Dead again
Characters: The Master, Rose, the Doctor
Rating: R for violence and language
Time Period: Modern ---> Near Future
Location: The Time Room ---> Castle ruins
Relative Date: A few minutes after this
Status: Closed (or open to anyone who wants to find the Master's body)
Rose had stormed off, leaving the Master alone in the Time Room. He swallowed, drums pounding in his head in the aftermath of their argument, and stared again at the picture of the hunter-woman with the gun.
He had to get out of here. However, wrong this place felt, however odd the method of time-travel, he needed to get away from the castle for a bit, combat the feeling of being trapped.
He hated being trapped. Hated anything having control over him. The Doctor would probably say it served him right, being stuck here, after the year he’d spent keeping the Doctor captive, but that knowledge didn’t help. It just made him even more frustrated.
The drums battered the inside of his skull, their rhythm trapping his thoughts too, into an endless repetition. Wherever he went, whatever he did, they were always there, making his mind work to their rhythm.
The Master took one last look back towards the door Rose had gone through, then turned back to the painting with a sneer at his own hesitation and jabbed a finger hard at the button.
The world dissolved around him - oh, that horrible feeling of wrongness, of time all twisted and tangled! - and he found himself in what appeared to be the ruins of the castle.
Well, at least it was different. Wilder, stormier. And someone seemed to have had some fun here. The ground was blasted as far as he could see. It looked as if a bomb had gone off, or perhaps a really wild, unmanageable fire. The Master sighed with relief. That was more like it! A bit of death and destruction - that’s what he needed!
Unfortunately, the only death and destruction he was going to get appeared to be his own. He’d barely moved beyond the castle walls when he felt a sudden pain erupt in his chest and he looked down to see a dart sticking out of the front of his shirt. A poisoned dart, he realised, at the rapidly-spreading throb radiating out from the dart. Oh, for goodness sake, not again! he thought, pulling the dart out and throwing it on the ground. Shot in the chest again! What ridiculously bad luck. Then his knees buckled and he fell, cracking his head on a large chunk of rubble as he went down. Fuck it. He blinked and shook his head to clear it.
He did at least have the satisfaction of catching sight of his attacker - a dirty, raggedly-dressed man crowing delightedly from the cover of some nearby bushes - and putting an end to him with a quick zap of his laser screwdriver.
Then he let himself slump down onto the ground and waited to feel the artron energy start to build. No question about whether he was going to regenerate this time; he’d made his point to the Doctor last time and a repeat wasn’t going to have the same impact. He wanted to stick around this time, if only to live to find a way out of this blasted place. And a new regeneration might be fun.
It was a minute before he realised that nothing was happening. There was no build-up of artron energy. He wasn’t regenerating! The Master began to panic. He had to regenerate! He couldn't just die, like some common human! Was it because he was in this place, with its mangled timelines? A Time Lord’s regenerative nature was so intricately tied into time itself, maybe that meant he couldn’t regenerate here where time wasn’t itself?
Perhaps if he could get back to the ‘present’, or whatever time the age of the castle and the Time Room actually was? He began to crawl determinedly back towards the interior of the castle, pulling himself along in desperation as the poison travelled inexorably through his veins.
He was only a few yards away from the button when he died.
Rating: R for violence and language
Time Period: Modern ---> Near Future
Location: The Time Room ---> Castle ruins
Relative Date: A few minutes after this
Status: Closed (or open to anyone who wants to find the Master's body)
Rose had stormed off, leaving the Master alone in the Time Room. He swallowed, drums pounding in his head in the aftermath of their argument, and stared again at the picture of the hunter-woman with the gun.
He had to get out of here. However, wrong this place felt, however odd the method of time-travel, he needed to get away from the castle for a bit, combat the feeling of being trapped.
He hated being trapped. Hated anything having control over him. The Doctor would probably say it served him right, being stuck here, after the year he’d spent keeping the Doctor captive, but that knowledge didn’t help. It just made him even more frustrated.
The drums battered the inside of his skull, their rhythm trapping his thoughts too, into an endless repetition. Wherever he went, whatever he did, they were always there, making his mind work to their rhythm.
The Master took one last look back towards the door Rose had gone through, then turned back to the painting with a sneer at his own hesitation and jabbed a finger hard at the button.
The world dissolved around him - oh, that horrible feeling of wrongness, of time all twisted and tangled! - and he found himself in what appeared to be the ruins of the castle.
Well, at least it was different. Wilder, stormier. And someone seemed to have had some fun here. The ground was blasted as far as he could see. It looked as if a bomb had gone off, or perhaps a really wild, unmanageable fire. The Master sighed with relief. That was more like it! A bit of death and destruction - that’s what he needed!
Unfortunately, the only death and destruction he was going to get appeared to be his own. He’d barely moved beyond the castle walls when he felt a sudden pain erupt in his chest and he looked down to see a dart sticking out of the front of his shirt. A poisoned dart, he realised, at the rapidly-spreading throb radiating out from the dart. Oh, for goodness sake, not again! he thought, pulling the dart out and throwing it on the ground. Shot in the chest again! What ridiculously bad luck. Then his knees buckled and he fell, cracking his head on a large chunk of rubble as he went down. Fuck it. He blinked and shook his head to clear it.
He did at least have the satisfaction of catching sight of his attacker - a dirty, raggedly-dressed man crowing delightedly from the cover of some nearby bushes - and putting an end to him with a quick zap of his laser screwdriver.
Then he let himself slump down onto the ground and waited to feel the artron energy start to build. No question about whether he was going to regenerate this time; he’d made his point to the Doctor last time and a repeat wasn’t going to have the same impact. He wanted to stick around this time, if only to live to find a way out of this blasted place. And a new regeneration might be fun.
It was a minute before he realised that nothing was happening. There was no build-up of artron energy. He wasn’t regenerating! The Master began to panic. He had to regenerate! He couldn't just die, like some common human! Was it because he was in this place, with its mangled timelines? A Time Lord’s regenerative nature was so intricately tied into time itself, maybe that meant he couldn’t regenerate here where time wasn’t itself?
Perhaps if he could get back to the ‘present’, or whatever time the age of the castle and the Time Room actually was? He began to crawl determinedly back towards the interior of the castle, pulling himself along in desperation as the poison travelled inexorably through his veins.
He was only a few yards away from the button when he died.