He's been hurt before, he'll get over it eventually. That doesn't make the cold air any better, or the fact that his blood is on the jaws of a wolfish beast, hovering over him, a thick growl piercing the air.
He eyes the wound on his ankle, where the pant-leg has torn. He shifts slightly and watches the beast as he does so, waiting for it to make any sudden moves. When it doesn't, he continues to slowly wrangle himself out from under it. The beast chuffs and backs away, then raises its muzzle up to the shining moon and howls, low and ominous.
The Master doesn't stop. He makes it to his feet, even as his injured leg buckles slightly, and begins towards the worn down village; maybe there he can find shelter from this creature.
He hears the answer of other howls and he frowns, and amends his previous thinking: shelter from these creatures.
There is no sunlight that reaches this planet, he's quick to realize. It's always cold, frigid. There are two moons, one in the sky when the other is not. Constantly cycling through, constantly plaguing his mind. The first few nights he holes himself up on the second floor of an ashen building, listening to the scraping of claws over cobblestone outside, of howls in the crisp air, of grunts and growls. On his fourth night he finally takes notice to his leg not healing, and that worries him. The bite should have been a mere memory by now.
He graces the outdoors, or tries to. When he opens the front door, a boy in tatters stands before him, tilting his head to the side. Then he turns and runs for another house. The Master follows him; he didn't think anyone besides the wolves were here, and yet it seemed he had been proven wrong. Perhaps the others were hiding, just as he.
"Davenport, Davenport!" the boy calls, ducking under a door frame into the slanted building. He runs into an older man, just as poorly clothed, and spins round to point insistently at the Master. "There's a visitor," the boy whispers.
"Ah. I see that," the man murmurs, looking at the Master from head to toe, then stops to look at the blood crusted ankle and frowns. "When did that happen?"
"A few nights ago. Does it really matter?" He shifts his stance, straightening. "What the hell is going on in this place?"
"Yes, in fact, it does matter. Two cycles? Three?" The man, Davenport, sighs. He pats the boy on the head and then pushes him along. The boy makes a face, but goes. "I will tell you what you want to know," Davenport says to the Master, "but I really must know when you got that bite."
"Four nights ago, alright?"
"So then another day and... I'm sorry. Visitors are never safe here. How did you get here?"
"I don't know. 'Another day' and then what?" he snaps, growing more agitated by the moment.
"You'll change," Davenport quietly replies, hanging his head and leaning away. "It's a disease that has plagued our village for years now. I suppose it was Samuel who got you... He's the village's alpha, see. Not the best of sorts, but then, none of us are very good with visitors here. Look... there isn't anything we can do for you, but I recommend that before the next cycle, you find some place to your own, away from the village. You won't want to change with others around, I'd imagine."
"What are you talking about?" the Master yells, slamming a hand to the door frame. "Change into what? How about taking five seconds to make some sense -" he stumbles back as Davenport pushes him out of, presumably, his home. The Master glares at him.
"Werewolf," is all Davenport says, and then closes the door.
Werewolf, the Master thinks wickedly. He had a knack for getting himself stranded on these sorts of planets, didn't he? He sinks towards the ground, dust wisping up around him. It's a barren land. Nothing survives but the wolves.
He has to wonder if they eat one another, but when his own hunger sets in, he begins to understand. "There is only the moonlight that matters" a child had told him "the moonlight and the beast." He thought the kid had just been a little crazy, because on a planet as desolate as this, who could blame him?
But no. The Master was not that lucky.
He groans, shifting deeper into dust, tightly gripping at the back of his head, feeling the cells of his body shifting; it's an eerie reminder of regeneration. 'Changing' is like death for a Time Lord, he decides. His flesh burns and dances, pulling and stretching in different ways. There's a rumble in his mind amongst the drumming - in fact, it's even louder than them. It raises in volume as he continues to fall further over the edge.
Feral, that is how he describes the motions in his mind. An animalistic nature sweeping over him, uncontrollable and ripping a whine from his jaws. That's where it starts - both at his very core and at his lips, tearing down the foundation of his self and leaving beast in its wake.
He loses track of what happens after. When it is all over he's quivering in a heap of fur, a wolfish whimper escaping him. He doesn't know who or what he is. There's moonlight that satiates his hunger, warms his skin, protects him, heals his wounds. There's still pain in his muscles, but it lessens as he awkwardly moves limbs and scuttles across the ground. There are others in the distance, he picks them up with all his senses. When he hears one howl, and then a second, a third, he answers them with a raw sound of his own - misery seeping into the air.
They all share that same, pitiful emotion.
