(Untitled)

[my_dear_doctor]

The Master is lounging comfortably in an armchair in the Nexus, (appropriately enough) smoking one of the very finest Cubans a man can get his hands on.  They are in, fact, not even from Cuba, but rather from the planet Mbere, at a date in the far future where the word 'Cuban' has become synonymous with a quality cigar, while the original meaning

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[frill_seeker]

"UNIT must have misplaced your invitation." The Doctor leans against a Nexus wall, arms crossed, capes of his coat displaying their bright lining. "What is it this time, Master? Stolen missiles? Chronovores? Poorly-chosen allies who will inevitably betray you?"

[my_dear_doctor]

'Doctor!' For a brief moment, the Master seems to be positively transported with delight, a smile breaking across his face that's as genuine as most smiles from him are not. He stubs out the cigar, rising to his feet to join the Doctor against the wall- why? Well, he wants to be near the man, clearly, and why should he not be?

'Not at all,' he waves the Doctor's accusations off easily, leaning against the wall in a parallel to him. 'I merely wanted to see you.'

[frill_seeker]

The Doctor raises one eyebrow in an epic eyebrow raise to match this regeneration of the Master's. "You wanted to see me."

[my_dear_doctor]

'Naturally,' the Master chuckles. 'Really now, Doctor, there's no need to play coy. Surely you know how much I enjoy our little encounters.'

And if he doesn't, he should. As far as the Master knows, he enjoys them as well, a welcome respite from the tedium of being trapped on an insular, backwards little planet.

thiiiis close to throwing theta. you got lucky, girl.

[sorry_sosorry]

The Doctor will never admit to keeping tabs on the various Masters of the Nexus, but he does. Nothing in depth, just the occasional question of a stranger - 'Man with a funny beard?' or 'Funny beard and cat eyes? No?' or 'Looks a bit like that Prime Minister?' - because this setting affords too many opportunities for mischief and the Doctor is working on being proactive rather than reactive.

Certainly it's that and no other reason.

When he hears he's been called for, he doesn't exactly come running, but he doesn't take his time. He's apparently tardy, after all, and there's no point in keeping the Master waiting when he desires an audience with the Doctor. Mischief, again, and proactive.

No, really, that's why the tenth incarnation of the Doctor is watching from a short but guarded distance, hands in his pockets. The Master has some plan in the making, he thinks, and needs a Doctor to whom he can gloat, so he'll listen. Proactive. There you go

[my_dear_doctor]

With such, ahem, innocent intentions, the Doctor will perhaps be unprepared for the Master's reaction to his presence, which is a rather filthy, decidedly appreciative look, complete with smirk and slightly lifted eyebrow. 'So you are. How very kind of you.'

All self-contained elegance, he rises from the chair, and the Doctor will find, a moment later, that he's backed up against a wall with the Master (almost literally) at his throat. Not his fault this particular regeneration of the Doctor is so very easy on the eyes. While he's here, he'll just let one hand lift to trail across the Doctor's cheek, going to brush back the hair behind his ear in a lazy, fond sort of gesture.

'Feeling better than the last time we met, I trust?'

Because while he was amusing enough quite so spectacularly drunk, the Master hardly imagines he had a good time of it the next morning.

[sorry_sosorry]

No, the Doctor is definitely not expecting that kind of reception. The smirk, the eyebrow, those are hardly new, but the dark eyes and the probing look - and the advancing - nope, he didn't call those.

His trainers automatically carry him backward and even when his heels hit a wall, he keeps shuffling, closing the millimeters of space between the wall and his back. "What?" he blurts out, eyes wide. His first instinct, aside from blabbering, is to push the Master away and ask what he's playing at, or if he's feeling alright. A tiny bit of him insists that the Master might be entirely in his right mind, though, and that he'd do well not to insult the Master in a very rare and extremely odd moment of... affection.

So he blinks, completely missing the Master's question because oh, hand stroking his cheek, that's weird. "What?" he manages again. Spectacular in a crisis, this one.

[my_dear_doctor]

Oh, and he is entirely in his right mind. Perhaps even more so than usual- or at least, much more apt to act on that right mindedness. And speaking of, the Doctor does look delicious up against a wall, under his touch, wide eyed and confused. The Master smiles, and though there's a certain amount of his usual predatoriness there, a great deal more is genuine pleasure- seeing the Doctor, having this sort of effect on him.

The hand repeats the motion, and it's less a brush this time than a caress, emboldened by the Doctor's lack of protest. 'I asked,' he repeats delicately, 'whether you'd recovered from your drinking binge of when last we met.'

Blame my enabler for this, and not me. *whistles innocently*

[holycrap2hearts]

Ask, and ye shall receive, dear Master, or something along those lines. As if the Third and Tenth Doctors weren't enough, there now appears to be a whole gaggle of his Eighth incarnation walking in the Master's general direction. The three of them also happen to be just within earshot when the question is asked, which causes one of them to begin happily bouncing over closer, until one of the others grabs him by the arm and jerks him back, quite forcibly.

"Don't you dare."
"But I just--"
"No."
"But I just want to seeee what he's--"
"No."

The remaining Doctor shakes his head. "Well, one of us should go see what he's up to, at least. It's rarely a good thing when the Master wants our attention." After a few moments of arguing over who is the more qualified to carry out a conversation with him, the calmest one approaches the Master -- though the other two are not far behind. "You know," he says, "I'm not entirely certain if it counts as not being punctual if I wasn't aware I was requested in the first place."

[my_dear_doctor]

Well, now that is something different. It takes nothing more than a brief assessment of their telepathic signatures to determine that the three Doctors heading his way are not alternates, as they would seem to be upon initial examination. That they are, in fact, all three of them the same individual person. It's not something the Master's ever seen before, and that's rare enough. He is quite thoroughly intrigued.

'Now,' he mutters to himself as the trio approaches, arguing amongst themselves (himself?), 'that does provide some intriguing possibilities.'

As one of the three detaches himself as the apparent designated speaker, the Master lifts his voice to address him directly. 'Consider it an open invitation, my dear. You know how I appreciate our little encounters.'

[holycrap2hearts]

"Oh now look, he's being friendly!" one of the Doctors says, rather happily. "Isn't that nice of him?"

"Yes, perfectly lovely of him," another remarks, clearly much less happy than the other. "Except that I think you're forgetting that he's usually trying to kill people." This makes the first one look sad for a moment, but then he realizes that, oh look, there's a watch chain attached to the front of his waistcoat, so he fiddles with that instead.

The other one, the one who had been chosen as the speaker of sorts, smiles at the Master. Not much, just enough to be polite. "You'll have to forgive those two, they are currently lacking me to keep them out of trouble." To be quite fair, he is also lacking them to keep himself out of trouble, but that's not important. "Anything in particular you wish to talk about, Master? Some latest scheme you wish to gloat about, perhaps? Or am I -- are we, I should say -- fortunate enough for this to actually be a purely social meeting?"