or_timelords (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
or_timelords) wrote2008-12-23 09:58 am
or_timelords) wrote2008-12-23 09:58 am
Entry tags:
More Things To Do In The TARDIS When You're Bored - Part 1
(Somewhat epic) chatplay with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laser_not_sonic from the 20th of November.
In this slightly alternate universe, the Master survived Last of the Time Lords, and the Doctor found himself faced with the task of actually having to act on his haphazard plan of locking the Master into the TARDIS with him. They've been locked in there and aimlessly traveling through the Vortex for quite a while, and things are - not going well.
Featuring: anger, fury, frustration, a (rather tame) mental altercation, tea, alcohol, more alcohol, jealous-boyfriend!Master quizzing the Doctor on his sex life, seductive-slut!Doctor driving the Master a little bit crazier, and towards the end, some porning with rather adorable almost!cuddling.
And it took the mun only a month to get her lazy butt in gear and format this for postage. /o\
teyla: Very strange. I wasn't saying anything deep and meaningful. Only that the Doctor probably staged the whole season 3 finale only so he'd get to float across the room
culumacilinte: But no, I was saying, afterwards, when he's got the Master in the TARDIS with him, him turning to the Doctor all eyebrows and utterly unimpressed, going 'I know something about psychic transference of power, Doctor; none of that flash bang nonsense was even *remotely* necessary.' And the Doctor just kind of shrugging and mumbling a bit
teyla: Yeah, well, he just spent two months or so being locked in a cage looking like Gollum in a suit. He just wanted to feel pretty again.
culumacilinte: Oi, the Master had that suit made specially; the Doctor should be grateful
teyla: The Doctor has to admit that it was a nice touch.
teyla: But so were the sparkles and the blue light.
culumacilinte: The Master is huffing and saying that people call *him* camp; they just don't know the Doctor
teyla: The Doctor is just shrugging and telling the Master that well, apparently the Master just doesn't know how to pull it off with style.
culumacilinte: *He* doesn't know about style? Well now, Doctor, be prepared to find half your wardrobe shredded via laser out of sheer spite. Leaving nothing but all the really daft fancy dress things that the Doctor likes far too much.
teyla: Oh no! Not the ward robe. the Doctor apologizes. The Master has cartloads of style. Much much more than the Doctor.
culumacilinte: The Master might do it anyway. Spite and boredom, as the Doctor has learned, are not a good combination
teyla: Ah. Is there anything the Doctor could do to distract him? They could maybe - play cards?
culumacilinte: The Master is lifting an eyebrow. He could go for a game of four dimensional chess, but he's not telling the Doctor that
teyla: Anything, really. Anything that doesn't involve conquering and enslaving any planets or killing people. The Doctor is very fond of his wardrobe.
culumacilinte: Can they go somewhere, then? Somewhere where there's actually *civilisation*?
teyla: Ah, no. As the Doctor said, nothing that involves conquering planets or killing people.
culumacilinte: Did he *say* conquering and killing? All he wants is to get out of the fucking TARDIS
teyla: Yeah, well, but the Master coming into contact with any kind of civilization usually ends badly. And no one's saying he can't leave the TARDIS. The Doctor has offered more than once that they can land the TARDIS somewhere. Somewhere where there are no people.
culumacilinte: Does the Doctor realise that the Master's going a *touch* stir crazy? And who knows what he might do with all that bottled-up frustration if he doesn't get an outlet soon?
teyla: The Doctor does realize that, and it's unsettling him because he knows it will eventually end in some kind of disaster. But as long as he's keeping the Master in the TARDIS, at least the disaster will be confined to a place he knows, and won't affect anyone aside from him. That's what the Doctor is hoping, anyway.
culumacilinte: *RAWR crazyflail* 'Let me *out* of your ship. Keep me on a fucking *leash* if that what it takes; you're already treating me like a rabid dog; it wouldn't be all that different- but let me *out*'
teyla: I can't let you out, because I can't trust you. You don't even understand the concept of trust; even if I made you promise a million times, you'd just do whatever you please as soon as I let you out of here. I just can't risk that. I'm sorry.
culumacilinte: 'You're sorry? You *hypocrite*. My own jailor pities me my plight, is that it? At least I had the honesty not to pretend to pity you when I kept *you* in a cage.'
teyla: I'm not pretending. Believe me, I wish it could be different.
culumacilinte: 'Then that's even *worse*. What would you do if I *killed* you? Hmm? Forgive me even then? You disgust me.'
teyla: The Doctor can't really say anything to that. He could, of course, give a long lecture about how hatred brings no reward, but it would not only be wasted on the Master, but would probably only fuel his rage. So he says nothing, just shrugs and turns away.
culumacilinte: Oh, and that's just *infuriating*. The Master storms after the Doctor, whips him around and shoves him hard, sending him stumbling back. His face is a mask of rage, 'Time was, Doctor, you called me your best enemy. Now what am I, a pathetic prisoner? *Fight* me!'
teyla: The attack doesn't take the Doctor entirely by surprise; he's been expecting the Master to lose it at some point for a while now. He manages to catch himself pretty quickly, and turns back around. When he sees the hate on the Master's face, there's a sudden surge of anger. He takes a quick step towards the Master and pushes him back against the wall. 'You just never stop, do you. You keep going and going and destroy everything until there's nothing left. This is why I can never trust you, Master - you just don't know anything else but fighting and hate."
culumacilinte: A furious smile- more like a predator's baring of teeth than anything else- finds itself on the Master's face when the Doctor pushes him back, and he huffs out a harsh, angry breath, sinking a fist into the Doctor's belly, taking that moment to shove him back. 'You think you know *anything* about me? That I'm some kind of... animal? Destroying mindlessly because that's all I'm capable of?' Another furious attack, thrusting the Doctor backwards towards the console. 'Do you honestly think I don't have a reason for *everything* I do?'
teyla: The Master's fist punching his stomach takes the Doctor's breath away for a moment, and he's stumbling, the Master advancing on him, before he catches himself on the console. He pushes himself off and catches the Master's wrists, his fingers clenched hard enough to bruise. 'Frankly, I don't care,' he says, his teeth clenched. He's angry now, a proper, deep anger of a kind that he hasn't felt in a long time. 'All I can see is that you keep destroying everything in front of you without a hint of remorse. You don't have the right, Master. You never did.'
