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
You did not think it might be important to share that bit of knowledge.
[The look he gives the Doctor filters somewhere between a scowl and a grimace. Everything the Time Lord's were aside, this was a pretty BIG deal. His entire life weighing out to a calling card to bring the council back was ... It was important. Shatteringly so.]
That thing can't be me. [Definitely a scowl. And denial. Heavy doses of it.] I knew nothing about this. Nothing
[The Professor is just watching with an amused stare, letting the Doctor and the Master dig their holes deeper together. The smug bastard.]
You're lying. Both of you. If it can look like me than who is to say it can't take on other forms. Get out. I don't need your help dealing with figments and lies.
[The Professor just laughs, looking far too pleased with himself.]
I did tell you he would say that. [It's hard to tell which one of them he is speaking to. Likely both.] So destructively stubborn.
no subject
[Guilt keeps the Doctor focused on explaining himself, even though he knows settling the question of 'the real Master' is more important. Guilt for the death of a species makes it hard to stay in perspective.]