"I'm going to fix this," he growls, cycles later. "Like hell I'm going to live my life succumbing to some 'beast' that thinks it can 'master' me."
"I hope you have better luck than we have in the past," Davenport replies.
"Of course I will! Do you have any idea who you're talking to? Does 'Time Lord' ring any bells? ...No, I suppose it wouldn't. That's not the point, though. I have the proper mind to sort this matter out, unlike your lot."
He's use to these limbs now, to everything. He skulks through shadows of the village, ignoring any who come to him; he's looking for one wolf in particular. The so called 'alpha' who's started this all, or so Davenport says. He believes the other well enough, as do most of the villagers. And even if he didn't, even if the alpha wasn't the beginning of this disease, the Master would end him anyway.
No one was superior to him.
"I am taking charge of your little ring of canines," he says when he finds the other, moonbathing on a high pile of rubble.
"You cannot."
The Master merely huffs before launching at the other, teeth and claws meeting fur and skin. It may be revenge as well that fuels him, pushing the other down to his back, pinning him against a jagged edge of stone. "I can," he seethes, bearing his teeth, golden eyes wide. Even in this beastly form he hears the drumming. The moonlight cannot dull those. They churn amongst the animal within, mixing and making a strange, fitting concoction for the Master. This is He - Self and Beast combined. "Perhaps you shouldn't have made me this way, if you could not handle the repercussions."
This one, beneath his claws, was the one who had sunk teeth into his ankle upon his arrival. Who had taken a sick pleasure in overpowering a form weaker (as much as the Master hated to admit) than him. They were on 'equal' grounds, except that now the Master was the stronger of the two.
He breaks the other's neck between his jaws, and drags the body back into the village, taking the role of alpha as his own.
Cycles, cycles, cycles... how many cycles has it been now? Far, far too long...
The Master angrily throws the remains of his raggedy jacket to the ground when Davenport finally decides to grace him after several cycles. Where had he decided to go, exploring? The Master turns to glare at him, eyes narrowing when he takes in the other's form. "Why haven't you changed back?" he snaps. He had expected to see a human, not a wolf. What kind of game was this, now? He wasn't in the mood for games!
"I cannot any longer, Alpha," Davenport mumbles, shifting on his haunches. "I have tried, but to no avail."
"You're kidding me..."
"I am not, Alpha."
"Will you stop calling me that already! How much different is 'Master' from 'Alpha'! Have some goddamn respect and call me by my name!" Because that was all the Time Lord ever felt like he had left of himself. He was starving, craving moonlight so bad it hurt, but he deprived himself of it. He was trying to work.
Davenport says nothing and merely watches him.
"I told you!" the Master suddenly snaps, pointing towards Davenport, "I am going to fix this. Don't you dare think I've forgotten after all this time." He draws in deep breaths, feeling the madness boil within. He drops his arm to his side and sways. "It's simple. It has to be simple. It's staring me in the face, I just know it. I just need more time..."
"Yes, Alpha."
"Go away..." the Master groans, clutching his head in both hands. "I need silence to work on this..."
Cycling again and again... can't stop them, just as one can't stop the change... not for long.
He curls in on himself, situated on a stone throne erected in the village's former town hall. He's lost track of time (he stopped counting after the first year), which is hysterical to him, given his origins. Not that he remembers those very well. He doesn't remember a lot of things. His mind and body constantly hunger for the moon, it's like a drug.
He's long given up on finding a cure.
Davenport, his ever-loyal beta, lays nearby, just as lethargic as he.
The Master sleeps, the beast wearing him thin in the back of his mind. He has a few hours before they grow hungry again and have to go through the change. He may be accustomed to the form nowadays, but the process is still as painful as it was in the beginning. It still leaves him a wreck.
When he's in a state of waking, he murmurs tiredly, "Where is the Doctor?" to the cool air. "He should be here. He should have been here..."
"Alpha?" Davenport questions.
"He always finds me... why not now..." the Master continues, still in his in-between state. "...Maybe he could have stopped this. The minds of two Time Lords are better than one..." He then laughs, fully coming around, and now he's almost in hysterics. Davenport whimpers and pads closer, but only hovers there, uncertain. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway. My mind is dried up." He stretches, then settles again, eying the ceiling. "I'm hungry," he says to it dully.
Prompt: Needs-a-Hug!Master from this meme
Character(s): The Master
Words: 1,917
In light of Halloween, I have werewolves? LOL IDK. I blame one of my classes, where someone had drawn a werewolf onto one of the desks. It looks pretty cool, despite defacing campus property. Eh, at least it's in pencil?
