I love it when we're Cruisin' Together <3 <3
Characters: The Master, Jenny
Rating: PG-13?
Time Period: Modern ---> ??
Location: Tiem Rooommmm LOL
Relative Date: During the meeting-ish
Status: In Progress, Closed I Suppose(d)
The Master was quickly coming to detest the castle-- if he hadn't harbored enough resentment toward it already. It seemed that lately that he was always looking for someone inside it, and failing utterly to get even a whiff of direction. He wondered idly, as he wandered the halls, whether there was some measure of perceptual dampening in play here.
It doesn't really matter, does it? Either Donna Noble is dead or she isn't. But of course it mattered. He had to know.
He turned a corner that seemed very familiar and found himself back in the hall he'd run down a spare hour ago. At the end of it the room with the paintings and the buttons. And, unfortunately, the Doctor.
Not yet.
He'd begun to turn back when the drums began to flare up again in full force, and the Master slumped there in the hallway, awash in the sensation. Time. Too much of it. Gone wrong. Going wrong. Will go wrong. Trying to beat back the compelling urge to dash back into that place, press a button. As much as he desired to be free of this place, of the Doctor, to conquer a place that actually existed, something about the room did not sit right.
Come to think of it, that made it even more desirable, somehow, didn't it?
It didn't take him long to realize that the drums would not subside until he took a course of action, and it did not surprise him very much when he found himself once again facing a wall full of buttons and frames, most of them empty. He began reviewing the paintings as if he were an art connoisseur, wondering to himself if there even was a correct choice to begin with.
Rating: PG-13?
Time Period: Modern ---> ??
Location: Tiem Rooommmm LOL
Relative Date: During the meeting-ish
Status: In Progress, Closed I Suppose(d)
The Master was quickly coming to detest the castle-- if he hadn't harbored enough resentment toward it already. It seemed that lately that he was always looking for someone inside it, and failing utterly to get even a whiff of direction. He wondered idly, as he wandered the halls, whether there was some measure of perceptual dampening in play here.
It doesn't really matter, does it? Either Donna Noble is dead or she isn't. But of course it mattered. He had to know.
He turned a corner that seemed very familiar and found himself back in the hall he'd run down a spare hour ago. At the end of it the room with the paintings and the buttons. And, unfortunately, the Doctor.
Not yet.
He'd begun to turn back when the drums began to flare up again in full force, and the Master slumped there in the hallway, awash in the sensation. Time. Too much of it. Gone wrong. Going wrong. Will go wrong. Trying to beat back the compelling urge to dash back into that place, press a button. As much as he desired to be free of this place, of the Doctor, to conquer a place that actually existed, something about the room did not sit right.
Come to think of it, that made it even more desirable, somehow, didn't it?
It didn't take him long to realize that the drums would not subside until he took a course of action, and it did not surprise him very much when he found himself once again facing a wall full of buttons and frames, most of them empty. He began reviewing the paintings as if he were an art connoisseur, wondering to himself if there even was a correct choice to begin with.