[THREAD] The Problem With Always Being Right...
Who: Second Master (sinister_charm) and Ninth Doctor (fantasticninth)
What: Walter murders the Master. Nine finds his corpse... and gets paid a little visit from a dead man.
When: 3:00PM, Friday, September 7th
Where: Room 207
Rating: R for violence, gore, and yeah.
NOTE: Posting this early since I have work like, ALL DAY.
His TARDIS was so very close to him. After the long week he had returned willingly to his room, the path almost blissfully clear. It drove him to the very edge of his paranoia, but it mattered little. He would try again now, try again and again and again even though he had tried before to no avail. He was the Master, his mind told him. The impossible was every day for him, this was nothing, insignificant and minuscule next to him. He would be able to reach the TARDIS if he just tried a bit harder, he applied himself more ferociously.
That part of his mind went ignored. He threw the door open to his bedroom - his castle assigned bedroom, the one he so little stayed in and little slept in. There, right in the corner of the room, in the shape of a mirror, was his TARDIS. Around it was that gaping hole, just there and devouring the floor. Weakly, he edged towards it - felt the abyss almost reach up to grab him. Voices echoed upwards, screamed tore from the darkness, beckoned him with his
koschei
real name. He laughed madly down at the chasm, the gap, sneered and giggled and stumbled, almost toppling into the hole. He careened away. Can't jump too far can't make it can't make it can't can't can't, his mind was loud and banging. The drums beat harder and harder; his mental voice shouted a mantra of can't at him, and somewhere there was stinging, the crushing, the alarm of 'get out get out get out
get out while you can
get out' that he ignored.
The Master grabbed the edge of the bed, jerked it- tumbled weakly to the floor in the process. He felt something grind in his chest, most likely a rib that was shifted hardly, and he screamed in response to the pain. For a few moments, he lay there and shuddered before he rose again, tugging and pulling at the bed again. Maybe he could get it across, yes, yes, maybe he could get it across before
he's coming, you fool!
anything worse came. Something worse always did come, he knew that, and the part of him still clinging desperately to his survival - to instincts that still remained even in his highly advanced mental state - urged him onwards, moving, go and go and go while he could. If he could just get something across the gap...
It failed. Something grabbed one of the legs of the bed, jerked it from his grip, sucked it down into the chasm. He sunk to his knees and wailed. It was so close, his TARDIS, just out of reach. If the doors were open, he would have ran, leapt, jumped, dove into the TARDIS and clattered weakly on its floor... but he always locked it. Always closed the doors. The universe was spiting him again.
move move move move
He struggled back to his feet and stared at the mirror. It was there he saw a reflection behind him. It may have been the TARDIS he was looking at, but it functioned like a regular mirror. The man behind him was dirty, long haired, almost tired looking... the Master whirled around in time to have one of his arms grabbed. He desperately stomped down on the stranger's foot, but no reaction. The man pulled him to a chair.
you should have run
Weakly he tried to struggle, pull himself out of the grip, but he was tired, stressed, lost too much blood over the week - done too much without letting himself the time to heal. He was shoved into the chair violently, then his hands bound to the arm rests with leather straps.
"Letmegoletmegoletmego!" he shouted, jerking and pulling while his legs were strapped down as well. Once bound fully, a blade was pressed to his forehead, carving letters... no, no, no, numbers into it. He screamed in weak protest and outrage; blood trickled down into his eyes.
19121
Electricity surged through his body. In any other circumstances, he wouldn't have reacted - but now his body writhed and jerked against the restraints as inhuman levels of current leapt through him. He howled and screamed in agony. He felt like he were being burned alive. His arms jerked wildly, desperate to release themselves. His back arched and his head rocked backwards; eyes rolling up into his head as blood began to pour from his mouth and nose. He tried to eject from the body, take anything, even a nearby monster if he could - just temporarily, enough to save him from death. Nothing happened, nothing at all, and he screamed once more.
He could smell his own flesh searing and cooking. He could feel himself convulse, feel the electricity burn through his skull and his brain and his entire body. A third scream burst from his mouth, accompanied by a spray of blood. Smoke rose from his clothing, from his hands and wrists, accompanied with the smell of cooking skin and organs. So much pain so much pain so much pain - he couldn't think past it. He was still conscious and aware as his body continued to writhe in the seat, electricity fully scouring his entire form.
chaos
There was one last scream of pure and utter agony. Then he was silent as the electricity died, his body went limp. A stray, left over current caused one of his hands to twitch, but it was over as quickly as it began. His mind was burned clean through - his hearts charred and dead. Nothing was left except a smoking corpse, an empty husk.