Anyway, this ends up covering a fair amount of time and it's likely a bit confusing as to how much time that is, buuut whatever... I do plan on (and already have started) writing the Doctor finally showing up to the planet and that might end up being slash, whoops. Heck if I know when I'll finish it, though.
Brought to you by Write or Die. :|
Thirsting for Moonlight
It's complicated. Utterly complicated. This is what he thinks, among thoughts of blood and pain, but those are less important. He's been hurt before, he'll get over it eventually. That doesn't make the cold air any better, or the fact that his blood is on the jaws of a wolfish beast, hovering over him, a thick growl piercing the air.
He eyes the wound on his ankle, where the pant-leg has torn. He shifts slightly and watches the beast as he does so, waiting for it to make any sudden moves. When it doesn't, he continues to slowly wrangle himself out from under it. The beast chuffs and backs away, then raises its muzzle up to the shining moon and howls, low and ominous.
The Master doesn't stop. He makes it to his feet, even as his injured leg buckles slightly, and begins towards the worn down village; maybe there he can find shelter from this creature.
He hears the answer of other howls and he frowns, and amends his previous thinking: shelter from these creatures.
There is no sunlight that reaches this planet, he's quick to realize. It's always cold, frigid. There are two moons, one in the sky when the other is not. Constantly cycling through, constantly plaguing his mind. The first few nights he holes himself up on the second floor of an ashen building, listening to the scraping of claws over cobblestone outside, of howls in the crisp air, of grunts and growls. On his fourth night he finally takes notice to his leg not healing, and that worries him. The bite should have been a mere memory by now.
He graces the outdoors, or tries to. When he opens the front door, a boy in tatters stands before him, tilting his head to the side. Then he turns and runs for another house. The Master follows him; he didn't think anyone besides the wolves were here, and yet it seemed he had been proven wrong. Perhaps the others were hiding, just as he.
"Davenport, Davenport!" the boy calls, ducking under a door frame into the slanted building. He runs into an older man, just as poorly clothed, and spins round to point insistently at the Master. "There's a visitor," the boy whispers.
"Ah. I see that," the man murmurs, looking at the Master from head to toe, then stops to look at the blood crusted ankle and frowns. "When did that happen?"
"A few nights ago. Does it really matter?" He shifts his stance, straightening. "What the hell is going on in this place?"
"Yes, in fact, it does matter. Two cycles? Three?" The man, Davenport, sighs. He pats the boy on the head and then pushes him along. The boy makes a face, but goes. "I will tell you what you want to know," Davenport says to the Master, "but I really must know when you got that bite."
"Four nights ago, alright?"
"So then another day and... I'm sorry. Visitors are never safe here. How did you get here?"
"I don't know. 'Another day' and then what?" he snaps, growing more agitated by the moment.
"You'll change," Davenport quietly replies, hanging his head and leaning away. "It's a disease that has plagued our village for years now. I suppose it was Samuel who got you... He's the village's alpha, see. Not the best of sorts, but then, none of us are very good with visitors here. Look... there isn't anything we can do for you, but I recommend that before the next cycle, you find some place to your own, away from the village. You won't want to change with others around, I'd imagine."
"What are you talking about?" the Master yells, slamming a hand to the door frame. "Change into what? How about taking five seconds to make some sense -" he stumbles back as Davenport pushes him out of, presumably, his home. The Master glares at him.
"Werewolf," is all Davenport says, and then closes the door.
Werewolf, the Master thinks wickedly. He had a knack for getting himself stranded on these sorts of planets, didn't he? He sinks towards the ground, dust wisping up around him. It's a barren land. Nothing survives but the wolves.
He has to wonder if they eat one another, but when his own hunger sets in, he begins to understand. "There is only the moonlight that matters" a child had told him "the moonlight and the beast." He thought the kid had just been a little crazy, because on a planet as desolate as this, who could blame him?
But no. The Master was not that lucky.
He groans, shifting deeper into dust, tightly gripping at the back of his head, feeling the cells of his body shifting; it's an eerie reminder of regeneration. 'Changing' is like death for a Time Lord, he decides. His flesh burns and dances, pulling and stretching in different ways. There's a rumble in his mind amongst the drumming - in fact, it's even louder than them. It raises in volume as he continues to fall further over the edge.
Feral, that is how he describes the motions in his mind. An animalistic nature sweeping over him, uncontrollable and ripping a whine from his jaws. That's where it starts - both at his very core and at his lips, tearing down the foundation of his self and leaving beast in its wake.
