Crossover conversations: the results
I'm not taking any more suggestions for the crossover conversations meme--fucking hell, this is difficult! I suck at dialogue, but here are the results, some okay, some a bit rubbish, some darker and pornier than I expected...
Astro asked for Master and Servalan.
Shit... I don't think I can do this in dialogue. All of a sudden, I have PORN in my head. THE FUCK? SERVALAN PORN? IN MY HEAD?
"Power", he breathes, smiling between her legs, lips glistening. "All this and more..."
She rakes her claws through his hair and laughs, breathy, mocking.
"Side by side, running the galaxy?"
"If that's what you desire."
She snorts, pushing his head down where it belongs.
"You're going to have to try harder than that, I'm afraid."
He curls his fingers inside her, finally earning a moan from her.
"Oh, believe me, I *will*."
Temporalgrace wanted Gene Hunt and Delgado!Master.
"Really, Detective Chief Inspector, I must protest. This is no way to treat an esteemed diplomat." He would spread his hands in a placating gesture, if they weren't cuffed behind his back.
Hunt blows smoke in his face.
"Yeah? This is how I get *results*. Spanish ambassador, my *arse*."
The Master answers Hunt's stare with one of his own.
"Look into my eyes."
There's a moment of silence as Hunt stares right back. The Master lowers his voice into a commanding murmur.
"That's it. Look into my eyes. You *must* obe--"
*SMACK!*
"Poof."
Vilakins asked for Bill Shore and Tarrant.
Bill gapes at the man who has just materialised right before his eyes, pinches himself to see if this is one of his more bizarre dreams again.
"Wait a minute, aren't you... survey team..."
Tarrant looks around, angry and in a hurry.
"I have no time for *games*. Where the *hell* is Blake?"
"Blake? What the--"
Tarrant grabs him by the lapels.
"I said, where is *Blake*?"
Bill winces, exasperated.
"How in the bloody hell should I know? There's no-one on this island with that name, not that I know of--oh, Reverend, good morning--" he would waggle his hand in greeting, but lands on his arse with a thump as Tarrant suddenly lets go and runs after Charles.
"Blake! Wait for me!"
Emeriin wanted Sam Tyler and Delgado!Master. Turned into an angsty mini-fic. Delgado's last story was on the telly in spring 1973...
Sam slams his palms on the sides of his telly, furious, desperate.
"Come on! TALK TO ME!"
And there, the Master stops talking to Jo Grant, turns his face to the camera, and speaks.
"What would you like me to say, mister Tyler?"
Sam's hands fall to his thighs. He sits there, kneeling. Listening.
"Would you like me to tell you that this is all a dream? That you will soon be returned home to your loved ones? That I can take you back, just like"--and he snaps his gloved fingers--"that?"
Sam whispers a quiet, broken "Please". Tears are starting to well up in his eyes.
The Master shakes his head. His voice matter-in-fact.
"I'm afraid not, mister Tyler. You see--I am many things, but I am not your personal saviour. In fact, I am here to tell you that"--he glances at his wristwatch--"In about thirty seconds, your life support will be turned off, and a doctor will see you with a nice little injection."
Tears are rolling down Sam's cheeks now, but he is still listening, fighting sobs, hanging onto each cruel word from the Master's smiling mouth.
"No." he whispers. So quiet it's almost inaudible. "No. No. No."
The Master tilts his head and tuts.
"Be a brave young man, now, Sam. It only hurts once. Think about it. No more pain. Ever again."
The image fades to static, to Sam screaming, the lights going out, the telly turning off, and into darkness.
Rob T Firefly, the sick fuck, wanted Mister Master and Frank N. Furter.
"Oh! We have an evil genius in the house, ladies and gentlemen!" Frank grins, and winks. "Wanna come up and see my instruments?"
"I *don't* think so." The Master crosses his arms, tilts his chin, legs splayed in a defiant stance. Even when stripped down to his pants, he's damned if he's going to give in to some painted man-tart.
