Sanity is Overrated (The Different Angle Remix) [The Master, Martha | G]
Title: Sanity is Overrated (The Different Angle Remix)
Author: netgirl_y2k
Characters: The Master, Martha Jones
Rating: G
Summary: Admit it, unless your name begins with 'The' and ends with
'Doctor' you didn't really think he was dead, did you?
Word Count: 1100
Original Story: Angle of Reflection by elliptic_eye
The problem with sanity, the Master felt, was the boredom. It had been nice at first, to be able to think clearly and he'd spent an age (approximately twenty-seven minutes) enjoying the absence of the drumming.
Then he'd gotten bored.
He spent a day teaching himself to walk in high-heels. He discovered the Cbeebies channel, which kept him occupied for three days, and now he was examining his reflection -her reflection? Lucy's reflection?- in the bedroom mirror.
Admit it, unless your name begins with 'The' and ends with 'Doctor' you didn't really think he was dead, did you?
If the Master were still insane, still being driven by the ever-approaching drumbeat, he wouldn't be lingering here. If he were still lifting his plans word for word from chapter one of the Take Over the Universe Manual he'd have kidnapped one of the Doctor's former companions, used her as bait, tried to steal the TARDIS and, likely as not, been the Doctor's unhappy prisoner by teatime.
But the Master was sane now. Gloriously, frustratingly, boringly sane. So he was biding his time. He looked in the mirror and concentrated on coaxing Lucy's features into a more, ahem, masterful expression. It simply wouldn't do for the future Ruler of Time, Master of the Universe, Commander of the Time Agency to wear such an expression of vacant stupidity.
That expression was one of the reasons the Doctor hadn't noticed the resemblance. If the Master was being honest with himself (and, really, why be honest with yourself if it wasn't absolutely necessary) he'd have to admit that one of the things that had attracted him to Lucy was her similarity to the late President Romana's final regeneration. The bone structure, especially around the eyes, was nearly identical. However Lucy, despite hours of patient and detailed instruction, had never mastered Romana's expressions or posture.
The Master straightened up and felt Lucy's vertebrae pop. He smiled, masterfully.
*
“Lucy, where are you?”
“Up here,” The Master called back.
Most people who helped a brilliantly insane alien mastermind steal a general election and assassinate the American president would find themselves locked in a padded room painted in soothing colours for a very long time. But Lucy's money and her family's influence meant that she was placed under house arrest and visited every other day by a very nice psychiatric nurse who checked that she was taking the correct medication.
“Hello, dear. How are you feeling today?”
“I am the Master. You will obey me.”
The nurse chuckled. “Have you been skipping your pills again, Lucy?”
The Master sighed. Lucy's tiny human brain might be percussion section free but it was utterly rubbish at hypnotism.
The Master ordered a book on hypnosis from Amazon and set about relearning his favourite skill.
*
A few weeks later and he still hadn't managed to hypnotise the nurse into getting the train to Cardiff, shooting Handsome Jack and stealing his vortex manipulator. However he had managed to convince her to let him out of the house to go shopping.
The Master enjoyed shopping, credit cards were the next best thing to mind control.
“There's no charge,” he told the shop assistant as he was paying for pair of leather driving gloves in Harrods.
“There's no charge,” she agreed, refusing to accept Lucy's credit card.
“I am your Master.”
“You are my Master.”
The Master grinned. Mind control, it was like riding a bike.
“What's going on here?” the assistant's supervisor asked.
“She is my Master.”
“Hey, aren't you Harold Saxon's wife?”
The Master still thought that faking his own death and stealing Lucy's body was a nearly flawless plan, although it would have been better if Lucy's picture hadn't been plastered all over the papers. It would also be nice if she weren't under house arrest for being mad.
*
Lucy's house, with it's wireless internet, sky television and collection of anti-psychotic medication provided by various medical professionals, held the Master's attention for a while but soon he was itching to get away.
Unlike the Doctor, the Master had never allowed himself to be confined to one space and time for any length of time. If he was trapped here for much longer he might be forced to apply for a job at UNIT. Hmm, that might actually be an amusing way to spend a few decades.
And then there was the inevitable reunion with the Doctor to plan for, but not just yet. It would do him good to think that the Master was dead for a couple of decades. Anyway, the Master wasn't planning on seeing the Doctor again until he'd worked out a way to get another body. The Doctor had always been suggesting he try a female incarnation during that century they were married and now, with Time Lords firmly on the endangered species list, he'd probably insist they breed. No, thanks.
He could always go back to his side project from his year as the unquestioned ruler of Earth, it hadn't all been breaking poor Lucy's mind and playing with the Doctor's age like a yo-yo. Everybody had to make time for a hobby, and the Master's had been Martha Jones. Driving Martha Jones utterly mad.
A year on a scorched planet being hounded by Toclafane with nothing to talk about but the Doctor would drive most people crazy, but Martha Jones was made of sterner stuff. It had taken a hint of a hypnotic suggestion, more than a hint, actually more than a suggestion to push her over the edge.
It was meant to be a present for the Doctor, but the selfish git had buggered off before he could unwrap it. And the Master couldn't very well leave Martha Jones to rot in an institution, could he?
*
It wasn't difficult to find out which hospital Martha Jones had been admitted to 'for observation.' You could find out many things with mind control, but you could find out more with google.
By all rights Martha Jones should be babbling nonsense by now, but she was holding it together remarkably well, there was just something slightly off about her when she said, “What are you?”
“I am the Master. You, my sweet girl, will test me, try me, tempt me and sting me. Not to mention that I shall need someone to crack the Time Agent over the head before I steal his vortex manipulator.”
