Shore Leave: Geartopia [Open to All]
||Attention all crewmen, shore leave is now in progress, attention crewmen, shore leave is now in progress...||
Stacy's voiced called the entire crew, until all of them were gathered at the Obs Deck. Then, a dossier appeared on the screens, along with the image of a rotating planet.
Planet Designation: Geartopia
Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non- ( Read more... )
Stacy's voiced called the entire crew, until all of them were gathered at the Obs Deck. Then, a dossier appeared on the screens, along with the image of a rotating planet.
Planet Designation: Geartopia
Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non- ( Read more... )
At the moment he was striking out alone, looking purposeful rather than wandering about like most of the riders. To anyone who knew anything about him, that couldn't be a good sign.
[[ooc: Totally open. Unless we work it out otherwise, all other threads will be assumed to happen before Eleven's. As for the subject line:
* Neither definitive success nor lack of retaliation is guaranteed. -Management]]
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He set his mouth in a grim line. He was determined to glean what technology he could from the monoliths, perhaps bend them to his needs and contact potential allies. They may be at war, but the Master had much to offer the other side. He wasn't about to die fighting another's battle.
It was going to be a little harder pulling that off with the Doctor watching his every move.
The Master brought his horse to a halt, turned it about to face the Doctor, and waited.
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The Doctor held on as his horse chugged and lowered its head, galloping to catch up to the Master. Its metal hooves thudded heavily against the ground as it kicked up clouds of dirt. He didn't know what he intended to do with the Master. Three of him and yet this was the one person in existence when three Doctors might not be enough. The distance between them closed as the Doctor's horse raced along the edge of a dusty ravine to his right, the drop going down a good bit away to what was trying vainly to look like a babbling brook and couldn't even get that right.
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He waited until the Doctor got quite close, close enough to slow to a trot. Close enough that he could see that daft determined face. The Master's own bored and slightly irritated expression twisted into a smirk, like the flash of a knife. A moment later he was off again, breaking his horse into a fast gallop right past the Doctor.
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He thought at this age, he would have something. Instead he gave chase, the horse thundering after the Master along the ridge and sending pebbles skittering into the ravine.
He was so focused on trying to catch up to the Master that he only briefly noted the hind leg of the horse giving. The rumble of the ground under him and up ahead, though, was much more in his face, the Doctor glancing up just in time to see the edge of the ridge suddenly caving in on itself, the slope sliding down that drop he'd glanced at only moments before to calculate oh, that does seem a bit further down than I thought! and now he had plenty of time to see ( ... )
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Once the dust cleared, the Master lifted his head, coughing weakly. It only took him a moment to locate the Doctor, sprawled in a heap just a few yards away next to a decidedly ruined machine. The Master brushed pieces of his own horse off him, trying to sit up. He was pretty sure he was bleeding in quite a few places.
"You just couldn't let it go, could you," he spat. "Now look what you've done."
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The luck didn't extend much further than that as the Doctor groaned and tried to turn over.
"Me? You couldn't just -- " The Doctor cut himself off as he sucked in a sharp breath. He knew without looking that his leg was either broken or it had a nice piece of mechanical horse run through it, which was probably just as surprised as him to be stuck in his thigh. He knew without standing that it would be difficult to walk, much less go after the Master if he decided to be himself and frustratingly stubborn about proving some nebulous point of his ( ... )
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He struggled to his feet, noticing with distaste that it hurt to put too much weight on one of his own legs. Still, the Master forced himself to flash a sickly grin.
"'Couldn't just'... what?" he hissed, limping toward the Doctor slowly. "Couldn't just give myself up? Let you set me straight? Let you... fix me?"
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His silence was telling. The Doctor grunted, his breath hitching in his chest.
"Productive. Or any of the others, but I was going to say 'productive'," he lied, cross that the Master had it right despite the different face. And sudden lack of eyebrows. Nevermind the chin. "You're not a very productive man, you know. Horrid at long-term planning ( ... )
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He was close enough now to kick up a little dirt at the Doctor's face, though he had to use his bad foot to do so. When it connected with the ground, a jolt of pain ran up his leg and he felt momentarily nauseous. All the Doctor's fault.
The Master stepped back and brought a hand up to wipe his forehead, frowning slightly when he saw the blood on his fingers.
"Perhaps I'll simply leave you here to think about your latest little failure," he murmured.
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And not quite the Master's style, he'd say! The Doctor craned his head to watch the Master peering at the blood on his fingers as if it was interesting, not quite sure if maybe he will have to be prepared to try to learn inchworming all over again and maybe he ought to be calculating his odds of making it back to town. On second thought, maybe he should have told someone where he was going and on third and fourth thoughts, maybe he shouldn't have emptied and organized his pockets before shore leave because now he can't find his psychic paper.
Which left trying to hobble his way back to civilization or the Master deciding that maybe letting exposure do what he couldn't was no fun at all.
Honestly, despite how cross he was with the man and his inability to behave himself, the Doctor still preferred ( ... )
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"Ohhh, I'll bet that hurts," he observed calmly, the drums raging inside the longer he looked at the other Time Lord. "Tell me, Doctor, how many more times is this sort of thing going to happen before your learn your lesson?"
He rested his bad foot on the tip of that bit of shrapnel, and began to press down, gritting his own teeth against the twinge of pain it caused him. The Doctor's agony would be far worse, and that made it all worth it.
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The Doctor cried out, instinctively trying to writhe away from the bolt of pain that burrowed into his leg like a living thing. His breath hitched in his chest as he tried to both twist out under the Master, knowing logically that moving around was only to make the injury worse and doing it anyway because Time Lord or not, he still had some animal reactions of his own. Humans didn't have a monopoly on them. He managed to look up at the Master and caught sight of that look on the man's face. That look. The one he'd seen before, almost feverish; hyper-focused ( ... )
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"Bored? You must not be paying attention, Doctor, listen to me." The Master leaned harder into the shrapnel, the rhythm in his head pounding hard and fast. "Why would I ever tire of this?"
But he was. Physically, at least. He pressed his foot down a few moments longer, really digging in, before releasing the other Time Lord and screwing his face up in disdain.
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The Doctor struggles not to give the Master the satisfaction of hearing him in pain: it lasts all of two seconds before he cries out again when the Master makes it a point to dig that shrapnel deeper into the meat of his leg. His fingers claw at the dust as he tries to flinch away again. It seems to skip past forever into eternity before the Master finally tires of his little "game", time snapping back into perspective as the Doctor gasps in relief and catches his breath once the weight is off his leg.
"Human," the Doctor pants out. "Because it's human. You're acting like the worst kind of human."
It's probably a slap to the face but the Doctor hasn't ever been known to be tactful. It's true, anyway. This isn't elegant at all. It's brutal, physical. Raw, he supposes. Not quite like the Master's usual style.
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