Log - CLOSED.
Who: The Master and Ace
Where: The Deck
When: Shortly after this journal entry.
Warnings: NOPE. Not even trauma or mind-fuckery. SHOCKING, ISN'T IT.
It would appear that the Doctor's little firecracker of a companion hadn't yet mastered the art of filtering her posts. If she had, it was likely the Master wouldn't have been able to lay the scenario out so perfectly. He might have missed a detail-- such as which Doctor to impersonate-- or allowed himself to make a blatant contradiction, but as it was, it appeared that just about everything in the journal had been laid out for him. Two Doctors aboard this vessel, one identified already, and the other described as wearing trainers and sporting sideburns. The sideburns were no problem; his own were not quite as long as the Doctor's-- or even the real Sam Tyler's-- but they were close enough. Obtaining trainers that fit wasn't a problem; he'd merely stolen them from the DCI's room (a guaranteed fit, at least) and put on a less magnificent suit; something closer to what the Doctor would wear. The look was, naturally, utterly ridiculous, but that was the Doctor for you.
He waited by the railing on the deck, his fingers tapping the familiar sound of the drums.
Where: The Deck
When: Shortly after this journal entry.
Warnings: NOPE. Not even trauma or mind-fuckery. SHOCKING, ISN'T IT.
It would appear that the Doctor's little firecracker of a companion hadn't yet mastered the art of filtering her posts. If she had, it was likely the Master wouldn't have been able to lay the scenario out so perfectly. He might have missed a detail-- such as which Doctor to impersonate-- or allowed himself to make a blatant contradiction, but as it was, it appeared that just about everything in the journal had been laid out for him. Two Doctors aboard this vessel, one identified already, and the other described as wearing trainers and sporting sideburns. The sideburns were no problem; his own were not quite as long as the Doctor's-- or even the real Sam Tyler's-- but they were close enough. Obtaining trainers that fit wasn't a problem; he'd merely stolen them from the DCI's room (a guaranteed fit, at least) and put on a less magnificent suit; something closer to what the Doctor would wear. The look was, naturally, utterly ridiculous, but that was the Doctor for you.
He waited by the railing on the deck, his fingers tapping the familiar sound of the drums.