Something in our blood, something in our sky

[hear_the_drums]

((set not long after the Master gives the Rani some blood to test.))

The only thing worse than the Rani's curiosity was his own particularly violent brand.

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[iron_and_latin]

It was a little early to be in bed for the night, but Sam had actually been asleep for a couple hours when there was a knock at the door. He'd been having nightmares again, not visions but real nightmares, ever since that weird encounter with the Master, and so he took advantage of being tired enough to sleep somewhat soundly whenever he could.

He didn't know who'd be knocking on his door at any time, but he hoped it'd be Kara; he was still really worried about her and they hadn't talked or seen much of each other in the past couple of days.

He kept a steak knife he'd swiped from the Hungry Bear on the floor by his bed when he slept, and on his person during the day, and he picked it up as he scrambled out from under the blankets and carried it tucked into his palm, partially hidden by the long sleeves of his baggy sweatshirt as he went to the door.

Hopefully it was Kara. But just in case.

[hear_the_drums]

The 'you will obey me' line had a certain drama to it, of course. He had chosen it very carefully, and it suited his mental will in a stylistic way. That didn't mean he hadn't learned new tricks over the years, ones that streamlined the effort and perhaps looked a bit more godly.

So when the door opened, he narrowed his psychic focus and snapped his fingers in front of the boy's face.

"Surprise!" he exclaimed. "I would have sent a note, but it's so depressing when the party packs up and moves before you get there."

[iron_and_latin]

It was probably impressive that Sam got the knife halfway to the Master's neck before the... whatever psychicness it was that the Master did... kicked in, but it was still ultimately beyond useless.

He wondered distantly, as the blade fell from his hand, if it was possible that he could ever actually get fast enough for it to do any good.

[hear_the_drums]

It was impressive. But also unfortunately didn't prevent the Master from using a two-finger shove to get Sam back indoors.

"We're going to have a chat," he continued gleefully. "One that will involve some more science, a bit of language, and one of my personal favorites - history."

[hear_the_drums]

Which was very far from what the Master intended. Lucky for Sam.

He used a cotton swab to get saliva sample.

"You know, English speakers underestimate that word," he said, so suddenly thoughtful it bordered on camp. "Enlighten. If I tell you what the purpose of taking blood samples is, that would not be an act of enlightenment. That would be giving information. Simple, boring information at that. However, what I might be able to obtain from those blood samples--" His eyes flickered as though the output of psychic energy burned through his head. "--that could be enlightening."

[iron_and_latin]

"Which is?" Sam pressed. For an evil guy he was really not very forthcoming- where was the gloating and the confident promise of a slow demise?

[hear_the_drums]

The Master had learned a thing or two in this body. The most important of these was that the plan was never revealed until all of his pieces had lined the battlefield and closed in. When you're victorious, that's when you monologue.

"I can't very well tell you before I know myself, can I?" Last sample pocketed. "You'll get to find out along with the rest of them, I expect."

He turned to walk out the door, leaving Sam rooted to the spot. Before crossing that thick line of salt along the doorjamb, right beneath the Devil's Trap, he paused and slowly came back around. "Can't have you following once I've walked off, though. It would ruin the exit. So Samuel, tonight I think I'll leave you alone." Another snap of his fingers, somehow louder, like an echo in a large empty hall. "With your memories."

And then he was gone.

[iron_and_latin]

Sam was more than used to nightmares. But memories, fresh as the day after, were something else entirely. And he worst, though, worse even than the ever-familiar sight of Jess burning on their ceiling, was his father's face that last time they fought. The last time Sam saw him. Before he went to hell.

He was never going to sleep again.