He was in a slick heap on the floor, the smell of butter the first thing he consciously aware of. The smell. It was impossibly silent, an undreamed-of silence
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Well, he certainly looked the part, and the butter wasn't helping any.
And speaking of looking the part, wasn't this one of the Doctor's little pets? Was he here too?
"Oh, that's hardly fair," he said with the pout he knew worked so well on this face. It'd actually been why he'd skipped the beard now and then. "Isn't laughter supposed to be the best medicine?"
...okay, in Rory's professional opinion, hysterical laughter like that was a bad sign. On the other hand, it couldn't be easy to make a psychological adjustment from being a piece of popcorn.
He paused what he hoped was a safe distance away, and, because there weren't that many good questions at a time like this, asked, "Er - are you all right, mate?"
Rory nodded. "You are a bit. I think there are bathrooms near here." Unless they've moved... "First things first, though, do you remember where you are?"
He knew - he he knew so well - that laughter. The Doctor could hear it echoing not only in his ears but in his head, his hearts, right down to his very bones. It was at a full run that he came careening down the hall to the popcorn room, fast enough to endanger even his bowtie from flying off. It was still at a run that he jumped into the air and landed on the master, arms and legs clinging in the most absurd and embarrassing koala hug ever witnessed by any of the timeless eyes of the universe.
But really, who could blame him? There he was, the Master, all better after everything and returned so they could finally start the right way, so the Doctor could slice away all that dreadful insanity and show him the beautiful things in the universe he so longed to share.
So overwhelming was the emotion that the Doctor could only manage a kind of giggly whimper as he clung to his buttered fellow Gallifreyan.
Recognition only took a moment, although he'd been expecting the blond one. So, the Doctor had changed his face again. And with it, he'd apparently gotten rather huggy.
"As pre-emptive strikes go, that's unorthodox even for you," he murmured. "Or is this some primitive means of checking for weapons?"
There was a brief moment of debate where The Doctor had to decide whether or not to let go, but his emotions won out and he continued the hugging. Of course he knew he looked like an idiot, but really, it was hard to curb his excitement, especially here and now.
"New body," he said by way of excuse. "Still getting used to telling which limb to do what."
"Really," the Master said, in what he'd meant to be a sneer. But in this position, the Doctor's beating hearts seemed to resonate to his own and amplify his pulse, and it didn't matter if he couldn't hear the drums if he could feel them. The rest of his cutting reply died on his lips and his internal debate on whether to push the Doctor away or try to turn the contact to his advantage was forgotten as he raised his hands to press to his ears.
"It's a bit disorienting, coming back." He was leaning against the wall, his posture casual but his eyes carefully guarded. "Of course, I still haven't figured out what the butter is all about."
He had survived the Time War. If anyone would, of course it would be him.
"Remember?" He laughed again, more quietly but no less deranged. "Oh, Doctor, the things I remember... and you don't know yet!" Oh, now, this was glorious. It would be so easy, so delightful, to crush the Doctor's spirit with just a few sentences.
... the unmistakeable sound of villainous laughter? Possibly, ever so slightly, a bit unhinged, and definitely chock full of joie de vivre? A zest, a veritable zeal, for nefarious doings and schemes aplenty?
SURELY IT WAS SO!
Lezard began to laugh his own crazy laugh. Howling and cackling to wake the dead, he floated toward the source of the other laughter, and found it near the popcorn room.
There were many things Lezard lacked. Confidence was certainly not one of them. A wardrobe less suited to a Renaissance Faire was another. He beamed beatifically, and bowed to the appropriate depth to show courtesy without implication of servility or inferior status. (The appropriate depth by the standards of the royal court of Dipan, that was. Lezard had not much opportunity to grace any other.)
"I have the privilege and delight of being Lezard Valeth. As such, it is often true that I know how things work, in many places." Except when he was catastrophically mistaken, hampered by hubris, or ... dealing with women. "How rare to make the acquaintance of a gentleman so perceptive. Are you here for business or pleasure?"
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And speaking of looking the part, wasn't this one of the Doctor's little pets? Was he here too?
"Oh, that's hardly fair," he said with the pout he knew worked so well on this face. It'd actually been why he'd skipped the beard now and then. "Isn't laughter supposed to be the best medicine?"
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He paused what he hoped was a safe distance away, and, because there weren't that many good questions at a time like this, asked, "Er - are you all right, mate?"
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"I'm a bit greasy," he said with the self-deprecating smile that had served him so well.
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Odd question to ask someone you'd just met. The reason behind it must be fascinating, and hopefully wouldn't be too hard to turn to his advantage.
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But really, who could blame him? There he was, the Master, all better after everything and returned so they could finally start the right way, so the Doctor could slice away all that dreadful insanity and show him the beautiful things in the universe he so longed to share.
So overwhelming was the emotion that the Doctor could only manage a kind of giggly whimper as he clung to his buttered fellow Gallifreyan.
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"As pre-emptive strikes go, that's unorthodox even for you," he murmured. "Or is this some primitive means of checking for weapons?"
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"New body," he said by way of excuse. "Still getting used to telling which limb to do what."
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He had survived the Time War. If anyone would, of course it would be him.
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"You mean it's not just a primitive Earth custom?"
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"So how much do you remember?"
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... yes, it must be ...
... the unmistakeable sound of villainous laughter? Possibly, ever so slightly, a bit unhinged, and definitely chock full of joie de vivre? A zest, a veritable zeal, for nefarious doings and schemes aplenty?
SURELY IT WAS SO!
Lezard began to laugh his own crazy laugh. Howling and cackling to wake the dead, he floated toward the source of the other laughter, and found it near the popcorn room.
"Why, hello there!"
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"Hello," he said in his most charming Prime Ministerial fashion. "You look like someone who knows how things might work around here."
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"I have the privilege and delight of being Lezard Valeth. As such, it is often true that I know how things work, in many places." Except when he was catastrophically mistaken, hampered by hubris, or ... dealing with women. "How rare to make the acquaintance of a gentleman so perceptive. Are you here for business or pleasure?"
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And Lezard clearly thought of himself as such.
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