All You Ghosts, Pt 2
Characters: The Master (Simm, OU), with a special guest star playing The Ghost of Christmas Future
Setting: The Master's bedroom, carnage and destruction
Time: Two hours past midnight, after this.
Summary: The Master is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future. It's not a happy future, apparently.
Warnings: Some carnage, some swearing, a few somewhat unsettling undertones.
Notes: Ghost of Christmas Future's mun is sagekaley~
The next time the Master awoke, it was with two pounding hearts and the drums beating in a rhythm that didn’t quite match, as all of his body told him to be afraid. He sat up in bed, skin cold and damp, and he stared at the hooded figure who stood beside his bed in absolute stillness.
The Master swallowed, and said, “You know, I think we're missing the middleman here. You know, Christmas Present? Sorry, but you botched it. Schedules posted in on the bulletin board at the office; didn't you look?”
The ghost gave the Master silence. It - he, the Master knew the ghost to be male, the way he knew that he knew the ghost - pointed to the window. Wisps of darkness curled and smoked over the pane, blocking the outside world and forming a portal between dreams.
The Master rolled his eyes. “Yes, very ominous. I'm quite impressed.” He tossed off the covers and hopped out of bed. The ghost beckoned him towards the darkness, and the Master followed. The tendrils of shadow wrapped around his eyes, and when the Master waved it away, he was standing amidst a massacre. Houses destroyed, building burning, bodies torn and bleeding and dead, all the innards out on display, pain and fear on every dying face.
The Master felt as if he’d come home.
“Oh, I’ve missed sights like these,” he said with a sigh.
The ghost lead him onwards, until they came upon one man slitting a child’s throat. Blood spattered across the man’s face, twisted in a grin as he lapped it up. The Master licked his lips. There were few sights more attractive than the Doctor indulging in carnage, after all.
But his attention was drawn from the beautiful sight with a gesture from the ghost, a hand waved to the Doctor of the dream, and then to the Master of reality, as if he was asking, ‘Where are you?’
The Master rolled his eyes. “You can talk, you know.”
The ghost laughed softly. “Oh but I had so hoped you would be able to figure things out on your own. I should not overestimate your abilities.”
All the colour drained from the Master’s face. He knew that voice.
The hood fell back as the ghost turned to the Master, and it was the Valeyard who smiled so condescendingly at him. “Ah, you seem so surprised. But should it not be obvious?” He glanced over to the Doctor, and the Master couldn’t help but notice how alike their smiles were. “If I am to show you the future, after all.”
As flippant as he could, the Master said, “Oh, it's not that bad. He's not wearing that suit that clashes with the TARDIS, now is he?”
“And where are you, Master?” God, the Master hated the Valeyard’s voice. “What has become of you, I wonder? As your obsession conquers the universe and destroys it, destroys his past regenerations, Earth, brings back Gallifrey only to enslave it....”A mockery of thought crossed the Valeyard’s face, and the Master’s lip curled. “Odd but there is not mention of you.”
“Oh, oh, let me guess! Do let me guess! He killed me, didn’t he?”
The Valeyard’s response to the Master’s guess was hardly one of a game show host. The Master was sorely disappointed that the ghost was not playing along. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“Is it what you want to say?”
“It would amuse me, perhaps, but I am here only to show you what shall come to pass. Your death will happen eventually, of course. Perhaps once he gets bored of you. Oooh, that sounds familiar, doesn't it?”
The Master’s lip curled in a sneer, but his voice remained light. “You're not very serious for a Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, are you?”
A single elegant, contemptuous eyebrow lifted. “Shall I start pointing out your flaws as well? We could start with the fact that both of your 'ghosts' have been the Doctor. So haunted by him, so very obsessed. I do hope you are properly disgusted with yourself.”
One fist clenched, as the drums pounded ever harder. The Master grinned. “Well look at that! You finally admitted to being the Doctor. I'm quite proud of you. You're finally coming to terms with yourself.”
“Distracting yourself from my words?” The Valeyard tutted. “Ah but you've always been nothing more than the Doctor's shadow, so I should expect nothing less of you.”
The Master’s nails dug into his palms. “Oh, but if I’m not wrong - and I’m not - the one who's saying this is the one who failed to bring himself to existence because he couldn't take the Doctor's regenerations. Sorry, but you’re discredited on this one. Better luck next time.”
“I win in the end. I have patience and it has paid off well enough by the looks of thing.”
“You're a ghost. Oh, yes, very well done.”
The Valeyard looked towards the ‘future’ Doctor, but the Master did not need to see the gesture to know what he’d meant. “I believe I meant that. I am simply a projection from your mind.”
