paradisalost | [THREAD] Not Quite As I Appear

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[THREAD] Not Quite As I Appear

Who: 'Fifth Doctor' (

sinister_charm) and Tenth Doctor (

not_from_mars)
What: Ten gives a tour of the castle to 'Five' - but little does Ten know, this is the Master in disguise...
When: Noon, June 25th
Where: Around the castle - eventually in 'Five's' TARDIS
Rating: R (for violence)

The Master had long settled into the appearance of the Doctor from his timeline. Certainly, it was different being blond and wearing such light colors - not to mention the fact he now spoke with a different voice, his height was a tad different, and of all things, he found himself far-sighted in one eye. The Doctor always did have eyesight problems...

He stood near one of the staircases and quickly adjusted the tan-ish hat that came with his disguise, before promptly shoving his hands into his pockets. The Master rocked back on his heels and he grinned a soft, Five-like grin. He hadn't believed the Doctor would believe him this easily.

Oh, this would be delightful.

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He smiled at the Doctor's compliance, and with his empty hand, grabbed one of the Doctor's arms and pinned it against the wall - then proceeded to slam a shackle around it. With that arm restrained, he moved to do the same with his other arm. "I know you, Doctor. Even now, you're searching for a way out - a flaw."

The Master chuckled, "I'm afraid that there isn't one. You are here on my terms now, my dear, dear Doctor. That truce gave me so much time to think."

He stepped away from the Doctor, and kept his back turned. There was silence from him for a while, before he turned - grinning like the devil himself.

With all the force of a supernova (well, not really), the Master smashed at the Doctor's mind and mental defenses. He would tear them down and he would wreak havoc in the Doctor's mind.

The Doctor, however, met that smile with a look of scorn. Here he was, letting himself get shackled against the wall, pain stabbing at him and his head pounding.

There had to be a way out. There had to be.

He lifted his head enough to look at the back of the Master's head after he turned away, wondering what he was up to, if he would be able to do something about these shackles while he was looking away. Clearly, he was about to do something, but what --

He was caught off guard as the Master turned and he was hit with a blow far worse than the physical; his mind was being ravaged, attacked -- he had to fight back. He couldn't help it; he let out a yell of pain.

The Doctor's scream of pain only intensified the Master's further pushing - the continualed assault of his mental defenses. He would tear them down, bit by bit.

"Beg, my dear Doctor! Beg me for mercy, and I'll stop!" he shouted over the Doctor's screaming.

Even as he spoke, he shoved further and further against the Doctor's mental protection. He felt a brush against his own mind - the Doctor must've been trying to strike back.

He stepped forward, closer, to better enjoy the man's suffering. Let the Doctor try as he might to destroy the Master's mind. He was certain that the Tenth would get no where.

The Doctor tried to stifle his screaming, biting down onto his lip to stop himself. Through the mental assault, through the pain, he managed one word:

"Never!"

That seemed to give him a burst of strength, and he used it to his advantage: he countered against the Master's attack, fighting back. He would not give in.

He momentarily grabbed at his own head, roaring in pain, and the disguise of Koschei fell away, leaving just the figure of the Master. And yet, even then, he was still someone else. After all, the body had once been that of Consul Tremas of Traken - Nyssa's father. But that was little matter now.

Enraged that the Doctor dare strike back at him, he moved quickly up to the Doctor and slammed his fist into the man's stomach, then smashed his hand against his face.

Even as he did all this, he kept up his mental assault - while trying to keep his own mind defended.

He took slight notice that the other Time Lord was no longer under the visage of Koschei, which made him that much easier to hate. Defending against the attack he strengthened his own - if only he could incapacitate him long enough... but then he was feeling the air leave his lungs again, then felt a sharp pain across his face. And here he was, unable to protect himself. In that moment he dropped his guard slightly, screamed in pain once again.

"Beg!" He screamed in the Doctor's face, raging at the man's defenses. "Beg, and I stop, Doctor! No more pain!"

While the screaming was thrilling, exciting, completely wonderful - the agony in his own head, his own pain, tarnished it all. The Doctor, the Tenth, had more years and experiance - but if there was one thing the Master ever outdid him in... it was in powers of the mind. Psychic abilities were his specialty.

He sent once more massive push of power against the Doctor's mind. He drew strength from his own defenses, weakening them almost completely. It was a last ditch effort to smash right into the Doctor's mind - if it failed, the Doctor could get into his head with just the slightest nudge.

"NO!" He heard himself roar through it all, for the pain and the mental assault were making him feel very detatched indeed. He knew what the Master wanted. Always, always, his greatest fear - aside from death - was being in the Doctor's shadow, and he hoped to gain a feeling of greatness by making him beg for his life.

He wouldn't. Not as long as he could help it.

Suddenly the Doctor felt immense pressure against his mind; he could've guessed it to be the equivalent to a physical hun - hund --

His thoughts whited out as he focused everything on fighting back against the blow. He wouldn't let him win, would never let him win... straining, pushing, probably screaming, he gave all he had to defend himself against this one massive assault.