Frank licks his lips, assesses him from head to toe, lingering in the middle.
"Dah-ling. That look suits you. Red silk. Brings out your... assets."
"Give me back my clothes. *Now*. or I will blow you to smithereens."
Frank laughs, throatily.
"Ah, 'blow'. You're flirting with me already. Have you no shame?"
"Actually, no." The Master is bored with this. He takes out the Laser Screwdriver from his pants, and points it at Frank.
"Last warning."
Frank gasps theatrically, putting his hand over his mouth.
"You filthy thing! Whipping your tool out and waving it in front of my face? It's only our first date!"
The Master sighs, presses a button, and Frank falls to the ground, thrashing and gurgling and chewing the scenery.
The Master picks up his suit from the floor, dresses quickly, and delivers one last zap, glaring down at the now-withered little house elf sobbing in a pile of too-large sequinned corsetry and fishnets. He pokes Frank in the stomach with the tip of his expensive shoe.
"*Never* touch another man's Versace."
Warmuse requested Gene Hunt and Fivey.
"UNIT, my arse."
"Hmph! You remind me of the Brigadier, you know. The two of you would get along swimmingly."
Hunt sniffs.
"Military ponce! This is *my* city, and none of you scumbags are moving in without my say-so."
The Doctor leans forwards, hands clasped behind his back.
"I'm afraid they are. Terrible things, Autons. You need all the help you can get. Now, don't be unreasonable, Detective Chief Inspector."
"Plastics coming to life, eh? Don't believe a word of it. Some nonce bludgeoned to death with his own dildo."
"...it's a little more complicated than that. A dangerous criminal is on the loose. Calls himself the Master."
"Master, eh? Proves I'm right. Lovers' tiff. Case closed."
Liza wanted Chiana and Jack Harkness. No prizes for guessing how that one turned out.
"Why, hel-*lo* there, big fella."
"Why, hel-*lo* there, gorgeous."
"What does a cute guy like you do in a dren-hole like this?"
"Same as you, I expect. Shag?"
"Frell yeah."
And then they done sex.
Sorry.
Astro asked for Master and Servalan.
Shit... I don't think I can do this in dialogue. All of a sudden, I have PORN in my head. THE FUCK? SERVALAN PORN? IN MY HEAD?
"Power", he breathes, smiling between her legs, lips glistening. "All this and more..."
She rakes her claws through his hair and laughs, breathy, mocking.
"Side by side, running the galaxy?"
"If that's what you desire."
She snorts, pushing his head down where it belongs.
"You're going to have to try harder than that, I'm afraid."
He curls his fingers inside her, finally earning a moan from her.
"Oh, believe me, I *will*."
Temporalgrace wanted Gene Hunt and Delgado!Master.
"Really, Detective Chief Inspector, I must protest. This is no way to treat an esteemed diplomat." He would spread his hands in a placating gesture, if they weren't cuffed behind his back.
Hunt blows smoke in his face.
"Yeah? This is how I get *results*. Spanish ambassador, my *arse*."
The Master answers Hunt's stare with one of his own.
"Look into my eyes."
There's a moment of silence as Hunt stares right back. The Master lowers his voice into a commanding murmur.
"That's it. Look into my eyes. You *must* obe--"
*SMACK!*
"Poof."
Vilakins asked for Bill Shore and Tarrant.
Bill gapes at the man who has just materialised right before his eyes, pinches himself to see if this is one of his more bizarre dreams again.
"Wait a minute, aren't you... survey team..."
Tarrant looks around, angry and in a hurry.
"I have no time for *games*. Where the *hell* is Blake?"
"Blake? What the--"
Tarrant grabs him by the lapels.
"I said, where is *Blake*?"
Bill winces, exasperated.
"How in the bloody hell should I know? There's no-one on this island with that name, not that I know of--oh, Reverend, good morning--" he would waggle his hand in greeting, but lands on his arse with a thump as Tarrant suddenly lets go and runs after Charles.
