With a slightly shaky arrival, the Master stumbles down the ramp, deep thought creasing over his face. This was certainly not the Valiant; he knew every corner of that ship. He pats himself down, specifically checking around his upper chest and glancing over it in surprise after his hands come up clean: no bullet wound, but dried blood within the
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"You're right."
So much he feels from two words.
Maybe he won't shoot Lucy the next time he sees her. Maybe he'll sweep her into his arms and give her the kiss of all kisses. He can feel the universe in his grasp now, so close. "You can't save people who don't want to be saved," he hums his reply, bubbling openly with energy. Their change in conversation was like a whiplash effect, and he was rather surprised they even made it to this point. Right here, right now, was the rarest of opportunities.
And oh good, the ( ... )
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