What: Walter murders the Master. Nine finds his corpse... and gets paid a little visit from a dead man.
When: 3:00PM, Friday, September 7th
Where: Room 207
Rating: R for violence, gore, and yeah.
NOTE: Posting this early since I have work like, ALL DAY.
His TARDIS was so very close to him. After the long week he had returned willingly to his room, the path almost blissfully clear. It drove him to the very edge of his paranoia, but it mattered little. He would try again now, try again and again and again even though he had tried before to no avail. He was the Master, his mind told him. The impossible was every day for him, this was nothing, insignificant and minuscule next to him. He would be able to reach the TARDIS if he just tried a bit harder, he applied himself more ferociously.
That part of his mind went ignored. He threw the door open to his bedroom - his castle assigned bedroom, the one he so little stayed in and little slept in. There, right in the corner of the room, in the shape of a mirror, was his TARDIS. Around it was that gaping hole, just there and devouring the floor. Weakly, he edged towards it - felt the abyss almost reach up to grab him. Voices echoed upwards, screamed tore from the darkness, beckoned him with his
koschei
real name. He laughed madly down at the chasm, the gap, sneered and giggled and stumbled, almost toppling into the hole. He careened away. Can't jump too far can't make it can't make it can't can't can't, his mind was loud and banging. The drums beat harder and harder; his mental voice shouted a mantra of can't at him, and somewhere there was stinging, the crushing, the alarm of 'get out get out get out
get out while you can
get out' that he ignored.
The Master grabbed the edge of the bed, jerked it- tumbled weakly to the floor in the process. He felt something grind in his chest, most likely a rib that was shifted hardly, and he screamed in response to the pain. For a few moments, he lay there and shuddered before he rose again, tugging and pulling at the bed again. Maybe he could get it across, yes, yes, maybe he could get it across before
he's coming, you fool!
anything worse came. Something worse always did come, he knew that, and the part of him still clinging desperately to his survival - to instincts that still remained even in his highly advanced mental state - urged him onwards, moving, go and go and go while he could. If he could just get something across the gap...
It failed. Something grabbed one of the legs of the bed, jerked it from his grip, sucked it down into the chasm. He sunk to his knees and wailed. It was so close, his TARDIS, just out of reach. If the doors were open, he would have ran, leapt, jumped, dove into the TARDIS and clattered weakly on its floor... but he always locked it. Always closed the doors. The universe was spiting him again.
move move move move
He struggled back to his feet and stared at the mirror. It was there he saw a reflection behind him. It may have been the TARDIS he was looking at, but it functioned like a regular mirror. The man behind him was dirty, long haired, almost tired looking... the Master whirled around in time to have one of his arms grabbed. He desperately stomped down on the stranger's foot, but no reaction. The man pulled him to a chair.
you should have run
Weakly he tried to struggle, pull himself out of the grip, but he was tired, stressed, lost too much blood over the week - done too much without letting himself the time to heal. He was shoved into the chair violently, then his hands bound to the arm rests with leather straps.
"Letmegoletmegoletmego!" he shouted, jerking and pulling while his legs were strapped down as well. Once bound fully, a blade was pressed to his forehead, carving letters... no, no, no, numbers into it. He screamed in weak protest and outrage; blood trickled down into his eyes.
19121
Electricity surged through his body. In any other circumstances, he wouldn't have reacted - but now his body writhed and jerked against the restraints as inhuman levels of current leapt through him. He howled and screamed in agony. He felt like he were being burned alive. His arms jerked wildly, desperate to release themselves. His back arched and his head rocked backwards; eyes rolling up into his head as blood began to pour from his mouth and nose. He tried to eject from the body, take anything, even a nearby monster if he could - just temporarily, enough to save him from death. Nothing happened, nothing at all, and he screamed once more.
He could smell his own flesh searing and cooking. He could feel himself convulse, feel the electricity burn through his skull and his brain and his entire body. A third scream burst from his mouth, accompanied by a spray of blood. Smoke rose from his clothing, from his hands and wrists, accompanied with the smell of cooking skin and organs. So much pain so much pain so much pain - he couldn't think past it. He was still conscious and aware as his body continued to writhe in the seat, electricity fully scouring his entire form.
chaos
There was one last scream of pure and utter agony. Then he was silent as the electricity died, his body went limp. A stray, left over current caused one of his hands to twitch, but it was over as quickly as it began. His mind was burned clean through - his hearts charred and dead. Nothing was left except a smoking corpse, an empty husk.