ext_1010259: (Soft smile)
http://shout-geronimo.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] shout-geronimo.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] paixaorpg2011-07-11 07:48 pm

One, Two, Three, Four [Active]

Character(s): The Eleventh Doctor and the Master
Content: The Doctor and the Master run headlong into the inevitable.
Setting: Jogo da Crianca
Time: Evening, Week 33, set directly after this log.
Warnings: Shouldn't the Master be warning enough?

The Doctor hadn't had that much fun in ages, and if he knew anything, it was fun. He laughed a little to himself as he walked his bicycle back in the direction of his TARDIS, which he'd decided to hide in some tiny, insignificant nook of the city; no sense in letting anyone see it who didn't need to. He'd need to pick up Rory, too - it had been something he'd been putting off for awhile. He'd never really liked interacting with his future, for the most part; aside from the obvious problem of potential spoilers and possibly tearing a hole in the universe, he just plain felt uneasy. Sure, there had been exceptions, but the Doctor wasn't quite sure this qualified as one.

Oh, well. Time enough for that later. He doubted picking Rory up this late was in the picture, but tomorrow wasn't exactly out of the question. Shoving the worries he had regarding that from his mind, he whistled a jaunty tune to himself as he turned to cut through the park, a hand coming up to adjust his newly-acquired fez.

There was no question about it: tonight was a good night.

[identity profile] mastertemplate.livejournal.com 2011-08-22 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
The Master turned uglier as the conversation continued. It wasn't just a habit he carried for most interactions with others. It was The Doctor, the most adversarial figure in the entire universe to The Master, getting more frustrated and saddened by his own capability. It was seeing victory at hand after a millenium of fighting, scrapping, and plotting. The very feeling of seeing The Doctor like this was like a meal that he could never finish fast enough before it would be taken away.

"And you failed. What now?" The Master yelled exasperatingly. His arms rose and then dropped at his sides, a small cloud of dust puffing out from his dirty clothes. He approached The Doctor and looked at his face. "You're The Doctor. But you're not being The Doctor. I look at your pathetic hats and gimmicks and all I see is a theatre curtain. Behind the scenes, there's just a sad little Time Lord looking for a friend. Right?"