Clash of swords in the hallways
Characters: the Master, the Doctor
Rating: I'm going to go with R
Time Period: Modern
Location: A castle hallway
Relative Date: A few hours after the Doctor's transmission, and a few days after the snow fell
Status: Closed
The Master stormed across the snowy grass towards the castle, hurt and furious. The drums thundered in his head, echoing round and round in time with his heartbeats as he walked. He could hardly believe what he’d heard the Doctor say. He knew the Doctor disapproved of him killing or even threatening people with his laser screwdriver - he’d have had to be blind and stupid not to know that! - but he’d never expected the Doctor to be so callous as to just throw the screwdriver away. It was more than just a weapon to the Master; it was a tool and the Master depended upon on! Couldn’t the Doctor have just disabled the weapon part, if he’d been so concerned about it? It hurt that the Doctor would have so little concern for his feelings - would, in fact, deliberately taunt him about it. How could he? He knew how important that screwdriver was to the Master!
As for all that ridiculous claptrap about them not having to fight - how many times had the Doctor spouted that rubbish in the past? And he still didn’t get it. For him, not fighting seemed to mean the Master giving up everything that he was and becoming some sort of boring goody-goody like the Doctor! As if that would ever happen! No way was he going to start going round trying to save people like the Doctor did.
It wasn't even his choice, anyway. The drums wouldn't let him rest, even if he wanted to. They kept on driving him on towards battle and violence and war.
Where was the Doctor, anyway? The Master paused on the threshold of the castle, his head lifting, almost scenting the air. The Doctor was somewhere in the castle, he was sure. He could sense him. He stamped his feet to rid them of snow and peeled off his gloves before setting off into the castle. The Doctor was here somewhere. And he'd find him.
By the time he finally ran the Doctor to ground - hours after the Doctor’s fury-inciting voice message - the Master could hardly think through the pounding pain in his head. And at the sight of the Doctor, strolling down an odd side-passage with tapestries and suits of armour and swords and maces and other assorted weapons on the walls, he stopped thinking altogether. He let the fury rise within him along with the tummult of the drums, and he just roared and went for the Doctor, a human cannonball hurtling down the corridor with all the momentum of hurt and anger and desperation.
Rating: I'm going to go with R
Time Period: Modern
Location: A castle hallway
Relative Date: A few hours after the Doctor's transmission, and a few days after the snow fell
Status: Closed
The Master stormed across the snowy grass towards the castle, hurt and furious. The drums thundered in his head, echoing round and round in time with his heartbeats as he walked. He could hardly believe what he’d heard the Doctor say. He knew the Doctor disapproved of him killing or even threatening people with his laser screwdriver - he’d have had to be blind and stupid not to know that! - but he’d never expected the Doctor to be so callous as to just throw the screwdriver away. It was more than just a weapon to the Master; it was a tool and the Master depended upon on! Couldn’t the Doctor have just disabled the weapon part, if he’d been so concerned about it? It hurt that the Doctor would have so little concern for his feelings - would, in fact, deliberately taunt him about it. How could he? He knew how important that screwdriver was to the Master!
As for all that ridiculous claptrap about them not having to fight - how many times had the Doctor spouted that rubbish in the past? And he still didn’t get it. For him, not fighting seemed to mean the Master giving up everything that he was and becoming some sort of boring goody-goody like the Doctor! As if that would ever happen! No way was he going to start going round trying to save people like the Doctor did.
It wasn't even his choice, anyway. The drums wouldn't let him rest, even if he wanted to. They kept on driving him on towards battle and violence and war.
Where was the Doctor, anyway? The Master paused on the threshold of the castle, his head lifting, almost scenting the air. The Doctor was somewhere in the castle, he was sure. He could sense him. He stamped his feet to rid them of snow and peeled off his gloves before setting off into the castle. The Doctor was here somewhere. And he'd find him.
By the time he finally ran the Doctor to ground - hours after the Doctor’s fury-inciting voice message - the Master could hardly think through the pounding pain in his head. And at the sight of the Doctor, strolling down an odd side-passage with tapestries and suits of armour and swords and maces and other assorted weapons on the walls, he stopped thinking altogether. He let the fury rise within him along with the tummult of the drums, and he just roared and went for the Doctor, a human cannonball hurtling down the corridor with all the momentum of hurt and anger and desperation.