culumacilinte: The pain of the Doctor's hands on his wrists feels good, the satisfaction that he's finally managed to rouse him to anger. And he sneers up at him, twisting his arms out of the Doctor's grip. That hurts too, but he relishes the pain, letting it feed his anger, feed the drums now beating madly behind his eyes. 'And you do?' He spits. 'The precious, righteous Doctor, who just *happens* to know how the rest of the universe should run itself. How does that make you *any* better than me?'
teyla: When the Master tears himself loose, the force of the movement forces the Doctor to take a step backwards. He clenches his hands to fists, trying to control that mad rage that is fuelled by seeing the hate and the spite in the Master's expression. He takes a couple of deep breaths. 'I never said I'm better than you,' he says, his voice shaking a little. 'I never said I'm better than anyone. But at least I try to do my best to help people, instead of spreading entropy and chaos wherever I go just for my own personal amusement.'
culumacilinte: 'And I suppose that's what you're doing right now, is it?' The Master mocks. He can feel the Doctor's anger, the way it's bubbling up under the skin; he wants him to just *let that go*. The Doctor always was magnificent in his rage. 'Come on!' He growls, before lunging forward to *grab* the Doctor's face between his hands, and mentally *kicks*. A strike straight to the doors of the Doctor's mind.
teyla: The Master's attack, mental and physical, shatters the little control the Doctor had over the burning fury building up in him. Without thinking, his hands go to the Master's face, and he slams the entire force of his furious mind against the Master's mental shielding. //Don't you dare.// His mental voice is loud and right there in the centre of the Master's head. //You know nothing, you *are* nothing, so don't you dare trying to tell me what I'm doing.//
culumacilinte: That strike sends the Master reeling, his knees almost buckling for a moment, but his psychic defences are shored up in a moment. He always had been better at this than the Doctor, telepathic control and manipulation coming to him easily; he has no doubts about it now. //I'm *nothing*?// He sneers in the Doctor's mind. //And yet here you are, keeping yourself locked inside your ship, in the Vortex, all for me.// The Doctor's attack is a furious, blunt force, but the Master finds the chinks in his shielding, driving inside with sharp needles of thought; centuries of anger and spite and other, stronger emotions that don't need names.
teyla: The moment the Master recovers from the attack and starts his counter strike, the Doctor's rage recedes, and he knows he's made a mistake. The Master has always been an expert in controlling his own mind as well as that of others, and the Doctor knows he doesn't stand a chance. Immediately, he pulls back mentally, putting all his resources into keeping the Master out of his own mind, and he drops his hands, taking his fingers off the mental connection points and giving the Master a hard shove to break the psychic connection completely.
culumacilinte: The Doctor pulls away, retreating from the Master's attack, cutting off the psychic connection entirely, and the Master's fury blossoms, licking up like flames. He *roars* with rage, stalking after the Doctor. Surrendering, lying down and taking it, *forgiving* the Master his sins. For a moment, there, he had attacked, struck back, and it had been perfect. 'You never *get it*, do you?' He hisses, aloud this time. 'Idiot.'
teyla: When the mental connection breaks, the Doctor stumbles back against the console, holding onto it for balance as he fights off the last few attempts of the Master to uphold the bond. The Master's livid with rage, his face contorted in anger, and the Doctor takes a deep breath. "Stay away from me," he says, his voice unsteady as he's trying to bring some peace into the turmoil that his is own mind. "I'm not doing this, just keep away from me."
culumacilinte: The Master's fingers as his side clench and unclench; he wishes for a sword, his screwdriver, anything but just his own hands and his mind. Because that- that hurts. He'd die before he ever said as much, but that's one weakness he has as far as the Doctor's concerned that he just can't countenance; every rejection, every time the Doctor turns him away; it *hurts*. His face twists. 'There is nothing else,' he says coldly.
teyla: The Doctor straightens up, his composure re-established, and he brushes down his suit jacket and runs a hand through his hair. His fingers slowly stop shaking. "There is," he says, his voice calm, a lot calmer than he's feeling. "You just can't see it."
culumacilinte: He scoffs. Anger is much easier to deal with, so he goes with that. 'What, shall we be *friends* again, Doctor? Is that what you'd like?'
teyla: The Doctor shrugs. He knows he shouldn't answer, he knows it's just provocation, but it's the Master. The Master has always known how to find the right words to get a reaction out of him. "I don't know. Maybe. Would that be such a bad thing?"
culumacilinte: Great Rassilon, he's serious. The Master can feel some of his anger draining away, replaced by an irritated confusion. 'How?' And the word is a laugh with no mirth to it. 'Forget centuries of enmity and go back to being ignorant children? I wouldn't want it even if it was possible.'
teyla: The Doctor nods at that reaction; he's been expecting it, enough that he would almost have been able to predict the Master's words. "And that's where we're different, and that's why I can't trust you, ever."
culumacilinte: The Doctor thinks himself some kind of righteous messiah, the Master gets that, but he can't think that the Doctor honestly believes his words. His lip curls. 'So you're telling me that, oh, if I suddenly developed *morals*, and decided that I wanted to live out the rest of my regenerations as a pacifist, you could go back to the way you were when you were a kid? You think you could be Theta Sigma again, just like that? Liar.'
teyla: The Doctor rests his hands on the edge of the console, leaning on them and keeping his head lowered for a moment. He is so, so tired of these conversations, so tired of trying and trying to reach out and never meeting anything but hostility and controversy. And yet, he can't stop trying, for reasons that elude even himself. "I don't want to go back to that," he says. "You're right, I couldn't. We don't have to be friends if you don't want it, we don't even have to get along. I just want to finally stop with the constant fighting." He's not been looking at the Master, but now he turns his head, catching the other man's eyes. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
culumacilinte: Get tired of it? On the contrary, he relishes it. It sustains him, his constant warring with the Doctor; in many ways, he can't understand how it doesn't the Doctor. He shakes his head, chuckling a little, somewhere in between rueful and a little bit bonkers. 'Oh, Doctor.'
teyla: And there it is, the plain madness on the Master's face. It's moments like this that the Doctor's convinced that nothing he could ever do or say will ever change anything at all, that they're fated to go on and on like this for the rest of eternity. He looks away and straightens up, and, for a lack of anything else to do or say, he just shrugs again. "Let's not talk about this now, hm?"