"Blake! Wait for me!"
Emeriin wanted Sam Tyler and Delgado!Master. Turned into an angsty mini-fic. Delgado's last story was on the telly in spring 1973...
Sam slams his palms on the sides of his telly, furious, desperate.
"Come on! TALK TO ME!"
And there, the Master stops talking to Jo Grant, turns his face to the camera, and speaks.
"What would you like me to say, mister Tyler?"
Sam's hands fall to his thighs. He sits there, kneeling. Listening.
"Would you like me to tell you that this is all a dream? That you will soon be returned home to your loved ones? That I can take you back, just like"--and he snaps his gloved fingers--"that?"
Sam whispers a quiet, broken "Please". Tears are starting to well up in his eyes.
The Master shakes his head. His voice matter-in-fact.
"I'm afraid not, mister Tyler. You see--I am many things, but I am not your personal saviour. In fact, I am here to tell you that"--he glances at his wristwatch--"In about thirty seconds, your life support will be turned off, and a doctor will see you with a nice little injection."
Tears are rolling down Sam's cheeks now, but he is still listening, fighting sobs, hanging onto each cruel word from the Master's smiling mouth.
"No." he whispers. So quiet it's almost inaudible. "No. No. No."
The Master tilts his head and tuts.
"Be a brave young man, now, Sam. It only hurts once. Think about it. No more pain. Ever again."
The image fades to static, to Sam screaming, the lights going out, the telly turning off, and into darkness.
Rob T Firefly, the sick fuck, wanted Mister Master and Frank N. Furter.
"Oh! We have an evil genius in the house, ladies and gentlemen!" Frank grins, and winks. "Wanna come up and see my instruments?"
"I *don't* think so." The Master crosses his arms, tilts his chin, legs splayed in a defiant stance. Even when stripped down to his pants, he's damned if he's going to give in to some painted man-tart.
Frank licks his lips, assesses him from head to toe, lingering in the middle.
"Dah-ling. That look suits you. Red silk. Brings out your... assets."
"Give me back my clothes. *Now*. or I will blow you to smithereens."
Frank laughs, throatily.
"Ah, 'blow'. You're flirting with me already. Have you no shame?"
"Actually, no." The Master is bored with this. He takes out the Laser Screwdriver from his pants, and points it at Frank.
"Last warning."
Frank gasps theatrically, putting his hand over his mouth.
"You filthy thing! Whipping your tool out and waving it in front of my face? It's only our first date!"
The Master sighs, presses a button, and Frank falls to the ground, thrashing and gurgling and chewing the scenery.
The Master picks up his suit from the floor, dresses quickly, and delivers one last zap, glaring down at the now-withered little house elf sobbing in a pile of too-large sequinned corsetry and fishnets. He pokes Frank in the stomach with the tip of his expensive shoe.
"*Never* touch another man's Versace."
Warmuse requested Gene Hunt and Fivey.
"UNIT, my arse."
"Hmph! You remind me of the Brigadier, you know. The two of you would get along swimmingly."
Hunt sniffs.
"Military ponce! This is *my* city, and none of you scumbags are moving in without my say-so."
The Doctor leans forwards, hands clasped behind his back.
"I'm afraid they are. Terrible things, Autons. You need all the help you can get. Now, don't be unreasonable, Detective Chief Inspector."
"Plastics coming to life, eh? Don't believe a word of it. Some nonce bludgeoned to death with his own dildo."
"...it's a little more complicated than that. A dangerous criminal is on the loose. Calls himself the Master."
"Master, eh? Proves I'm right. Lovers' tiff. Case closed."
Liza wanted Chiana and Jack Harkness. No prizes for guessing how that one turned out.
"Why, hel-*lo* there, big fella."
"Why, hel-*lo* there, gorgeous."
"What does a cute guy like you do in a dren-hole like this?"
"Same as you, I expect. Shag?"
"Frell yeah."
And then they done sex.
Sorry.