Author: netgirl_y2k
Characters: The Master, Martha Jones
Rating: G
Summary: Admit it, unless your name begins with 'The' and ends with
'Doctor' you didn't really think he was dead, did you?
Word Count: 1100
Original Story: Angle of Reflection by elliptic_eye
The problem with sanity, the Master felt, was the boredom. It had been nice at first, to be able to think clearly and he'd spent an age (approximately twenty-seven minutes) enjoying the absence of the drumming.
Then he'd gotten bored.
He spent a day teaching himself to walk in high-heels. He discovered the Cbeebies channel, which kept him occupied for three days, and now he was examining his reflection -her reflection? Lucy's reflection?- in the bedroom mirror.
Admit it, unless your name begins with 'The' and ends with 'Doctor' you didn't really think he was dead, did you?
If the Master were still insane, still being driven by the ever-approaching drumbeat, he wouldn't be lingering here. If he were still lifting his plans word for word from chapter one of the Take Over the Universe Manual he'd have kidnapped one of the Doctor's former companions, used her as bait, tried to steal the TARDIS and, likely as not, been the Doctor's unhappy prisoner by teatime.
But the Master was sane now. Gloriously, frustratingly, boringly sane. So he was biding his time. He looked in the mirror and concentrated on coaxing Lucy's features into a more, ahem, masterful expression. It simply wouldn't do for the future Ruler of Time, Master of the Universe, Commander of the Time Agency to wear such an expression of vacant stupidity.
That expression was one of the reasons the Doctor hadn't noticed the resemblance. If the Master was being honest with himself (and, really, why be honest with yourself if it wasn't absolutely necessary) he'd have to admit that one of the things that had attracted him to Lucy was her similarity to the late President Romana's final regeneration. The bone structure, especially around the eyes, was nearly identical. However Lucy, despite hours of patient and detailed instruction, had never mastered Romana's expressions or posture.
The Master straightened up and felt Lucy's vertebrae pop. He smiled, masterfully.
*
“Lucy, where are you?”
“Up here,” The Master called back.
Most people who helped a brilliantly insane alien mastermind steal a general election and assassinate the American president would find themselves locked in a padded room painted in soothing colours for a very long time. But Lucy's money and her family's influence meant that she was placed under house arrest and visited every other day by a very nice psychiatric nurse who checked that she was taking the correct medication.
“Hello, dear. How are you feeling today?”
“I am the Master. You will obey me.”
The nurse chuckled. “Have you been skipping your pills again, Lucy?”
The Master sighed. Lucy's tiny human brain might be percussion section free but it was utterly rubbish at hypnotism.
The Master ordered a book on hypnosis from Amazon and set about relearning his favourite skill.
*
A few weeks later and he still hadn't managed to hypnotise the nurse into getting the train to Cardiff, shooting Handsome Jack and stealing his vortex manipulator. However he had managed to convince her to let him out of the house to go shopping.
The Master enjoyed shopping, credit cards were the next best thing to mind control.
“There's no charge,” he told the shop assistant as he was paying for pair of leather driving gloves in Harrods.
“There's no charge,” she agreed, refusing to accept Lucy's credit card.
“I am your Master.”
“You are my Master.”
The Master grinned. Mind control, it was like riding a bike.
“What's going on here?” the assistant's supervisor asked.
“She is my Master.”
“Hey, aren't you Harold Saxon's wife?”
The Master still thought that faking his own death and stealing Lucy's body was a nearly flawless plan, although it would have been better if Lucy's picture hadn't been plastered all over the papers. It would also be nice if she weren't under house arrest for being mad.
*
Lucy's house, with it's wireless internet, sky television and collection of anti-psychotic medication provided by various medical professionals, held the Master's attention for a while but soon he was itching to get away.
Unlike the Doctor, the Master had never allowed himself to be confined to one space and time for any length of time. If he was trapped here for much longer he might be forced to apply for a job at UNIT. Hmm, that might actually be an amusing way to spend a few decades.
And then there was the inevitable reunion with the Doctor to plan for, but not just yet. It would do him good to think that the Master was dead for a couple of decades. Anyway, the Master wasn't planning on seeing the Doctor again until he'd worked out a way to get another body. The Doctor had always been suggesting he try a female incarnation during that century they were married and now, with Time Lords firmly on the endangered species list, he'd probably insist they breed. No, thanks.
He could always go back to his side project from his year as the unquestioned ruler of Earth, it hadn't all been breaking poor Lucy's mind and playing with the Doctor's age like a yo-yo. Everybody had to make time for a hobby, and the Master's had been Martha Jones. Driving Martha Jones utterly mad.
A year on a scorched planet being hounded by Toclafane with nothing to talk about but the Doctor would drive most people crazy, but Martha Jones was made of sterner stuff. It had taken a hint of a hypnotic suggestion, more than a hint, actually more than a suggestion to push her over the edge.
It was meant to be a present for the Doctor, but the selfish git had buggered off before he could unwrap it. And the Master couldn't very well leave Martha Jones to rot in an institution, could he?
*
It wasn't difficult to find out which hospital Martha Jones had been admitted to 'for observation.' You could find out many things with mind control, but you could find out more with google.
By all rights Martha Jones should be babbling nonsense by now, but she was holding it together remarkably well, there was just something slightly off about her when she said, “What are you?”
“I am the Master. You, my sweet girl, will test me, try me, tempt me and sting me. Not to mention that I shall need someone to crack the Time Agent over the head before I steal his vortex manipulator.”