culumacilinte: 'Fine with me,' the Master says, back to grinning insincerity. And it is. He'd be quite alright if he never has to have this conversation ever again, but seeing as he's looking like being stuck with the Doctor for the rest of his life, he doubts he'll be that fortunate. 'I believe you were trying to come up with a reason why I shouldn't devastate half your wardrobe.'
teyla: "Hmm?" The Doctor's still pre-occupied, and the Master's remark confuses him for a moment. Then he remembers. "Oh. Yes. How about you just don't?" It's futile, of course, but the Doctor can't help saying it anyway.
culumacilinte: 'Oh, but that's *boring*!' Like their little chat has had no effect on him whatever. But this regeneration is good at that; humour to soothe the boiling rage under his skin. 'Come on.' He bounces on his heels a little, grinning. 'I know you can come up with a better reason than that
teyla: The Doctor doesn't answer immediately, instead flicking a switch on the TARDIS console and entering a few commands on the scanner screen. Then he looks up. "How about because I just sealed the door, and you can't get in unless you break the seal using this console, which is locked against your bio signature?"
culumacilinte: For a moment, the Doctor's infuriatingly reasonable solution grates at the Master, threatening to loose that unreasoning rage again, but he quickly masters himself. He offers the Doctor another glittering grin. 'Because then I'll destroy something else. More rooms, more *stuff*. Maybe I'll rip apart Miss Tyler's room, or lovely Nyssa's. Trash the zeppelin hangar... so many possibilities.' He shrugs. 'I'm the rabid dog, after all.'
teyla: The Doctor raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to one side. "Is this you telling me you want me to lock you up?"
culumacilinte: 'Ooh, do I get a little gilded birdcage too? How *exciting*'
teyla: 'Do you want one?'
culumacilinte: 'I'd rather be let out of your ship, but I think we've already covered quite how likely that eventuality is.'
teyla: 'Yes, I think we've talked about that subject quite enough for one day.'
culumacilinte: 'So.' Tilting his head to one side, leaning on the console with his hands in his pockets- a show of casualness. 'Gonna lock me up, is that it? A prison within my greater prison?'
teyla: 'I wasn't actually planning on it. But if I have the choice between sealing all the doors in the TARDIS or locking you up, I'll go with the latter.'
culumacilinte: The Master lifts a bored eyebrow. 'Kinky, Doctor. Wouldn't have thought that of you.'
teyla: 'I'm just full of surprises.'
culumacilinte: 'Aren't you just.'
teyla: They're at a stalemate, as it's happened quite a few times ever since the Doctor has taken the Master prisoner. This little altercation has been building up for a while, and the Doctor should probably be glad it didn't go any worse, but it's put him in a cynical, snarky mood. He doesn't like feeling that way, and he knows just the thing that will cure it. "I'm getting a cup of tea," he announces. "Want to come along?"
culumacilinte: Well, that's boring. The Master had almost hoped the Doctor would do as he threatened; stick him in cuffs somewhere. But as always, he refuses to fight, and the Master internally sighs. What he does, though, is give the Doctor a Look. 'Fine,' he grouses after a moment. 'But I'm making my own; you can't make a decent cup of tea for shite.'
teyla: 'As you wish,' the Doctor says, ignoring the Master's glare and heading off to the kitchen. He's starting to hope that the Master might actually leave it at that. The possibility is there, although there's also the option that the Doctor might wake up the next morning to find every room in the TARDIS methodically demolished. The Master's right about one thing; with him around, things rarely get boring.
culumacilinte: 'Not going Princess Bride on me, I hope,' he calls after the Doctor with idle spite, but follows after him a moment later. No reason to turn down a cup of tea, after all. He saw that bottle of Argolin brandy hiding in the back of one of the cupboards, and that always makes a smashing addition to a good cuppa.
teyla: The Doctor has to go through a couple of cupboards before he finds a packet of tea that's actually not empty. He puts it and the sugar on the table and sets about heating up some water.
culumacilinte: And while the Doctor is fumbling around the kitchen, by the time he's managed to find the kettle and the sugar and all the other necessities, the Master is already sitting at the table with his tea. Chamomile with a liberal splash of brandy. He lifts an eyebrow at the Doctor. 'Funny how I know my way around your kitchen better than you do.'
teyla: The Doctor has to admit, he's never been very good with kitchens. Or neatness, for that matter. He quickly goes about preparing his tea, then joins the Master at the table. "See, that's something you could do," he says. "Take up cooking. I've got all the resources right here, and I'm sure you'd be great at it."
culumacilinte: The Master very nearly chokes on his tea at that particular suggestion. 'Cooking? Do I look like Julia Child to you?'
teyla: The Doctor shrugs. 'Just an idea. It's something to keep yourself occupied. And it's really not as easy as some people make it look.' The Doctor has made that experience first-hand, more than once.
culumacilinte: 'Anything else to suggest? Knitting, perhaps?' He should have used more brandy in his tea, he thinks wryly, as he takes another sip. 'Arts and crafts?'
teyla: The Doctor's not deterred by the Master's sarcasm. He's actually pretty sure that the Master would enjoy cooking, even if only because it would give him an opportunity to be brilliant at something the Doctor has no talent for at all. He shrugs and sips his tea. "You will have to pick up a hobby at some point."
culumacilinte: Right, that's it. More brandy it is. 'Does making your life hell not count?' He inquires, sounding bored.
teyla: The Doctor watches the Master pour more brandy into his tea and contemplates intervening - the Master is unpredictable enough when he's completely sober - but then decides against it. 'I guess it does, but from what I can see it doesn't seem to be entertaining enough to keep you from getting bored anyway.'
culumacilinte: The Master expects that vaguely discomfited look from the Doctor as he adds more liquor to his tea. As if he even *has* to be intoxicated when he drinks. He doesn't, of course, but it's far more fun that way. He vaguely contemplates getting really roaring drunk and doing something stupid, just to make the Doctor react. He might. Who knows? For a man who loves a good plan as much as the Master does, he's been sorely lacking in that department of late. 'I am a Time Lord, Doctor,' he says, words crisply enunciated. 'No matter how much I fill my days with, I am going to get bored, shut up in one place for the rest of my life.'
teyla: As much as he'd like to, the Doctor can't argue with that. He's feeling it himself, the urge to leave, to go somewhere, *anywhere*. He's trying to ignore it, but he doesn't know how long he can keep doing that. He's never been very good at staying in one place for long.
