The Master found it harder than expected to compose his note to the Doctor.... the Doctor as he had been so long ago. He could barely recall how it was between them, it was so long ago.
But finally, he produced a letter in an elegant hand.
My dear Doctor
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It was all rather frustrating, and anything seemed a welcome distraction, even an invite from the Master.
After eying the owl that had brough the message suspiciously, he turned the bit of...parchment, really? And wrote on the other side with a feather pen he'd found earlier.
As I seem to have little choice in staying in this place, I will accept.. He pondered the message, swirling the end of the feather in the air. Did it seem too eager? But then, if he wanted the Master to reveal more about this place, whether it was in fact his creation at all, which claim the Doctor was starting to ( ... )
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Do try to be prompt, he sent in a quick response, and made his way to the Little Green Apple, sliding into one of the plush velvet booths and ordering a Sidecar.
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Now, what to wear. Very important, the right sort of clothes when one was trying to... impress someone, especially someone like the Master. Chuckling inwardly, the Doctor headed towards his Tardis and it's wardrobe, with a new spring to his step.
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Some time (the Doctor couldn't be expected to hurry with these sort of things) later, the Doctor stepped into the Green Apple, decked out in deep red velvet and a black cape with an old gold satin lining, a flash of colour as he took it off and draped it over the back on the bench in one rakish movement.
"Evening, old boy" he said shortly, before seating himself in the booth.
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"I see you found the place," he said breezily. "I suppose you could call it the neighborhood bar. For my neighborhood, at least. Yours was a brandy this time around, wasn't it? Or am I getting my memories crossed?"
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