InsaneJournal

WHO: The Master, some Toclafane, & his PDA
WHAT: Sometimes games go too far.
WHERE: The Master's flat
WHEN: After this, this, & this
RATING: PG-13 for the Master's temper
STATUS: Narrative; COMPLETE

Reinette's message on the boards had made the Master laugh. It was a good con, attempting to force his hand through an attempt to appeal to nostalgia, even if it was an outlandish deception. Dead was simply not in the cards for the Doctor, no more than it was for him. They both had their close-calls, but in the end, they pulled through or found a way. There was always a way, and the idea that he was dead was one that did nothing more than provoke amusement in the Master as he spun towards the picture window in his room, taking in the destruction and chaos with a hint of glee.

At least, until he heard the ever familiar whirl of dematerialization coming from the next room. Turning sharply on his heels, his stride towards the Doctor's room was cut short by the appearance of several Toclafane, dancing in elaborate patterns around his head. Just like the Doctor, to have someone else say he's dead and then run and hide until the Master's conscience got the better of him. Just like the Doctor to play at games of subtle deception, even if it was a trait that he hadn't exhibited in a long time, and expect to out maneuver him in the end. Not this time.

It was only a moment later, lost in his own musings, that he realized the Toclafane around him were practically cooing with excitement, vibrating as they waited for his attention to turn to them. Lifting his eyes, a slight arch of his eyebrow accompanying the movement, he offered them a wry smile, "What is it this time? Getting bored of this game?"

"No, no, sir! So much fun! So much fun."

"The Doctor came out to play."

"Not nearly as angry as the last one. Oh, how he begged."

"Better than this. Better than this. Slish, slash, through the chest. No more pleas no more."

"Mister Master come and see? Such a pretty, pretty picture, it is!"

The Master's blood had run cold, eyes narrowed. He'd made it clear with the last group that the Doctor was his and his alone to mess with, but he'd given these ones no such stipulation, no such directives, and they had taken it upon themselves to hunt him out. Proactive. It was an action that, if it had been anyone else they'd slaughtered, he would have delighted in. That irony wasn't lost on him as his eyes darkened, hands slipping into his pockets as the smile on his face tightening to a thin, threatening line.

A split second later, and his hand was out, laser screwdriver pointed in the air as the living room was showered with the bits of one of the Toclafane. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!" The Master roared, raising the screwdriver again, another exploding. "OFF LIMITS! I TOLD THE LAST BATCH, AND THEY SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU!" He screamed, a three added to the pile of ash and the last two zipping away and across the room, cowering together. Leveling the screwdriver at the two remaining orbs, the Master stepped forward, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Go tell the others. The Doctor is mine and mine alone. You will leave the other be."

Not that that did much good, the Master thought, as the whoosh of the two orbs leaving was accompanied by a blip on his PDA.

You're still my best friend, even with everything.

Not that that mattered now.