He comes close to telling the Master, or at least to telling him that he's sorry, that he really would wish he didn't have to do that to him - to both of them, really - but he doesn't, not wanting to pick up their argument from before. Instead, he drinks more of his tea. "Well, maybe you don't have to be *as* bored."
culumacilinte: Really, at this point, the Master is devoting more thought to whether he wants to get properly drunk or not than to any words of the Doctor's. It's more diverting than the Doctor telling him for the billionth time that he should do something constructive with his time. He swills his tea around in his mouth as he looks up at the Doctor. 'And how, pray tell, do you suggest I stave off my boredom?' Methods that aren't domestic chores, is the unspoken qualifier to that, which he hopes the Doctor catches
teyla: 'Me, I enjoy reading.' The Doctor can tell that the Master isn't really listening, and he can't really blame him. Their conversation is going in circles so much it's even starting to bore the Doctor. He sees the Master eyeing the bottle of brandy some more, and for a brief moment contemplates having some himself. It's been ages since the last time he was drunk; he doesn't drink often, and always regrets it in the morning, but for a moment, the idea feels quite appealing.
culumacilinte: The Doctor's eyes drift distractedly to the liquor bottle, and the Master snorts a little, subvocally, lifting it and pouring a generous measure into the Doctor's tea. 'We're already a pair of sad old bastards,' he says as careless explanation. 'Might as well do the thing properly.'
teyla: The Doctor raises a protesting hand, but the Master's too quick, and admittedly, the protest was more for appearances than anything else. He smiles ruefully at the Master's words and picks up his cup. The aroma suggests that there actually might be more liquor than tea in it, and the Doctor knows that this is a bad idea, but for some reason, he doesn't seem to be able to make himself care. He tips his mug towards the Master in a half-mocking salute and takes a generous sip.
culumacilinte: The Master drinks in silence for a moment, running his tongue distractedly along the imprint of his lips on the rim of the mug. 'I might destroy half your wardrobe anyway,' he says consideringly, before trailing disdainful eyes down what of the Doctor isn't hidden by the table. 'Force you to wear something else. Pinstripes and trainers, really?'
teyla: The Doctor looks up, surprised at the change of topic, then looks down at himself. "You don't like the pinstripes?"
culumacilinte: 'There's nothing wrong with them in and of themselves, but *really*.' The look he gives the Doctor suggests that something about the way in which he wears pinstripes is deeply reproachful. There isn't, really. All his regenerations considered, this one actually has a semi-decent fashion sense.
teyla: The look the Master is giving him suggests that the Doctor's suit is breaking some sort of basic fashion rule, and the Doctor glances down at himself once more. "What is it?" He can't really see anything wrong. Maybe the Master's taking offence that he's not wearing a tie today.
culumacilinte: The Master merely shakes his head. If he can have nothing else, at least he can have the petty satisfaction of annoying the Doctor. Tipping his mug back, he drains the last of his tea, and sighs. Yes, getting drunk sounds like a good idea. Pettiness is far more satisfying when he's not sober. He takes the bottle by the neck, lifting it to his lips, and the Doctor gets a challenging little look when he replaces it on the table.
teyla: At the Master's vague reaction, the Doctor returns his attention to his tea, deciding to figure this out at a later point. He watches the Master take a swig straight from the brandy bottle, and when the Master glances over, the Doctor quickly raises his cup to his lips to hide any expression that might have been anything else but neutral.
culumacilinte: The Doctor's hasty burial of his face in his cup of tea is nothing if not obvious, and the Master laughs, a graceless little snort. 'Something to say?'
teyla: "No," the Doctor shakes his head. "No, not at all. You're right, if we're going to do this, we might as well do it right." As if to underline his words, he drains his mug in one long swig.
culumacilinte: The Master's lips twist into a crooked little smirk at that. 'And what exactly is it we're "doing"?' He inquires, stressing the word. Though if the answer is getting smashed out of their skulls, it occurs to him that that might be a good way to get the Doctor to let him out somewhere. He doesn't know how this regeneration is with alcohol, but given the way he behaves when he's sober, he expects it'll be entertaining, at least
teyla: The Doctor reaches for the bottle and pours himself another generous shot. "I thought it was obvious," he says. "We're getting drunk."
culumacilinte: Idly, he tracks the Doctor's movements as he pours himself another measure of brandy. Oh, very good. A wide grin stretches his face. 'That's certainly one way to stave off boredom.'
teyla: 'Better than beating each other up, at any rate.' The Doctor's starting to feel strangely giddy, and with a slight twinge of unease he remembers how badly this regeneration deals with alcohol. Well, too late to back out now.
culumacilinte: 'Might still end up beating each other up,' the Master says reflectively, taking another swig from the bottle- no pansy mugs for him, thank you very much- and enjoying the burn of the alcohol down his throat. 'Only with less finesse.' He spares the Doctor a wolfish grin. 'Who knows? I might be a *violent* drunk.'
teyla: The Doctor gives the Master a slightly uneasy side-glance. He's already starting to doubt the wisdom in his decision quite a lot, but mostly because he's not sure if getting drunk off his wits when he's supposed to be keeping an eye on the Master is such a good idea. The thought that the Master might get nasty when drunk hasn't even really occurred to him until now, although thinking about it, it really should have. "*Are* you a violent drunk?" he asks.
culumacilinte: The answer to that question is usually no, in point of fact. Not unless he's in a really thunderous temper when he starts drinking, and he tends to know better than to do that. The Master's brand of violence is a carefully controlled one, as most things about him are, and drunkenness, obviously, does not much lend itself to control. He doesn't tell the Doctor that, though, just tips the bottle back for a long drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hands and giving the Doctor a little waggle of his eyebrows.
teyla: It's sort of an answer. If the Master's being this provocative about it, he's most probably just trying to get the Doctor to worry. Slightly reassured, the Doctor takes a drink himself, absentmindedly noticing that the mug's already half-empty again. He's trying to remember if and when the Master and he have ever done this before, but to his surprise, he can't come up with an occasion.
culumacilinte: 'The thing about drinking,' the Master says after a moment, 'is that the fun lies not solely in being drunk-' not that he's nearly drunk yet. He's always had a decent tolerance for alcohol, and this body is as good as any- 'But in what one does *whilst* drunk.' He cocks an eyebrow.
teyla: "Is that so?" The Doctor answers the Master's challenging glance with a slightly guarded one. "What would count as something fun to do whilst drunk, then?"