“Oh, goody. My own personal Valeyard.” The Master took a step forwards, towards the Doctor that indulged in destruction and terror, the one with blood spattered all across his body, wicked delight in his eyes. The Master was hypnotised.
“He looks incredible, does he not?” the Valeyard whispered into the Master’s ear.
The Master’s hearts skipped, but the drums shouted out to make up for it. He did not reveal his surprise in his voice. “He does.”
“Would you like to have him? Are you happy to see this future?”
“Well, let's see. Earth destroyed, Gallifrey rebuilt, universe conquered, the Doctor going along with it all - no, not too bad of a future.” He waited for the Valeyard to push against the flaws of the Master’s optimism. He’d only put one heart into the argument, at best.
“Then you approve of your place in it?” And there the Valeyard went. “At his heels like a dog?” The Master’s mouth opened to protest, but the Valeyard continued on. “Oh yes, that is all you've ever been, of course. And someday he shows you the light. Once you've pushed him too far, once you have-” the Valeyard mimicked the Master’s voice “-your own personal Valeyard.”
“He's not-” The Master glanced back at the bloodied Doctor. “I'm not his dog.
“Shall we pay yourself a visit? The Doctor gets you a lovely collar. Even says 'Master' on it. He's a generous owner.”
“And here I was thinking he didn't have a healthy appreciation for irony.”
“You choose your name. Clearly, irony is not lost on you.”
“My name is not ironic.”
“Then what are you the master of?” And just like Thete, just like the Doctor, the Valeyard challenged him. Always.
“All things,” said the Master levelly, chin tilted up. He knew he was setting himself up, but he had to say it. He would always say it.
The Valeyard laughed softly. “Of the Doctor? No. He still disobeys you. What of yourself? No, you follow the Doctor around like a lost lamb. The universe? No, look at the position it has put you in. Reduced to... a dog. This is your future. The Valeyard and his pet. His toy. Something he eventually grows bored with and locks away as the universe burns.”
“I won't remake him like that.” The Master kept his voice calm, though his blood hummed a pulsing, angry hymn beneath his skin. “He'll need me and serve me. That's how I'll create him.”
“And then no one will ever challenge you again. You'll spend everyday exactly how you would have if you had stayed on Gallifrey and become President. Managing things, day in and day out, nothing new, nothing challenging, nothing to spark your interest.”
“There will be rebels,” the Master said, and he knew it was weak. After all, this ghost was just a projection of his mind. If the Master could not convince himself of the truth to his arguments, then the ghost would never believe them.
“Rebels worth your time? Rebels as brilliant as the only mind that has even matched yours? The mind that, if you had your way, would go to waste. Never again sparking yours. You know it to be true. When he challenges you, you more than enjoy it.”
“Well, he's not putting up much of a fight now anyway.”
“So you want him even worse? Just sitting at your feet, quiet and docile? Is that even the Doctor?”
The Master grimaced, and glanced back at the monstrous Doctor that murdered and destroyed. That one would be better, the Master realised. If he had to choose, he’d choose subjugation over never-ending mundanity. Even the highest achievements would be made dull without someone there to fight him every step of the way.
It was an unsettling realisation.
“Two different extremes. Neither an outcome you could be satisfied with.”
“Then what? Go back to constant battle, each of us spitting in the other's eye at every encounter? Or back to childhood idiocy, sacrificing all I am for him?”
The Valeyard snorted, and the Master’s fingers twitched. He really did loathe that man. “Irony must love you. For a Time Lord that once dreamed of finding new paths, you continue to think of the same ones.”
“Irony and I had a brief affair on Soralan 4 and she never could quite give me up,” said the Master.
“Well?” The Valeyard turned towards the Master, looking down upon him. “Will you actually put your inferior mind to work and consider a new solution? Of course, if you miss me so dearly that you're fantasizing about me in your sleep, I should expect you'll enjoy your future as my lapdog quite nicely.”
The Master shrugged off the insults and his fears. “I’m sure you have excellent technique.”
The Valeyard glanced him over, lips curled that ought to have made the Master feel unclean. “Then the future shall be quite nice indeed.”
“I'm glad we both agree,” said the Master.
The Valeyard traced his finger around the Master's neck. The Master tilted his chin up, meeting the Valeyard’s eyes. “Remind me to kill you with your collar. Sleep well, Master of all things.” As the Valeyard kissed him goodnight, the Master lashed out with his fists to finally strike the smile off that insolent face. The Valeyard shoved him back down onto the bed, laughing, and the Master was left alone in the dark.
