Lock] I wouldn't save you from the path you wander. In desperation dreams any soul can set you free…

[trust_mistruth]

There's a refreshing chill to the Chicago air here on North Clark Street, compared to the unrelenting New Delhi warmth.  The Master would like to enjoy it.

Unfortunately, he's here on business.

The cold is already biting into his skin more than his Time Lord nerves should allow - his body, his real body, not this Rift-designed degrading clone -

Comments

[thatsortofaman]

The Doctor slipped out of the house early, before Des and Martha were awake to ask why or try to make him stay. He would have preferred to stay there all day, have a Christmas like the last where nothing happens...

So much for that.

His shoulders are hunched inside his trenchcoat as he makes his way down the street - it's not the cold that's bothering him, but one could easily mistake it for that. It's not difficult to pick out the Master as he draws near, and he almost grimaces, seeing him. It's exactly the regeneration he thought, and that's not reassuring in the least.

You should be DEAD-

His steps slow a little as he gets closer, expression solemn and guarded. If the Master was expecting a warm welcome... well, he's clearly deluded, but he's also going to be sorely disappointed.

[trust_mistruth]

And the Doctor's regeneration is exactly the one The Master hoped for, as well, though certain things... prevent him from recognizing him in those terms. Instead it's a familiar face, a confirmation of the memories held closest to him, and a few more get a little more contested. But this man... this man tried to save his childhood friend for a good year while he was chained up in a doghouse and aged well past his prime; surely he wouldn't object to it now that his childhood friend is actually in need of saving.

Not that the Master would mention that. Never so baldly.

He smiles as the Doctor comes near, but it's a much quieter smile than one would think him capable of.

"Doctor." Over the centuries, he's learned how to layer meaning on those two simple syllables. Loathing, challenge, innuendo, wary respect...

Even warmth, once upon a time.

This time, however, he simply lets the name stand with a sort of quiet, almost pleased, recognition. It's a tone he hasn't used with the Doctor in a long time, not since...

Theta.Another

[thatsortofaman]

"Master," the Doctor says quietly, little more than wary acknowledgement. Impossible to know how to react to him when he doesn't know why he's here, what he wants. He could - wants to - ask when he came through the Rift, how long ago in this timeline and their own, if he knows how it ended...

Instead, the Doctor glances down to the candy with a slight frown, and then back up to the Master's face, eyebrows raised, lips twisted into what might almost be a smile. "They're not... poisoned, are they?"

That would be... almost straightforward for the Master, but you never know.

[trust_mistruth]

Oh, that... that's almost insulting. The Master grimaces, looking down and tearing the cover off the box.

"Well, depending on your opinions on refined sugar..." He snaps a piece off, holding it up the the nearest lightpost before he crumbles it in his fingers. Looking back to the Doctor, he tosses the box to the ground. It lands upright, miraculously, though the one broken ribbon jolts out and onto the ground.

"So," he says, ambling in almost the Doctor's direction, aiming past him, looking along the skyline. "You've been making a name for yourself. Good for you. Killing Neqa'el, saving little Nephilim children, standing up to big, scary archangels. It's good, I suppose. I would have thought this city would get a little small for you."

He sniffs, raising his hand to examine the candy dust on his fingertips. After a moment's consideration, he tastes it.