culumacilinte: The Master snorts, and pours the Doctor more brandy, ignoring any protestations he might make. 'I don't know,' he says expansively, drawing out the vowel sounds and leaning back in his chair to give a little shrug. 'Nothing that involves sitting in wooden kitchen chairs; don't you have anything more comfortable?' An overstuffed armchair would be nice. Or a couch. He's sure the TARDIS is full of such things, this Doctor being the sort, the Master imagines, wont to fling all his long limbs out over them.
teyla: 'There's the library,' the Doctor says. Some of his earlier regenerations have kept the TARDIS' library rather spartan, with shelves and registers and nothing much to actually sit down and enjoy the countless books stored in the considerable archive, but not so this one. The Doctor loves reading, he loves being surrounded by books, and he loves a comfortable seating arrangement. One corner of the library is solely devoted to providing the latter, and the Master won't be disappointed - the rather enormous couch that takes up more than half of the space in that corner is definitely more comfortable than the kitchen chairs.
culumacilinte: 'Well then.' The Master gets up, snagging the brandy bottle from the table and holding the hand with it out in a gesture to the kitchen doorway. 'Lead on.' The words seem to be little more than words, though, because he starts off himself, before halting in the doorway. 'And grab something else to drink, will you? This,' he shakes the bottle, sending the few fingers of iridescent purple liquor left sloshing about the bottom, 'is hardly enough.'
teyla: The Doctor's not sure if he *has* anything else - he's just not a very frequent drinker - but a quick check of the kitchen cupboards reveal another bottle of brandy and an already opened, but still half-full bottle of what looks like genuine Russian vodka. The Doctor eyes it for a moment - he can't remember where it came from, which might suggest that drinking it won't be such a good idea - but then shrugs and takes it with him anyway. It's 40 percent alcohol; nothing too odd should have happened to the chemical structure.
culumacilinte: The Master doesn't bother waiting up for the Doctor. He knows where the library is, after all- come to that, he expects he knows most of the TARDIS better than the Doctor himself, given all the time he has nothing to do but wander around in it. He's quite fond of the library, actually; it's all polished wood and deep shag carpets and fireplaces. And there in one corner, a ridiculously massive couch. At that, the Master blinks slightly. Somehow he's managed to miss that before. But a couch is a couch, and he flops down on it, toeing off his shoes and taking another pull on the brandy bottle as he waits for the Doctor.
teyla: When the Doctor enters the library, the Master's already sprawled on the couch. he's taken off his shoes - that's one thing about the Master the Doctor can't help but admire, his endurance to constantly wear these surely completely uncomfortable shoes - and is following the Doctor with a slightly lethargic gaze. The Doctor flops down on the couch as well, leaving a reasonable distance between himself and the Master, and then realizes that he's left his mug in the kitchen. After a short moment of contemplation, he puts the vodka on the floor and opens the second bottle of brandy.
culumacilinte: The Master snorts at the Doctor's rather confused look at the two bottles he holds, as though he's not entirely sure what to do with them, lifting an eyebrow as he unscrews the cap on one. 'Been a while?'
teyla: 'Hmm?' The Doctor looks around to see the Master watching him, amusedly. He shrugs. 'Kind of.' He takes a swig from the bottle, the burning in his throat as he swallows strangely exhilarating. 'For some reason, I don't get the opportunity that often anymore.' Not that he ever had been prone to drinking a lot.
culumacilinte: The Master's gaze, as the Doctor lifts a bottle to his lips, comes to focus absently on his throat. The way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 'Perhaps you should,' he offers, his eyes not bothering to return to the Doctor's face. 'Omega knows you're repressed enough.'
teyla: At the somewhat unexpected statement, the Doctor raises his eyebrows. 'And drinking helps with that?'
culumacilinte: 'Hmm?' He'd hardly been expecting the Doctor to make anything of the Master's words. It's not like this is the first time he's accused him of being a repressed prig, after all, and with the weirdly companionable air which seems to have settled on them, a tried old insult seemed the thing. He shrugs. 'I find that slaughter on a grand scale works marvels as well, but in your case, I'd just recommend liquor.'
teyla: The Doctor's not sure why, but the statement and the way it's offered amuse him greatly, and he snorts. 'If those are my options, I think that yeah, I'll be going with the liquor.'
culumacilinte: At the Doctor's laughter- and the obvious cause of it- a smirk twitches around the Master's lips. He must really not be able to hold his liquor this time around, if a jibe about genocide failed to annoy him.
teyla: If this is what they can have afterwards, the Doctor idly contemplates suggesting to the Master that they should make a physical/mental altercation an every-morning routine. He's comfortable, relaxing more and more as the Master fails to attempt provocation for yet another minute. This really isn't bad at all.
culumacilinte: Idly listening in on the Doctor's thoughts (since he's failing to be considerate enough to voice any of them), the Master snorts a little, again, tipping back the bottle and gritting his teeth around the last dregs of the brandy. 'It's a common enough phenomenon; I believe the term you're looking for is make-up sex.' A pause, and he shrugs. 'Only without the sex.'
teyla: The Doctor's surprised when the Master answers his thoughts aloud, and realizes that his mental shielding is slipping. When he's around humans or other non-telepaths, he usually doesn't bother with keeping it up, but when the Master's around, the Doctor has made the experience that it's a good idea to control how much of what you're thinking the Master can listen in on. He quickly puts the shield back up, sending a slightly reproachful mental jibe at the Master. Poking around in other people's thoughts just isn't polite.
"I always thought make-up sex is the sex you have when you've made up already and feel all cuddly and apologetic," he says. "Kind of the sex we'd be having right now. If we were having sex."
~ part 2 ~
laser_not_sonic from the 20th of November.In this slightly alternate universe, the Master survived Last of the Time Lords, and the Doctor found himself faced with the task of actually having to act on his haphazard plan of locking the Master into the TARDIS with him. They've been locked in there and aimlessly traveling through the Vortex for quite a while, and things are - not going well.
Featuring: anger, fury, frustration, a (rather tame) mental altercation, tea, alcohol, more alcohol, jealous-boyfriend!Master quizzing the Doctor on his sex life, seductive-slut!Doctor driving the Master a little bit crazier, and towards the end, some porning with rather adorable almost!cuddling.