He jerked his mind away from the assault, and it enraged him beyond anything that, even in this, in which he was the best, he was defeated. And even though he had pulled off his attack, his defenses were next to nothing. They would take a little while before they could be drug back up. A simple nudge could rip his mind wide open.

He turned away, stalking, angry. It was almost palpable, his hate and displeasure for the Doctor, for his resistance.

"You always had to be the best," he snarled, before turning back to face him. The Master tried to console his ego with the fact the Doctor was at his mercy, in pain, suffering. He could kill him now, if he so wished. He had the gun. He had anything he wanted.

Pinned against the wall, panting heavily, vision blurred, he lifted his head to look in the Master's direction. Corner of his mouth turned up slightly in defiance - whatever he had left of it - he managed to speak:

"I've been around longer than you," and it was a grainy, weathered sound, "I've learned a few things."

Ribs burning with pain each time he took a breath, he tried to clear his head as well as keep up a defense - albeit a weak one now - against another possible attack. Every plan he came up with needed resources he just didn't have; his mind was exhausted, his body pained, and he was finding it harder to focus on the here and now.

He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't think he had much more time.

He strode up to the Doctor once more. "Silence!" He barked, before smashing a gloved hand into the Tenth's face again. Then a second time. The Master paused, as if considering something - then he lowered his hand to the Doctor's throat.

"Strangulation, my dear Doctor... such a primitive form of murder, isn't it?" He slowly began to tighten his grip. "Mostly useless on us- but not even we can can go without oxygen forever." He tightened his grip further, "But aahhh, such power it grants over others."

His look of hate and displeasure was quickly replaced with twisted, deformed glee. For a few moments more, he continued to squeeze at the Doctor's throat before he released it, and lightly stroked one of the Doctor's shackled hands. He chuckled darkly, indulgantly, then stepped away.

The Doctor lifted his head higher, and even that seemed to be difficult. It was when he was looking down his nose at the Master, panting, that he felt pain through his already throbbing head, and then again. He saw lights dance before his eyes, and the smell of blood in the room seemed to be stronger than ever.

He couldn't see the Master now, for his eyes were screwed shut, but he could hear him -- feel him as he took his throat in a gloved hand. He was going to strangle him? He didn't have time to say anything - not that he was going to - before the grip was tightened and his airway was restricted.

Luckily he was a Time Lord, because he was sure a human would've passed out or even died in the time he took to let go. Even he, however, was feeling lightheaded by that time, and he gasped for air until and after the other released his airway. He cringed at the touch, at this twisted, sick mutilation of a boy he'd once known and cared for who was standing before him, gone from choking him to --

He twitched, fighting to keep his eyes open so he could send the Master a look of anger, of distaste. "Enjoying yourself?" His tone was all disgust. He'd forgotten the Master's habit of close contact with him, and at the moment he would've killed to not be chained to the wall.

"Completely, my dear Doctor."

He turned around and grinned widely at the restrained man. Ever defiant. He strode over to the Doctor, moving in close to him. The Master still had a grip on his gun - in fact, he hadn't put it down once. His free hand, though, was now placed on the Doctor's shoulder, and the Master leaned in to whisper to him.

"Tell me, Doctor; are you frightened?"

His jaw tightened as his head continued to pound, watching the Master move closer to him. He was so predictable; the Doctor would show contempt at being touched, the Master would continue. The Doctor would show defiance, the Master would beat it out of him. But he was angry, not scared. Death, pain... he'd seen so much. That was the Master's fear, not his.

He stared ahead, gaze boring into the wall as he tried to ignore the Master's contact and the pain all over him.

"Of you?"

He was tired of this. He ignored the Doctor's own question and suddenly shoved the pistol into the Doctor's hand, sneering.

"There is one bullet in that gun, Doctor. You have two choices. You may kill yourself - and be done of this... or you may kill me. I've told my TARDIS to, upon my death, expel anyone inside. You've just enough free range to do one or the other. Now choose."

He kept up the look of disdain, the sneer - while inwardly, he was grinning. He knew how the Doctor hated weapons, loathed them so; through most of his regenerations it was a common theme. Putting a weapon in the Doctor's hands and forcing him to choose? Delightful. Though... he was already fairly certain of what the Doctor would do.

And he already knew how he would respond.

The Doctor felt the cold metal of the gun as it was forced into his hand, and despite his flaming urge to rid himself of it, throw it across the room, he held onto it. What was the Master planning? He knew him well, he knew his hatred of weapons, he clearly knew that he wasn't going to shoot him, much less himself. Not even now, chained to the wall of a bloodstained chamber, he couldn't. He just couldn't, as much as he wanted to strike back at the Master, to give him what he deserved.

