(no subject)
I ficlet! Bwaha! ... Fourth Doctor/Master. Not really slash, though. In fact, not at all. *tilts head* Hmmm. How out of character. ^.^
Party Games
The Doctor slammed his hand on the metal desktop in anger, then immediately regretted it. After all, it is very difficult to smile winningly when your fingers are crammed into your mouth.
“Now, now Doctor,” the Master tsked. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“More than - ah - ” the Doctor winced as he spread his arms dramatically, “More than you’ve hurt me already?” he demanded.
“I haven’t laid a hand on a single hair on your body!” the Master protested. Not that I/you haven’t wanted to, both of them mentally added.
“You’ve ripped my still-beating hearts from my very body!” the Doctor proclaimed in tones thick with suffering.
“Please Doctor, no melodramatics,” the Master cautioned wearily. “A sonic screwdriver is not the same thing as a heart.”
”No!” the Doctor agreed loudly, throwing his head back for effect. “It’s far more important.”
The Master sighed. The Doctor could get so tedious when he was like this. “I highly doubt it has any true value at all, Doctor, you’re just upset you lost. But that’s nothing to do with me. I did warn you not to bet on intergalactic chess.”
The Doctor’s arms dropped to his side, and his expression became cunning. “Of no value? Of course, you’re right, no value at all. I’ve completely learned my lesson.” The Master watched him steadily, one eyebrow raised. “So, how about giving back, hmm, friend?”
The Master almost laughed out loud. “Well, friend, I don’t know that I could just give it back. There’s honour to consider, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But perhaps with a few more games …?”
The Doctor hesitated, almost artfully. Then, “Poker.”
“Backgammon.”
“Blackjack.”
“Monopoly.”
”Checkers.”
“Checkers?” The Master considered. “Hmmm. I think, my dear Doctor, that we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
The Doctor smiled.
Hours later, as the darkness faded into light, the Master staggered around London, the sole possessors of naught but an elderly pair of underwear and his tin of hair gel, the only two things the Doctor wouldn’t touch. “Ripped his hearts out, I’ll rip his heart out!” the Master muttered darkly, searching in vain for some kind of shelter. What damns time period was he in anyway?!
Eventually he crawled into an old warehouse, in the corner of which was something that looked like a battered blue police box. But no one would put a police box in a warehouse, would they? Would they?
Grinning, the Master stalked towards the rectangular shape. The very least he’d do was find some clothes, and then…
Well, then today was the first day of the rest of his lives, wasn’t it?
END
Party Games
The Doctor slammed his hand on the metal desktop in anger, then immediately regretted it. After all, it is very difficult to smile winningly when your fingers are crammed into your mouth.
“Now, now Doctor,” the Master tsked. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“More than - ah - ” the Doctor winced as he spread his arms dramatically, “More than you’ve hurt me already?” he demanded.
“I haven’t laid a hand on a single hair on your body!” the Master protested. Not that I/you haven’t wanted to, both of them mentally added.
“You’ve ripped my still-beating hearts from my very body!” the Doctor proclaimed in tones thick with suffering.
“Please Doctor, no melodramatics,” the Master cautioned wearily. “A sonic screwdriver is not the same thing as a heart.”
”No!” the Doctor agreed loudly, throwing his head back for effect. “It’s far more important.”
The Master sighed. The Doctor could get so tedious when he was like this. “I highly doubt it has any true value at all, Doctor, you’re just upset you lost. But that’s nothing to do with me. I did warn you not to bet on intergalactic chess.”
The Doctor’s arms dropped to his side, and his expression became cunning. “Of no value? Of course, you’re right, no value at all. I’ve completely learned my lesson.” The Master watched him steadily, one eyebrow raised. “So, how about giving back, hmm, friend?”
The Master almost laughed out loud. “Well, friend, I don’t know that I could just give it back. There’s honour to consider, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But perhaps with a few more games …?”
The Doctor hesitated, almost artfully. Then, “Poker.”
“Backgammon.”
“Blackjack.”
“Monopoly.”
”Checkers.”
“Checkers?” The Master considered. “Hmmm. I think, my dear Doctor, that we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
The Doctor smiled.
Hours later, as the darkness faded into light, the Master staggered around London, the sole possessors of naught but an elderly pair of underwear and his tin of hair gel, the only two things the Doctor wouldn’t touch. “Ripped his hearts out, I’ll rip his heart out!” the Master muttered darkly, searching in vain for some kind of shelter. What damns time period was he in anyway?!
Eventually he crawled into an old warehouse, in the corner of which was something that looked like a battered blue police box. But no one would put a police box in a warehouse, would they? Would they?
Grinning, the Master stalked towards the rectangular shape. The very least he’d do was find some clothes, and then…
Well, then today was the first day of the rest of his lives, wasn’t it?
END