And it took the mun only a month to get her lazy butt in gear and format this for postage. /o\
teyla: Very strange. I wasn't saying anything deep and meaningful. Only that the Doctor probably staged the whole season 3 finale only so he'd get to float across the room
culumacilinte: But no, I was saying, afterwards, when he's got the Master in the TARDIS with him, him turning to the Doctor all eyebrows and utterly unimpressed, going 'I know something about psychic transference of power, Doctor; none of that flash bang nonsense was even *remotely* necessary.' And the Doctor just kind of shrugging and mumbling a bit
teyla: Yeah, well, he just spent two months or so being locked in a cage looking like Gollum in a suit. He just wanted to feel pretty again.
culumacilinte: Oi, the Master had that suit made specially; the Doctor should be grateful
teyla: The Doctor has to admit that it was a nice touch.
teyla: But so were the sparkles and the blue light.
culumacilinte: The Master is huffing and saying that people call *him* camp; they just don't know the Doctor
teyla: The Doctor is just shrugging and telling the Master that well, apparently the Master just doesn't know how to pull it off with style.
culumacilinte: *He* doesn't know about style? Well now, Doctor, be prepared to find half your wardrobe shredded via laser out of sheer spite. Leaving nothing but all the really daft fancy dress things that the Doctor likes far too much.
teyla: Oh no! Not the ward robe. the Doctor apologizes. The Master has cartloads of style. Much much more than the Doctor.
culumacilinte: The Master might do it anyway. Spite and boredom, as the Doctor has learned, are not a good combination
teyla: Ah. Is there anything the Doctor could do to distract him? They could maybe - play cards?
culumacilinte: The Master is lifting an eyebrow. He could go for a game of four dimensional chess, but he's not telling the Doctor that
teyla: Anything, really. Anything that doesn't involve conquering and enslaving any planets or killing people. The Doctor is very fond of his wardrobe.
culumacilinte: Can they go somewhere, then? Somewhere where there's actually *civilisation*?
teyla: Ah, no. As the Doctor said, nothing that involves conquering planets or killing people.
culumacilinte: Did he *say* conquering and killing? All he wants is to get out of the fucking TARDIS
teyla: Yeah, well, but the Master coming into contact with any kind of civilization usually ends badly. And no one's saying he can't leave the TARDIS. The Doctor has offered more than once that they can land the TARDIS somewhere. Somewhere where there are no people.
culumacilinte: Does the Doctor realise that the Master's going a *touch* stir crazy? And who knows what he might do with all that bottled-up frustration if he doesn't get an outlet soon?
teyla: The Doctor does realize that, and it's unsettling him because he knows it will eventually end in some kind of disaster. But as long as he's keeping the Master in the TARDIS, at least the disaster will be confined to a place he knows, and won't affect anyone aside from him. That's what the Doctor is hoping, anyway.
culumacilinte: *RAWR crazyflail* 'Let me *out* of your ship. Keep me on a fucking *leash* if that what it takes; you're already treating me like a rabid dog; it wouldn't be all that different- but let me *out*'
teyla: I can't let you out, because I can't trust you. You don't even understand the concept of trust; even if I made you promise a million times, you'd just do whatever you please as soon as I let you out of here. I just can't risk that. I'm sorry.
culumacilinte: 'You're sorry? You *hypocrite*. My own jailor pities me my plight, is that it? At least I had the honesty not to pretend to pity you when I kept *you* in a cage.'
teyla: I'm not pretending. Believe me, I wish it could be different.
culumacilinte: 'Then that's even *worse*. What would you do if I *killed* you? Hmm? Forgive me even then? You disgust me.'
teyla: The Doctor can't really say anything to that. He could, of course, give a long lecture about how hatred brings no reward, but it would not only be wasted on the Master, but would probably only fuel his rage. So he says nothing, just shrugs and turns away.
culumacilinte: Oh, and that's just *infuriating*. The Master storms after the Doctor, whips him around and shoves him hard, sending him stumbling back. His face is a mask of rage, 'Time was, Doctor, you called me your best enemy. Now what am I, a pathetic prisoner? *Fight* me!'
teyla: The attack doesn't take the Doctor entirely by surprise; he's been expecting the Master to lose it at some point for a while now. He manages to catch himself pretty quickly, and turns back around. When he sees the hate on the Master's face, there's a sudden surge of anger. He takes a quick step towards the Master and pushes him back against the wall. 'You just never stop, do you. You keep going and going and destroy everything until there's nothing left. This is why I can never trust you, Master - you just don't know anything else but fighting and hate."
culumacilinte: A furious smile- more like a predator's baring of teeth than anything else- finds itself on the Master's face when the Doctor pushes him back, and he huffs out a harsh, angry breath, sinking a fist into the Doctor's belly, taking that moment to shove him back. 'You think you know *anything* about me? That I'm some kind of... animal? Destroying mindlessly because that's all I'm capable of?' Another furious attack, thrusting the Doctor backwards towards the console. 'Do you honestly think I don't have a reason for *everything* I do?'
teyla: The Master's fist punching his stomach takes the Doctor's breath away for a moment, and he's stumbling, the Master advancing on him, before he catches himself on the console. He pushes himself off and catches the Master's wrists, his fingers clenched hard enough to bruise. 'Frankly, I don't care,' he says, his teeth clenched. He's angry now, a proper, deep anger of a kind that he hasn't felt in a long time. 'All I can see is that you keep destroying everything in front of you without a hint of remorse. You don't have the right, Master. You never did.'
culumacilinte: The pain of the Doctor's hands on his wrists feels good, the satisfaction that he's finally managed to rouse him to anger. And he sneers up at him, twisting his arms out of the Doctor's grip. That hurts too, but he relishes the pain, letting it feed his anger, feed the drums now beating madly behind his eyes. 'And you do?' He spits. 'The precious, righteous Doctor, who just *happens* to know how the rest of the universe should run itself. How does that make you *any* better than me?'
teyla: When the Master tears himself loose, the force of the movement forces the Doctor to take a step backwards. He clenches his hands to fists, trying to control that mad rage that is fuelled by seeing the hate and the spite in the Master's expression. He takes a couple of deep breaths. 'I never said I'm better than you,' he says, his voice shaking a little. 'I never said I'm better than anyone. But at least I try to do my best to help people, instead of spreading entropy and chaos wherever I go just for my own personal amusement.'
culumacilinte: 'And I suppose that's what you're doing right now, is it?' The Master mocks. He can feel the Doctor's anger, the way it's bubbling up under the skin; he wants him to just *let that go*. The Doctor always was magnificent in his rage. 'Come on!' He growls, before lunging forward to *grab* the Doctor's face between his hands, and mentally *kicks*. A strike straight to the doors of the Doctor's mind.
