InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "My voice gives me power!"

The Master (cantyouhearit) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2011-03-08 12:18:00

Entry tags:

!closed, the doctor (11), the master

WHO: The Master & The Doctor (11)
WHAT: Alcohol is bad when you're used to having a Time Lord's tolerance.
WHEN: Morning
WHERE: Their flat
RATING: PG
STATUS: In Progress

The Master had had his headache before. But the head splitting, world searing, stomach turning throbbing that going on between his temples was worse than he'd ever experienced before. He moved to raise a hand and rub at the offending area to try and soothe it, but he found himself suddenly and rather forcefully halted in that action, his eyes blinking blearily open and focusing, with a great deal of effort, on his right hand, a hand which appeared to be bound to the bed with some sort of glimmering metal. Ow. Too glimmering. "Light. Bad," He managed to stammer out as his head jerked the other way, his instincts attempting to take his whole body with him until he found that he was pinned, rather effectively, on his back as his other hand appeared to be affixed to the bedpost in a similar manner.

It was a matter that would have been most disturbing had he had any grasp of the facilities that he'd once held or, for that matter, if he had any ability to comprehend anything longer than a two word sentence at the moment, but the thing that was troubling him the most at the moment was the fact that he'd suddenly become quite chilled. He wouldn't have had much issue with remaining in this position were it not for that fact, his brain addled with both pain and leftover inebriation to the point that the most tangible questions of how he had come to be in such a position and why he had ever allowed anyone to do this to him were quickly outstripped by the fact that he wasn't warm and snuggly in his bed like he should be.

After a few vain attempts to foot-search for his blanket and kick it back into an appropriate position, the Master found it in himself to give off a loud, childish whine and huff before turning his head to the side and flopping it back into his pillow. It really wasn't fair. Why did he always get the short end of the stick?

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amadmanwithabox
2011-03-08 06:07 pm UTC (link)

The Doctor had a headache, but that was fairly normal these days. At least he was past the point where he thought he was dying every morning. His bed felt strangely hard this morning, and he couldn't hear the TARDIS humming around him, which was a bit odd. Opening his eyes, he realised he wasn't in a bed, but on a floor. Huh. Well that was one question answered. At least he had a blanket, or he'd have probably been cold.

Getting to his feet, he realised he'd passed out on the floor of the Master's room. Not unusual. Sometimes, after a night of drinking, they would both just sleep on one or the other's bed or even the sofa, because going their separate ways would have taken too much effort. Besides, sometimes they just needed someone else around who understood the vastness of what they'd lost.

Looking around the room, he noted everything seemed to be in order. Apart from the Master handcuffed naked to the bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he walked out to the kitchen and was halfway through making tea when what he'd seen properly registered. He froze, contemplated going back, then decided he really needed tea to deal with that. Tea and paracetamol. One he had those things in hand, and some for the Master, he made his way back to the other man's room. "I am at least ninety-six percent certain this isn't my fault," he said, raising an eyebrow at his friend's predicament. Picking up the blanket from the floor, he tossed it over the Master. There were some things he really just didn't need to see. "What in Rassilon's name did you do last night?" He paused a moment. "Oh, I made you tea."

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cantyouhearit
2011-03-08 06:32 pm UTC (link)

Words. Talking. Oh, wait. Warmth. All right, he'd tolerate the words and the talking if it meant he wasn't cold anymore. Enjoying the snuggly warmthness of the blanket that had just been tossed over him, only a few of the words that were directed at him registered, and it was nearly a full five minutes of silence that feel between them before the Master managed to open an eye and go "Huh?" What in the world had he done last night, anyway?

The Master vaguely remembered something along the lines of going out to get some fresh air and clear his mind. He remembered going to a bookshop and not being highly impressed with the idea of having to read a book over a span of several days instead of several seconds. He remembered going to a movie and not being very impressed at all with the portrayal of individuals from the Andromeda galaxy. Then he remembered going to a bar afterwards...and he couldn't remember much of anything after that.

But his answer seemed almost obvious as he considered that he couldn't move, "Apparently something I shouldn't have," The Master said, squinting up at the Doctor. "How bad is it?"

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amadmanwithabox
2011-03-08 07:21 pm UTC (link)

How bad was it? That was an interesting question. The Doctor wasn't entirely certain how to answer it, quite frankly, because he wasn't sure how one went about qualifying the badness of a situation. At least, not a situation that involved handcuffs and missing clothing. He supposed it ranked somewhere below end of the world and above...badly done tea. Yes, he was no good at this. "A...six?" he said hesitantly. "Maybe a five...or a four. I'm not really sure."

He should probably get the Master out of those handcuffs and into some trousers. Right. He'd need his sonic. He set the tea and paracetamol on the dresser, then wandered out of the room. He realised belatedly that he probably ought to have told the Master where he was going, but by then he would have had to go back to tell him then left again and that would have taken too much time and effort. Walking into the TARDIS, he felt a vague sense of disapproval and sighed. "I know, I know," he told her. "We're handling this human thing dreadfully. But we'll get the hang of it."

Grabbing his jacket, he pulled the sonic screwdriver from the pocket and made his way back to the Master's room. Pointing it at the cuffs, he found the right setting and undid them, then walked over to the closet and tossed some trousers at the Master's head. "Put those on," he said. "I can't talk to you when you're...you know...trouserless and all. It's weird." He picked up the tea and paracetamol again and moved them in reach of the Master, before finishing his own tea. "I imagine you had an interesting night," he said after a moment.

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cantyouhearit
2011-03-10 11:27 am UTC (link)

Good old sonic. It was good for some things that a laser wasn't, mainly when it came to opening locks and putting up shelves, but all disparaging thoughts aside, he was free, and while he was hardly much the better for it, it did at least place him in a position where he could shift his body and get rid of the stiffness in his muscles. And then, suddenly, he was wearing a pair of trousers for a hat, perhaps the one place they were doing the least good that they could have done.

"You say that like it's something you haven't seen before," The Master half grumbled, his mind only slightly realizing that dorm days back at the Academy hardly counted in situations like this and that grown men should really not have to tell each other to put some pants on. And secondly, that it really should not be such a struggle to put on pants. But after a few minutes of flopping aimlessly about and very nearly tumbling off the side of the bed, he managed it, throwing the blanket around his shoulders as he stared blankly at the tea in front of him.

"Must've," Was the best reply he could come up with. "We really need to get back to ourselves. Soon."

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