Setting: The Master's bedroom, carnage and destruction
Time: Two hours past midnight, after this.
Summary: The Master is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future. It's not a happy future, apparently.
Warnings: Some carnage, some swearing, a few somewhat unsettling undertones.
Notes: Ghost of Christmas Future's mun is sagekaley~
The next time the Master awoke, it was with two pounding hearts and the drums beating in a rhythm that didn’t quite match, as all of his body told him to be afraid. He sat up in bed, skin cold and damp, and he stared at the hooded figure who stood beside his bed in absolute stillness.
The Master swallowed, and said, “You know, I think we're missing the middleman here. You know, Christmas Present? Sorry, but you botched it. Schedules posted in on the bulletin board at the office; didn't you look?”
The ghost gave the Master silence. It - he, the Master knew the ghost to be male, the way he knew that he knew the ghost - pointed to the window. Wisps of darkness curled and smoked over the pane, blocking the outside world and forming a portal between dreams.
The Master rolled his eyes. “Yes, very ominous. I'm quite impressed.” He tossed off the covers and hopped out of bed. The ghost beckoned him towards the darkness, and the Master followed. The tendrils of shadow wrapped around his eyes, and when the Master waved it away, he was standing amidst a massacre. Houses destroyed, building burning, bodies torn and bleeding and dead, all the innards out on display, pain and fear on every dying face.
The Master felt as if he’d come home.
“Oh, I’ve missed sights like these,” he said with a sigh.
The ghost lead him onwards, until they came upon one man slitting a child’s throat. Blood spattered across the man’s face, twisted in a grin as he lapped it up. The Master licked his lips. There were few sights more attractive than the Doctor indulging in carnage, after all.
But his attention was drawn from the beautiful sight with a gesture from the ghost, a hand waved to the Doctor of the dream, and then to the Master of reality, as if he was asking, ‘Where are you?’
The Master rolled his eyes. “You can talk, you know.”
The ghost laughed softly. “Oh but I had so hoped you would be able to figure things out on your own. I should not overestimate your abilities.”
All the colour drained from the Master’s face. He knew that voice.
The hood fell back as the ghost turned to the Master, and it was the Valeyard who smiled so condescendingly at him. “Ah, you seem so surprised. But should it not be obvious?” He glanced over to the Doctor, and the Master couldn’t help but notice how alike their smiles were. “If I am to show you the future, after all.”
As flippant as he could, the Master said, “Oh, it's not that bad. He's not wearing that suit that clashes with the TARDIS, now is he?”
“And where are you, Master?” God, the Master hated the Valeyard’s voice. “What has become of you, I wonder? As your obsession conquers the universe and destroys it, destroys his past regenerations, Earth, brings back Gallifrey only to enslave it....”A mockery of thought crossed the Valeyard’s face, and the Master’s lip curled. “Odd but there is not mention of you.”
“Oh, oh, let me guess! Do let me guess! He killed me, didn’t he?”
The Valeyard’s response to the Master’s guess was hardly one of a game show host. The Master was sorely disappointed that the ghost was not playing along. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“Is it what you want to say?”
“It would amuse me, perhaps, but I am here only to show you what shall come to pass. Your death will happen eventually, of course. Perhaps once he gets bored of you. Oooh, that sounds familiar, doesn't it?”
The Master’s lip curled in a sneer, but his voice remained light. “You're not very serious for a Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, are you?”
A single elegant, contemptuous eyebrow lifted. “Shall I start pointing out your flaws as well? We could start with the fact that both of your 'ghosts' have been the Doctor. So haunted by him, so very obsessed. I do hope you are properly disgusted with yourself.”
One fist clenched, as the drums pounded ever harder. The Master grinned. “Well look at that! You finally admitted to being the Doctor. I'm quite proud of you. You're finally coming to terms with yourself.”
“Distracting yourself from my words?” The Valeyard tutted. “Ah but you've always been nothing more than the Doctor's shadow, so I should expect nothing less of you.”
The Master’s nails dug into his palms. “Oh, but if I’m not wrong - and I’m not - the one who's saying this is the one who failed to bring himself to existence because he couldn't take the Doctor's regenerations. Sorry, but you’re discredited on this one. Better luck next time.”
“I win in the end. I have patience and it has paid off well enough by the looks of thing.”
“You're a ghost. Oh, yes, very well done.”
The Valeyard looked towards the ‘future’ Doctor, but the Master did not need to see the gesture to know what he’d meant. “I believe I meant that. I am simply a projection from your mind.”