teyla: The Master's attack, mental and physical, shatters the little control the Doctor had over the burning fury building up in him. Without thinking, his hands go to the Master's face, and he slams the entire force of his furious mind against the Master's mental shielding. //Don't you dare.// His mental voice is loud and right there in the centre of the Master's head. //You know nothing, you *are* nothing, so don't you dare trying to tell me what I'm doing.//
culumacilinte: That strike sends the Master reeling, his knees almost buckling for a moment, but his psychic defences are shored up in a moment. He always had been better at this than the Doctor, telepathic control and manipulation coming to him easily; he has no doubts about it now. //I'm *nothing*?// He sneers in the Doctor's mind. //And yet here you are, keeping yourself locked inside your ship, in the Vortex, all for me.// The Doctor's attack is a furious, blunt force, but the Master finds the chinks in his shielding, driving inside with sharp needles of thought; centuries of anger and spite and other, stronger emotions that don't need names.
teyla: The moment the Master recovers from the attack and starts his counter strike, the Doctor's rage recedes, and he knows he's made a mistake. The Master has always been an expert in controlling his own mind as well as that of others, and the Doctor knows he doesn't stand a chance. Immediately, he pulls back mentally, putting all his resources into keeping the Master out of his own mind, and he drops his hands, taking his fingers off the mental connection points and giving the Master a hard shove to break the psychic connection completely.
culumacilinte: The Doctor pulls away, retreating from the Master's attack, cutting off the psychic connection entirely, and the Master's fury blossoms, licking up like flames. He *roars* with rage, stalking after the Doctor. Surrendering, lying down and taking it, *forgiving* the Master his sins. For a moment, there, he had attacked, struck back, and it had been perfect. 'You never *get it*, do you?' He hisses, aloud this time. 'Idiot.'
teyla: When the mental connection breaks, the Doctor stumbles back against the console, holding onto it for balance as he fights off the last few attempts of the Master to uphold the bond. The Master's livid with rage, his face contorted in anger, and the Doctor takes a deep breath. "Stay away from me," he says, his voice unsteady as he's trying to bring some peace into the turmoil that his is own mind. "I'm not doing this, just keep away from me."
culumacilinte: The Master's fingers as his side clench and unclench; he wishes for a sword, his screwdriver, anything but just his own hands and his mind. Because that- that hurts. He'd die before he ever said as much, but that's one weakness he has as far as the Doctor's concerned that he just can't countenance; every rejection, every time the Doctor turns him away; it *hurts*. His face twists. 'There is nothing else,' he says coldly.
teyla: The Doctor straightens up, his composure re-established, and he brushes down his suit jacket and runs a hand through his hair. His fingers slowly stop shaking. "There is," he says, his voice calm, a lot calmer than he's feeling. "You just can't see it."
culumacilinte: He scoffs. Anger is much easier to deal with, so he goes with that. 'What, shall we be *friends* again, Doctor? Is that what you'd like?'
teyla: The Doctor shrugs. He knows he shouldn't answer, he knows it's just provocation, but it's the Master. The Master has always known how to find the right words to get a reaction out of him. "I don't know. Maybe. Would that be such a bad thing?"
culumacilinte: Great Rassilon, he's serious. The Master can feel some of his anger draining away, replaced by an irritated confusion. 'How?' And the word is a laugh with no mirth to it. 'Forget centuries of enmity and go back to being ignorant children? I wouldn't want it even if it was possible.'
teyla: The Doctor nods at that reaction; he's been expecting it, enough that he would almost have been able to predict the Master's words. "And that's where we're different, and that's why I can't trust you, ever."
culumacilinte: The Doctor thinks himself some kind of righteous messiah, the Master gets that, but he can't think that the Doctor honestly believes his words. His lip curls. 'So you're telling me that, oh, if I suddenly developed *morals*, and decided that I wanted to live out the rest of my regenerations as a pacifist, you could go back to the way you were when you were a kid? You think you could be Theta Sigma again, just like that? Liar.'
teyla: The Doctor rests his hands on the edge of the console, leaning on them and keeping his head lowered for a moment. He is so, so tired of these conversations, so tired of trying and trying to reach out and never meeting anything but hostility and controversy. And yet, he can't stop trying, for reasons that elude even himself. "I don't want to go back to that," he says. "You're right, I couldn't. We don't have to be friends if you don't want it, we don't even have to get along. I just want to finally stop with the constant fighting." He's not been looking at the Master, but now he turns his head, catching the other man's eyes. "Don't you ever get tired of it?"
culumacilinte: Get tired of it? On the contrary, he relishes it. It sustains him, his constant warring with the Doctor; in many ways, he can't understand how it doesn't the Doctor. He shakes his head, chuckling a little, somewhere in between rueful and a little bit bonkers. 'Oh, Doctor.'
teyla: And there it is, the plain madness on the Master's face. It's moments like this that the Doctor's convinced that nothing he could ever do or say will ever change anything at all, that they're fated to go on and on like this for the rest of eternity. He looks away and straightens up, and, for a lack of anything else to do or say, he just shrugs again. "Let's not talk about this now, hm?"
culumacilinte: 'Fine with me,' the Master says, back to grinning insincerity. And it is. He'd be quite alright if he never has to have this conversation ever again, but seeing as he's looking like being stuck with the Doctor for the rest of his life, he doubts he'll be that fortunate. 'I believe you were trying to come up with a reason why I shouldn't devastate half your wardrobe.'
teyla: "Hmm?" The Doctor's still pre-occupied, and the Master's remark confuses him for a moment. Then he remembers. "Oh. Yes. How about you just don't?" It's futile, of course, but the Doctor can't help saying it anyway.
culumacilinte: 'Oh, but that's *boring*!' Like their little chat has had no effect on him whatever. But this regeneration is good at that; humour to soothe the boiling rage under his skin. 'Come on.' He bounces on his heels a little, grinning. 'I know you can come up with a better reason than that
teyla: The Doctor doesn't answer immediately, instead flicking a switch on the TARDIS console and entering a few commands on the scanner screen. Then he looks up. "How about because I just sealed the door, and you can't get in unless you break the seal using this console, which is locked against your bio signature?"