For a moment he pointed the gun at the Master, hands shaking, and gulped. Maybe if he could wound him, not kill him... but his hands were trembling with pain and anger, and he was sure that in this state he would miss or actually kill him. Not looking away from the Master, he loosened his grip on the weapon and tossed it on the floor a few feet away from him.

"I'm not like you." His voice was shaking. "Tell me, what's it like to be a coward and a killer?" And with this he banked on his last bit of intuition; that the Master, once again, would be unable to kill him. Because from the look on his face, he most certainly seemed like he wanted to.

The Master grinned widely. "I had a feeling that what was you were going to do, Doctor. You've never quite had the spine to do what needs to be done."

He scooped up the gun and momentarily looked over it before pressing the barrel against the Doctor's forehead.

"Cowards survive. Killers do as well."

The Master leaned in, smiling sickly sweet. "Goodbye, my dear Doctor. I'll miss you entirely."

And he pulled the trigger.

The Doctor watched the Master, breathing heavily through his nose as the pain in his ribs was ever persistent. He was picking up the gun. Oh Rassilon, he was picking it up. He'd assumed, he was stupid, and now...

For a fleeting moment, he thought the Master had changed his mind. But a split second later he felt the barrel being pressed against his forehead, and he looked pleadingly at the Master one last time. He did not speak. If he was going to go, he was going to go without leaving him the satisfaction of the Doctor having begged, his final words, for his life. They locked eyes for a long moment, Ten hoping to find some sign of resistance in the Master, but there was nothing.

He closed his eyes, thinking of Martha, thinking of Rose and Nine and back on all of his years, numbering at least one thousand since he'd taken his first breath on Gallifrey. All the suffering he'd seen since, planets and beings destroyed, all wearing on him for over a millennium. Such a long, long time.

He wasn't afraid of death.

I'm sorry was the last thing to cross his mind before the trigger was pulled, but to whom he meant it, he didn't know. All he knew now was the cold metal of the gun and the click of it cocking, the sound of the trigger being pulled. He took a breath, bracing himself for death.

But nothing happened.

Dumbstruck, he wondered if that was death; quick and silent and painless, but he opened his eyes, gaping slightly, hearts pounding.

He let the gun clatter to the floor. It broke the silence so easily, so quickly. Awkwardly, the Master shoved his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out the key. Swiftly, he unshackled the Doctor, then stalked to the other side of the room; back turned to his now freed enemy.

"Get out," his voice was barely audible. "Get out before I do kill you." It was almost pleading.

For a moment all the Doctor could do was stare. It had been empty? Had the Master known all along? Leading him along like this, - and oh, he wouldn't lie to himself, he had been scared if only for a moment - only to end up with an unloaded gun and --

Letting him go. He was being unshackled, he felt his arms drop and nearly slid to the floor for the weakness in his legs, but he leaned against the wall and pushed himself up. He watched after the Master as he moved away and made his request, but he did not comply right away. He merely stood, watching him, gobsmacked.

He didn't say anything, though his head was throbbing and fogged and reeling, anyway. He merely stumbled to the door of the chamber, arm around his chest protectively as he grabbed the doorframe for support.

He gave the Master one last look, the pained mess that the Doctor was with his hair hanging limp in his face, his cheek quickly bruising and the amount of blood coming from his lip only now thinning.

He heard the Doctor stumble across the floor behind him. He could've killed him. He could've kept the Doctor there as his own personal play-thing. Why did he always have to let him go? Right at the end, right when it was so close, something stepped in and he suddenly... lets the man go.

When the Doctor stopped, he almost cringed. He peered over his shoulder at the mess of a Gallifreyan. Blood. Bruised. He could only imagine what his kicking had done, followed by his punch to the Doctor's gut.

"Do you really want me to kill you, Doctor?" He asked quietly. "Get out while I still have the sanity to realize you're much better off alive than dead."

Then, almost as if trying to urge the Doctor on, he touched his mind, instilling the exact directions and layout of how to get from this room to the exit of the TARDIS.

The Doctor couldn't decide whether or not he was surprised. This had always been how it ended; the Master would come so very close to killing him, and then he would let him go. But this time had seemed to be different, he seemed like he really was going to kill him - and he still wasn't sure if that gun had been purposely left empty - but here he was, free to go.

Get out while I still have the sanity to realize you're much better off alive than dead. Still gripping onto the doorframe, he rolled that over in his mind. The Master, he realised, had been wrong about the destruction of Koschei, of any kind of conscience. He looked away as anger welled up in him again, flinching at the sudden psychic contact as though he thought it another attack. But instead it was the way out.

He said no words, just gave the corner the Master was in one last glance before he pushed himself painfully out the door and into the corridor. No more time to focus on thinking about the Master's actions. He was becoming dizzy, and he needed out. And so he went, leaning on the wall at times for support, hoping like hell that he wouldn't pass out before he got there.

He wasn't going to thank him.

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[THREAD] Not Quite As I Appear

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