“Oh, goody. My own personal Valeyard.” The Master took a step forwards, towards the Doctor that indulged in destruction and terror, the one with blood spattered all across his body, wicked delight in his eyes. The Master was hypnotised.
“He looks incredible, does he not?” the Valeyard whispered into the Master’s ear.
The Master’s hearts skipped, but the drums shouted out to make up for it. He did not reveal his surprise in his voice. “He does.”
“Would you like to have him? Are you happy to see this future?”
“Well, let's see. Earth destroyed, Gallifrey rebuilt, universe conquered, the Doctor going along with it all - no, not too bad of a future.” He waited for the Valeyard to push against the flaws of the Master’s optimism. He’d only put one heart into the argument, at best.
“Then you approve of your place in it?” And there the Valeyard went. “At his heels like a dog?” The Master’s mouth opened to protest, but the Valeyard continued on. “Oh yes, that is all you've ever been, of course. And someday he shows you the light. Once you've pushed him too far, once you have-” the Valeyard mimicked the Master’s voice “-your own personal Valeyard.”
“He's not-” The Master glanced back at the bloodied Doctor. “I'm not his dog.
“Shall we pay yourself a visit? The Doctor gets you a lovely collar. Even says 'Master' on it. He's a generous owner.”
“And here I was thinking he didn't have a healthy appreciation for irony.”
“You choose your name. Clearly, irony is not lost on you.”
“My name is not ironic.”
“Then what are you the master of?” And just like Thete, just like the Doctor, the Valeyard challenged him. Always.
“All things,” said the Master levelly, chin tilted up. He knew he was setting himself up, but he had to say it. He would always say it.
The Valeyard laughed softly. “Of the Doctor? No. He still disobeys you. What of yourself? No, you follow the Doctor around like a lost lamb. The universe? No, look at the position it has put you in. Reduced to... a dog. This is your future. The Valeyard and his pet. His toy. Something he eventually grows bored with and locks away as the universe burns.”
“I won't remake him like that.” The Master kept his voice calm, though his blood hummed a pulsing, angry hymn beneath his skin. “He'll need me and serve me. That's how I'll create him.”
“And then no one will ever challenge you again. You'll spend everyday exactly how you would have if you had stayed on Gallifrey and become President. Managing things, day in and day out, nothing new, nothing challenging, nothing to spark your interest.”
“There will be rebels,” the Master said, and he knew it was weak. After all, this ghost was just a projection of his mind. If the Master could not convince himself of the truth to his arguments, then the ghost would never believe them.
“Rebels worth your time? Rebels as brilliant as the only mind that has even matched yours? The mind that, if you had your way, would go to waste. Never again sparking yours. You know it to be true. When he challenges you, you more than enjoy it.”
“Well, he's not putting up much of a fight now anyway.”
“So you want him even worse? Just sitting at your feet, quiet and docile? Is that even the Doctor?”
The Master grimaced, and glanced back at the monstrous Doctor that murdered and destroyed. That one would be better, the Master realised. If he had to choose, he’d choose subjugation over never-ending mundanity. Even the highest achievements would be made dull without someone there to fight him every step of the way.
It was an unsettling realisation.
“Two different extremes. Neither an outcome you could be satisfied with.”
“Then what? Go back to constant battle, each of us spitting in the other's eye at every encounter? Or back to childhood idiocy, sacrificing all I am for him?”
The Valeyard snorted, and the Master’s fingers twitched. He really did loathe that man. “Irony must love you. For a Time Lord that once dreamed of finding new paths, you continue to think of the same ones.”
“Irony and I had a brief affair on Soralan 4 and she never could quite give me up,” said the Master.
“Well?” The Valeyard turned towards the Master, looking down upon him. “Will you actually put your inferior mind to work and consider a new solution? Of course, if you miss me so dearly that you're fantasizing about me in your sleep, I should expect you'll enjoy your future as my lapdog quite nicely.”
The Master shrugged off the insults and his fears. “I’m sure you have excellent technique.”
The Valeyard glanced him over, lips curled that ought to have made the Master feel unclean. “Then the future shall be quite nice indeed.”
“I'm glad we both agree,” said the Master.
The Valeyard traced his finger around the Master's neck. The Master tilted his chin up, meeting the Valeyard’s eyes. “Remind me to kill you with your collar. Sleep well, Master of all things.” As the Valeyard kissed him goodnight, the Master lashed out with his fists to finally strike the smile off that insolent face. The Valeyard shoved him back down onto the bed, laughing, and the Master was left alone in the dark.