darkness falls
The Doctor may not have looked it, but he was fairly certain as he stalked into the compound on Thursday afternoon, that he had rarely felt better. He hadn't at first, after all; that simpering idiot he'd been saddled with by his former moronic self, for starters (did anything good ever come out of Australia, land of convicts?), and the miniature had started screaming his bleeding head off after he picked him up. It didn't take him as long as Gay Crocodile Dundee to figure out that things had been sorted, that had taken a good four biting remarks to chase him off.
And then he had to eat--fuck this human existence he had to work with, with the eating and the shitting and the sleeping--and everyone just kept smiling at him and asking him ridiculous questions about Earth history, the goddamn backwater of the universe, and it was really just more than any sensible person could bear. Fortunately with his Time Lord-level brain that still functioned a good ten times faster than any of the local cretins, he hadn't taken long to come up with a solution.
There was only one cure for the self-righteous anything goes human bullshit that made up this island, and that was a return to...well, to their roots. High time, wasn't it, to cull the weak and undeserving? Place was getting far too crowded, and there was such a convenient source of havoc. He could still remember the blood--the Welsh bint's, the others--when the fence had gone down before. This time, without an organised resistance except his control? It would be a pleasure. Besides, it wasn't like there was much else to do but play with the masses. The Master had failed so miserably, and that was typical; Koschei had never been one for planning scope, anyhow, everything was far too large or too small. An island of several hundred was just fine for games playing, like a god on high.
After a day of investigation out in the territory, and material gathering (and wasn't the TARDIS just so willing to give), he returned to the compound to get a shower and to have a lovely cup of tea. He'd need help. Save a few with particular talents, maybe even a breeding programme in time. Even Willy Wombat could stick around, he was good at patching up booboos, it'd be such a pleasure to break his heart once a day, and besides, he had a perfect cocksucking mouth...
Later for that. Mentally, the Doctor ticked off the people walking by: Dino bait. Might put up a fight, but in the end, snacktime. Definitely maimed, that one, and just as well, fatarse calves.
The notion made him slowly smile around his pencil as he chewed the end, then scribbled something in Gallifreyan on the diagram. It was a pity Jack was sterile. He could have made an excellent sire.
Please be aware that any threading will not be pretty and may turn NWS at least in description, as he may not want to pull punches.
And then he had to eat--fuck this human existence he had to work with, with the eating and the shitting and the sleeping--and everyone just kept smiling at him and asking him ridiculous questions about Earth history, the goddamn backwater of the universe, and it was really just more than any sensible person could bear. Fortunately with his Time Lord-level brain that still functioned a good ten times faster than any of the local cretins, he hadn't taken long to come up with a solution.
There was only one cure for the self-righteous anything goes human bullshit that made up this island, and that was a return to...well, to their roots. High time, wasn't it, to cull the weak and undeserving? Place was getting far too crowded, and there was such a convenient source of havoc. He could still remember the blood--the Welsh bint's, the others--when the fence had gone down before. This time, without an organised resistance except his control? It would be a pleasure. Besides, it wasn't like there was much else to do but play with the masses. The Master had failed so miserably, and that was typical; Koschei had never been one for planning scope, anyhow, everything was far too large or too small. An island of several hundred was just fine for games playing, like a god on high.
After a day of investigation out in the territory, and material gathering (and wasn't the TARDIS just so willing to give), he returned to the compound to get a shower and to have a lovely cup of tea. He'd need help. Save a few with particular talents, maybe even a breeding programme in time. Even Willy Wombat could stick around, he was good at patching up booboos, it'd be such a pleasure to break his heart once a day, and besides, he had a perfect cocksucking mouth...
Later for that. Mentally, the Doctor ticked off the people walking by: Dino bait. Might put up a fight, but in the end, snacktime. Definitely maimed, that one, and just as well, fatarse calves.
The notion made him slowly smile around his pencil as he chewed the end, then scribbled something in Gallifreyan on the diagram. It was a pity Jack was sterile. He could have made an excellent sire.
Please be aware that any threading will not be pretty and may turn NWS at least in description, as he may not want to pull punches.