Eighth Rift

[chronosexual]

WHAT: Jack's Dreamscape
WHO: Jack Harkness and anyone who wants to join. The more the merrier.
WHEN: Nighttime, Thurs-Sun

The location is not immediately identifiable, and rather lonesome, though the warmth of the light from the computers and desk lamps gives off an adequate glow by which to see. It appears to be some kind of underground facility with some impressive technology and... was that a pteranodon that just came soaring overhead? It doesn't matter, it flew out of sight anyhow. One of the computers appeared to be linked to a few CCTV camera feeds and had been left running by its operator. There were no signs of life, save for the flying beast and the light coming from the office up the stairs and over the catwalk. There is much to explore in this dream. Or is it a memory? Is there a difference?

Comments

[chronosexual]

Jack had to admit to himself that The Master had a pretty good point. "No, but it probably would have put me in a better mood." Jack nudged him in the knee with his gun. "On your feet. Hands above your head. NOW." Both hands were on the gun now, and Jack's chest was puffed up to maximum intimidation. "we won't be having any lasers today, thanks."

[neverstops]

The hollow, bitter laughter from the Master at Jack's display was more for show than actual amusement. Humans and their guns. So obsessed with the primitive weapons.

He got to his feet slowly, taking his time in lifting his arms up behind his head. No use arguing with Jack right now. There would be plenty of time for that if there ever wasn't a gun aimed in his direction.

[chronosexual]

Primitive? perhaps. Effective? Most definitely. With his Gun still pointed at The Master's face, Jack moved in to pat him down and search his coat, pulling out his laser screwdriver and pocketing it. "You're being awfully cooperative," he noted, patting down his legs, "Should I be worried?"

[neverstops]

Little more than a shrug met Jack's question as the Master allowed himself to be searched. He had nothing else on him that could be considered a danger. Just the old cell phone he had acquired earlier.

"You are the one with the gun," He replied, staring own the barrel with that same grimace. Being shot so many times in his past, he had an extreme dislike for that brand of weapon. It was generally a slow and painful way to die. At least the laser from his screwdriver would have been a near instantaneous death. No one else could use it, so Jack holding it was little cause for his concern.

[chronosexual]

"Right you are. But I'm not one to underestimate you lot. I've seen Time Lords do more with less." Satisfied with his search, Jack rose to his feet and unhooked a set of handcuffs from his belt, making a little turning motion with his gun. "All right, hands behind your back. Let's make it quick now. I'm a busy man and I've got better things to do than babysit."

[neverstops]

Rolling his eyes, the Master turned around, clasping his hands behind his back. This was even more predictably dull than his own nightmares. He let his head fall forward, closing his eyes, his fingers tapping the four-beat rhythm onto the back of his hand as he waited.

"What exactly do you plan on doing with me, then." The question was nearly rhetorical. He saw the files and had a feeling he would soon be joining the ranks of catalogued alien races beneath the hub. This was what the Doctor's great race amounted to. Scavengers and zookeepers those who were not blissfully ignorant of the Universe around them had to lock it up out of sight.

[chronosexual]

Jack slapped the cuffs over The Master's wrists, perhaps a bit too tightly. oops. "Well, we've got options. First, I could just keep you in a cell by yourself. Watch you waste away or go mad from isolation. Or I could give you a cellmate. We've always got a weevil or two chained up downstairs, and I'm sure they'd love to get a taste of Time Lord flesh. Or maybe they won't? Who's to say?" He gave the chain between the cuffs a little jerk. "I could make you forget all about this night. Everything you saw, everything you heard.. all gone. Or maybe I'd make you forget a little more. Maybe the last 900 years? Or. I could chain you to a wall and break all of your bones. What do you think?"

[neverstops]

Given the options, the Master was really not particularly fond of any of them. He would not mind forgetting this nightmare. Of all the ones he had had since arriving on this Island, this one was the must frustrating. He hated the immortal man, nearly as much as he was hated by him. He was a memory of the Master's failure.

"I do not think it matters much at all," He muttered darkly, the metal cuffs biting into his wrists in ways no dreams should have conveyed quite as accurately. The comment about going mad drew an amused snort from the Time Lord. Clearly Jack did not know him at all. "Not going to offer me tea and sit down to catch up over a nice long chat? After all we went through together, I am surprised at you, Jack. My feelings are hurt."

[chronosexual]

"Tea? You want to sit and have tea?" Jack asked, a bored, nonplussed expression on his face. "How awful I must seem. You've come all this way into my base and I don't even offer you any tea. How uncouth of me." While some part of Jack would have really liked to have just sat The Master down and scald him with hot liquids, Jack had to remember that he was much more civil than that. He could be a gentleman... when the need arose. He yanked on the chain again and sent him toward the lift, putting his shoe to The Master's backside to get him going.

[neverstops]

The Master caught himself in half a stumble, refusing to let Jack send him to the ground. He was not going to sit around and beg the immortal for anything. That was, perhaps, the only reason he willingly walked to the lift, letting his eyes wander around the facility. So this was Torchwood's base. Smaller than he expected.

[chronosexual]

Dream time seemed to move a lot quicker than it would have normally, because within a matter of seconds, Jack was uncuffing The Master from behind a heavy metal door, and then on the other side, triumphantly looking at him through the glass as though it were a zoo cage. And yes, there was tea. And even a few biscuits. Isn't he nice. Jack had his own mug of coffee that he just stood there sipping at, completely pleased with himself. Sure, giving The Master a taste of his own medicine would be nice, but this method would get him a lot less scorn by The Doctor. He would have never forgiven him if Jack had "accidentally" killed the only other Time Lord in the universe.

"There. All settled in. Comfy?"

[neverstops]

The Master didn't respond to his question, sitting on the floor, his back resting on the door at the back of his cell. So he was right, after all. Just another exhibit in Torchwood's archives. Master, Time Lord, Second to Last. He watched Jack, wondering how long it would take him to go mad with the sound of the drums, alone in his cell, in the darkness.

"Extremely. First class hospitality." The bite to his words seemed to lose it's edge near the end.