The Master (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
syncopath) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
discedo_logs2008-07-01 12:12 am
syncopath) wrote in discedo_logs2008-07-01 12:12 am
Entry tags:
You Are Not Alone [incomplete]
Who: The Master and Iruka
Where: 210 Horton
When: Backdated. After the chimeras but before Iruka's chip-flip
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: The Master is injured and crazier than usual; Iruka has answered his cry for help.
the log:
And he hadn't thought he could lose his mind any more than he already had. And yet if there was anything he'd learned, again and again, it was that things could and would always get worse.
The Master lay quietly, eyes closed, on the floor of an apartment that he truly wished was anonymous. In fact, it was too full of life, or rather the suggestion of its presence. The previous occupants certainly had dispensed with living by now.
The strong suggestion of its presence; the walls of the bedroom he'd holed himself up in were plastered with posters of teen idols and personalities the Master had never heard of, photographs of places he'd never been. Parallel universes were not impossible to get to, even without Gallifrey-- but in his moments of lucidity it still unnerved him. The almost-familiarity of the place. The way humans were always the same, no matter where you went.
Even me. Brilliant, perhaps, but he sensed that as Yana he had been disturbingly mundane, a seriously retarded version of himself obsessed with the survival of his species and nothing else. And in that sense, in the here and now, were Time Lords and humans really all that different?
The Master shuddered. This place had started to get under his skin. And the literal truth of that idiom, with the rumor that these supposed chips had malfunctioned, made him want to cry, or scream, or murder, or die. He'd even found himself wishing the Doctor were here. The loss of control was too much, the drums too loud and never-ending and insistent.
There wasn't much he could do to satisfy them. The chimera's bite had effectively crippled his right leg through sheer pain whenever weight was put on it; not surprising when the species spliced together appeared to be a leopard and some sort of moth. Someone's idea of a joke, perhaps, but not a very good one. At least not from this side of things. And it should have been healed by now, honestly, except that to do so required an intense amount of concentration on his part-- something he could not afford during an attack and something he was completely incapable of generating at the moment. Now, on top of everything else, it appeared to be infected.
The Master suppressed a very powerful urge to whimper, lying there on the floor of a not-so-anonymous apartment in Hell, and took in deep breaths, trying to imagine he could feel time ticking past, linearly, in one direction again. He'd felt sorry for them at first, and now he'd come to realize how much he envied them their oblivious, simple existence.
The idea of such a life was now undeniably soothing.
Where: 210 Horton
When: Backdated. After the chimeras but before Iruka's chip-flip
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: The Master is injured and crazier than usual; Iruka has answered his cry for help.
the log:
And he hadn't thought he could lose his mind any more than he already had. And yet if there was anything he'd learned, again and again, it was that things could and would always get worse.
The Master lay quietly, eyes closed, on the floor of an apartment that he truly wished was anonymous. In fact, it was too full of life, or rather the suggestion of its presence. The previous occupants certainly had dispensed with living by now.
The strong suggestion of its presence; the walls of the bedroom he'd holed himself up in were plastered with posters of teen idols and personalities the Master had never heard of, photographs of places he'd never been. Parallel universes were not impossible to get to, even without Gallifrey-- but in his moments of lucidity it still unnerved him. The almost-familiarity of the place. The way humans were always the same, no matter where you went.
Even me. Brilliant, perhaps, but he sensed that as Yana he had been disturbingly mundane, a seriously retarded version of himself obsessed with the survival of his species and nothing else. And in that sense, in the here and now, were Time Lords and humans really all that different?
The Master shuddered. This place had started to get under his skin. And the literal truth of that idiom, with the rumor that these supposed chips had malfunctioned, made him want to cry, or scream, or murder, or die. He'd even found himself wishing the Doctor were here. The loss of control was too much, the drums too loud and never-ending and insistent.
There wasn't much he could do to satisfy them. The chimera's bite had effectively crippled his right leg through sheer pain whenever weight was put on it; not surprising when the species spliced together appeared to be a leopard and some sort of moth. Someone's idea of a joke, perhaps, but not a very good one. At least not from this side of things. And it should have been healed by now, honestly, except that to do so required an intense amount of concentration on his part-- something he could not afford during an attack and something he was completely incapable of generating at the moment. Now, on top of everything else, it appeared to be infected.
The Master suppressed a very powerful urge to whimper, lying there on the floor of a not-so-anonymous apartment in Hell, and took in deep breaths, trying to imagine he could feel time ticking past, linearly, in one direction again. He'd felt sorry for them at first, and now he'd come to realize how much he envied them their oblivious, simple existence.
The idea of such a life was now undeniably soothing.