He loses track of what happens after. When it is all over he's quivering in a heap of fur, a wolfish whimper escaping him. He doesn't know who or what he is. There's moonlight that satiates his hunger, warms his skin, protects him, heals his wounds. There's still pain in his muscles, but it lessens as he awkwardly moves limbs and scuttles across the ground. There are others in the distance, he picks them up with all his senses. When he hears one howl, and then a second, a third, he answers them with a raw sound of his own - misery seeping into the air.
They all share that same, pitiful emotion.
"I'm going to fix this," he growls, cycles later. "Like hell I'm going to live my life succumbing to some 'beast' that thinks it can 'master' me."
"I hope you have better luck than we have in the past," Davenport replies.
"Of course I will! Do you have any idea who you're talking to? Does 'Time Lord' ring any bells? ...No, I suppose it wouldn't. That's not the point, though. I have the proper mind to sort this matter out, unlike your lot."
He's use to these limbs now, to everything. He skulks through shadows of the village, ignoring any who come to him; he's looking for one wolf in particular. The so called 'alpha' who's started this all, or so Davenport says. He believes the other well enough, as do most of the villagers. And even if he didn't, even if the alpha wasn't the beginning of this disease, the Master would end him anyway.
No one was superior to him.
"I am taking charge of your little ring of canines," he says when he finds the other, moonbathing on a high pile of rubble.
"You cannot."
The Master merely huffs before launching at the other, teeth and claws meeting fur and skin. It may be revenge as well that fuels him, pushing the other down to his back, pinning him against a jagged edge of stone. "I can," he seethes, bearing his teeth, golden eyes wide. Even in this beastly form he hears the drumming. The moonlight cannot dull those. They churn amongst the animal within, mixing and making a strange, fitting concoction for the Master. This is He - Self and Beast combined. "Perhaps you shouldn't have made me this way, if you could not handle the repercussions."
This one, beneath his claws, was the one who had sunk teeth into his ankle upon his arrival. Who had taken a sick pleasure in overpowering a form weaker (as much as the Master hated to admit) than him. They were on 'equal' grounds, except that now the Master was the stronger of the two.
He breaks the other's neck between his jaws, and drags the body back into the village, taking the role of alpha as his own.
Cycles, cycles, cycles... how many cycles has it been now? Far, far too long...
The Master angrily throws the remains of his raggedy jacket to the ground when Davenport finally decides to grace him after several cycles. Where had he decided to go, exploring? The Master turns to glare at him, eyes narrowing when he takes in the other's form. "Why haven't you changed back?" he snaps. He had expected to see a human, not a wolf. What kind of game was this, now? He wasn't in the mood for games!
"I cannot any longer, Alpha," Davenport mumbles, shifting on his haunches. "I have tried, but to no avail."
"You're kidding me..."
"I am not, Alpha."
"Will you stop calling me that already! How much different is 'Master' from 'Alpha'! Have some goddamn respect and call me by my name!" Because that was all the Time Lord ever felt like he had left of himself. He was starving, craving moonlight so bad it hurt, but he deprived himself of it. He was trying to work.
Davenport says nothing and merely watches him.
"I told you!" the Master suddenly snaps, pointing towards Davenport, "I am going to fix this. Don't you dare think I've forgotten after all this time." He draws in deep breaths, feeling the madness boil within. He drops his arm to his side and sways. "It's simple. It has to be simple. It's staring me in the face, I just know it. I just need more time..."
"Yes, Alpha."
"Go away..." the Master groans, clutching his head in both hands. "I need silence to work on this..."
Cycling again and again... can't stop them, just as one can't stop the change... not for long.
He curls in on himself, situated on a stone throne erected in the village's former town hall. He's lost track of time (he stopped counting after the first year), which is hysterical to him, given his origins. Not that he remembers those very well. He doesn't remember a lot of things. His mind and body constantly hunger for the moon, it's like a drug.
He's long given up on finding a cure.
Davenport, his ever-loyal beta, lays nearby, just as lethargic as he.
The Master sleeps, the beast wearing him thin in the back of his mind. He has a few hours before they grow hungry again and have to go through the change. He may be accustomed to the form nowadays, but the process is still as painful as it was in the beginning. It still leaves him a wreck.
When he's in a state of waking, he murmurs tiredly, "Where is the Doctor?" to the cool air. "He should be here. He should have been here..."
"Alpha?" Davenport questions.
"He always finds me... why not now..." the Master continues, still in his in-between state. "...Maybe he could have stopped this. The minds of two Time Lords are better than one..." He then laughs, fully coming around, and now he's almost in hysterics. Davenport whimpers and pads closer, but only hovers there, uncertain. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway. My mind is dried up." He stretches, then settles again, eying the ceiling. "I'm hungry," he says to it dully.