The Master | Thomas Kreise (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
neverstops) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thoughtformed2012-02-16 01:33 am
neverstops) wrote in thoughtformed2012-02-16 01:33 am
Entry tags:
Feel your poison running through me. Let me never grow old.
Who: The Master, his Shadow and any unfortunates coming after him
When: Feb. 15th
Where: The Dark Hour
What: The Master and his Shadow do not see eye to eye
Warnings: Potential violence and language
[It won't be difficult to find, the Master's dungeon. If the flickering of damaged lights and flames does not attract the immediate attention of anyone who passes near, the steady four-beat drumming that comes from within will. The ship is massive, stretching up into the sky, Y.A.N.A. written across the side of it.
Within is a labyrinth of hallways, wires and broken panels strewn about, sparking at random intervals, warning lights flashing over the entirety of the ship. Plenty of dark corners and leaning broken pieces of wreckage casting shadows over the halls within. Shadowy black orbs of death and destruction patrol the area, cruelly giggling with delight in child-like voices whenever someone crosses their path.
If the 'rescuers succeed in finding their way to the center of the wrecked ship, they will be greeted with the highly advanced lab of Professor Yana. The old gentleman is carrying on a very one-sided conversation with the police chief, who is still pressed against the wall where he is sitting, glaring irritably at the other man. His glare has lost nearly all of it's venom in an effort to suppress the rising uncertainty.]
A calling to war.
[The professor laughs, throwing his head back, the sound manic and cruel.]
Shut Up.
You are nothing. Nothing but a tool. All this time thinking you had some purpose. Some great calling to 'repair' the chaos of the universe. What reparations could you possibly accomplish? Even your 'master' plans fail, every time. You never really wanted to succeed. You were just waiting for him. Waiting for him to stop you and tell you what your real purpose was. You push the blame off on anyone but yourself when it all belongs to you.
It has nothing to do with Him. It's the drums. Those blasted, bloody drums.
[The professor cackles again.]
Nothing more than a calling card of our dear old race. Waiting for us to make our final miscalculation. A pawn and a tool for their selfish purposes.
When: Feb. 15th
Where: The Dark Hour
What: The Master and his Shadow do not see eye to eye
Warnings: Potential violence and language
[It won't be difficult to find, the Master's dungeon. If the flickering of damaged lights and flames does not attract the immediate attention of anyone who passes near, the steady four-beat drumming that comes from within will. The ship is massive, stretching up into the sky, Y.A.N.A. written across the side of it.
Within is a labyrinth of hallways, wires and broken panels strewn about, sparking at random intervals, warning lights flashing over the entirety of the ship. Plenty of dark corners and leaning broken pieces of wreckage casting shadows over the halls within. Shadowy black orbs of death and destruction patrol the area, cruelly giggling with delight in child-like voices whenever someone crosses their path.
If the 'rescuers succeed in finding their way to the center of the wrecked ship, they will be greeted with the highly advanced lab of Professor Yana. The old gentleman is carrying on a very one-sided conversation with the police chief, who is still pressed against the wall where he is sitting, glaring irritably at the other man. His glare has lost nearly all of it's venom in an effort to suppress the rising uncertainty.]
A calling to war.
[The professor laughs, throwing his head back, the sound manic and cruel.]
Shut Up.
You are nothing. Nothing but a tool. All this time thinking you had some purpose. Some great calling to 'repair' the chaos of the universe. What reparations could you possibly accomplish? Even your 'master' plans fail, every time. You never really wanted to succeed. You were just waiting for him. Waiting for him to stop you and tell you what your real purpose was. You push the blame off on anyone but yourself when it all belongs to you.
It has nothing to do with Him. It's the drums. Those blasted, bloody drums.
[The professor cackles again.]
Nothing more than a calling card of our dear old race. Waiting for us to make our final miscalculation. A pawn and a tool for their selfish purposes.
no subject
John's near the front of the pack, Zillyhoo poised to strike any nasty shadows that could crawl out of the woodwork. The orbs had thrown him for a loop, and the boy looks more unnerved than he's been on past rescue missions. When the group comes to a stop and he looks, really looks at Thomas, John lowers his hammer. People have told him a lot of terrible things about his roommate, and the version he'd seen on the television had scared him sleepless the first night. But it doesn't matter — a relentless optimist, John still holds a place in his heart for Thomas. The Master. Whatever his name is.
He takes a gulp of air before speaking to the Professor. ]
You never told me what I should call you.
no subject
[The professor smiled, a sinister expression on the older man. The Master regarded his shadow with something like seething hatred. Why the hell was his past self interfering in his plans? Spewing nonsense lies? Clearly someone had stolen his image to taunt him and he barked a laugh, eying him back as coldly as he was eying John.]
Will you please, just, shut up.
Hush now, Daddy's talking right now. [And that is a very him-like thing to say, which is even more frustrating when he still can't bring himself to attack the not!him taunting him.]
Still, how sweet. Has he really got you that incredibly fooled? Then again, you are a gullible little sap, aren't you. I mean really, did you think all those people were wrong? That he was Thomas the nice roommate, the Police chief? [He snorts, derisive and amused all at once]
That's not even the saddest part. The saddest part is when he actually starts believing it.
Oh, we're very, very good at acting, and you are so easy, it's sad. It really is.
no subject
[ John doesn't even bother to refute being gullible and easily fooled. It hurts to hear, even if he knows it's true. Alien tells you to ride a rocket pack into space and you think you aren't going to die? Just saying. He shifts his weight and shoots a pitying look at the Thomas he knows. ]
Even if you have been totally evil, you can still figure out how to be good again—
[ Those clear blue eyes shift back to the Master's Shadow as he does his best to keep judgment from edging into his voice. He's never dealt with someone who's legitimately evil before. ]
But you have to accept yourself for who you are first.