culumacilinte: For a moment, the Doctor's infuriatingly reasonable solution grates at the Master, threatening to loose that unreasoning rage again, but he quickly masters himself. He offers the Doctor another glittering grin. 'Because then I'll destroy something else. More rooms, more *stuff*. Maybe I'll rip apart Miss Tyler's room, or lovely Nyssa's. Trash the zeppelin hangar... so many possibilities.' He shrugs. 'I'm the rabid dog, after all.'
teyla: The Doctor raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to one side. "Is this you telling me you want me to lock you up?"
culumacilinte: 'Ooh, do I get a little gilded birdcage too? How *exciting*'
teyla: 'Do you want one?'
culumacilinte: 'I'd rather be let out of your ship, but I think we've already covered quite how likely that eventuality is.'
teyla: 'Yes, I think we've talked about that subject quite enough for one day.'
culumacilinte: 'So.' Tilting his head to one side, leaning on the console with his hands in his pockets- a show of casualness. 'Gonna lock me up, is that it? A prison within my greater prison?'
teyla: 'I wasn't actually planning on it. But if I have the choice between sealing all the doors in the TARDIS or locking you up, I'll go with the latter.'
culumacilinte: The Master lifts a bored eyebrow. 'Kinky, Doctor. Wouldn't have thought that of you.'
teyla: 'I'm just full of surprises.'
culumacilinte: 'Aren't you just.'
teyla: They're at a stalemate, as it's happened quite a few times ever since the Doctor has taken the Master prisoner. This little altercation has been building up for a while, and the Doctor should probably be glad it didn't go any worse, but it's put him in a cynical, snarky mood. He doesn't like feeling that way, and he knows just the thing that will cure it. "I'm getting a cup of tea," he announces. "Want to come along?"
culumacilinte: Well, that's boring. The Master had almost hoped the Doctor would do as he threatened; stick him in cuffs somewhere. But as always, he refuses to fight, and the Master internally sighs. What he does, though, is give the Doctor a Look. 'Fine,' he grouses after a moment. 'But I'm making my own; you can't make a decent cup of tea for shite.'
teyla: 'As you wish,' the Doctor says, ignoring the Master's glare and heading off to the kitchen. He's starting to hope that the Master might actually leave it at that. The possibility is there, although there's also the option that the Doctor might wake up the next morning to find every room in the TARDIS methodically demolished. The Master's right about one thing; with him around, things rarely get boring.
culumacilinte: 'Not going Princess Bride on me, I hope,' he calls after the Doctor with idle spite, but follows after him a moment later. No reason to turn down a cup of tea, after all. He saw that bottle of Argolin brandy hiding in the back of one of the cupboards, and that always makes a smashing addition to a good cuppa.
teyla: The Doctor has to go through a couple of cupboards before he finds a packet of tea that's actually not empty. He puts it and the sugar on the table and sets about heating up some water.
culumacilinte: And while the Doctor is fumbling around the kitchen, by the time he's managed to find the kettle and the sugar and all the other necessities, the Master is already sitting at the table with his tea. Chamomile with a liberal splash of brandy. He lifts an eyebrow at the Doctor. 'Funny how I know my way around your kitchen better than you do.'
teyla: The Doctor has to admit, he's never been very good with kitchens. Or neatness, for that matter. He quickly goes about preparing his tea, then joins the Master at the table. "See, that's something you could do," he says. "Take up cooking. I've got all the resources right here, and I'm sure you'd be great at it."
culumacilinte: The Master very nearly chokes on his tea at that particular suggestion. 'Cooking? Do I look like Julia Child to you?'
teyla: The Doctor shrugs. 'Just an idea. It's something to keep yourself occupied. And it's really not as easy as some people make it look.' The Doctor has made that experience first-hand, more than once.
culumacilinte: 'Anything else to suggest? Knitting, perhaps?' He should have used more brandy in his tea, he thinks wryly, as he takes another sip. 'Arts and crafts?'
teyla: The Doctor's not deterred by the Master's sarcasm. He's actually pretty sure that the Master would enjoy cooking, even if only because it would give him an opportunity to be brilliant at something the Doctor has no talent for at all. He shrugs and sips his tea. "You will have to pick up a hobby at some point."
culumacilinte: Right, that's it. More brandy it is. 'Does making your life hell not count?' He inquires, sounding bored.
teyla: The Doctor watches the Master pour more brandy into his tea and contemplates intervening - the Master is unpredictable enough when he's completely sober - but then decides against it. 'I guess it does, but from what I can see it doesn't seem to be entertaining enough to keep you from getting bored anyway.'
culumacilinte: The Master expects that vaguely discomfited look from the Doctor as he adds more liquor to his tea. As if he even *has* to be intoxicated when he drinks. He doesn't, of course, but it's far more fun that way. He vaguely contemplates getting really roaring drunk and doing something stupid, just to make the Doctor react. He might. Who knows? For a man who loves a good plan as much as the Master does, he's been sorely lacking in that department of late. 'I am a Time Lord, Doctor,' he says, words crisply enunciated. 'No matter how much I fill my days with, I am going to get bored, shut up in one place for the rest of my life.'
teyla: As much as he'd like to, the Doctor can't argue with that. He's feeling it himself, the urge to leave, to go somewhere, *anywhere*. He's trying to ignore it, but he doesn't know how long he can keep doing that. He's never been very good at staying in one place for long.
He comes close to telling the Master, or at least to telling him that he's sorry, that he really would wish he didn't have to do that to him - to both of them, really - but he doesn't, not wanting to pick up their argument from before. Instead, he drinks more of his tea. "Well, maybe you don't have to be *as* bored."
culumacilinte: Really, at this point, the Master is devoting more thought to whether he wants to get properly drunk or not than to any words of the Doctor's. It's more diverting than the Doctor telling him for the billionth time that he should do something constructive with his time. He swills his tea around in his mouth as he looks up at the Doctor. 'And how, pray tell, do you suggest I stave off my boredom?' Methods that aren't domestic chores, is the unspoken qualifier to that, which he hopes the Doctor catches
teyla: 'Me, I enjoy reading.' The Doctor can tell that the Master isn't really listening, and he can't really blame him. Their conversation is going in circles so much it's even starting to bore the Doctor. He sees the Master eyeing the bottle of brandy some more, and for a brief moment contemplates having some himself. It's been ages since the last time he was drunk; he doesn't drink often, and always regrets it in the morning, but for a moment, the idea feels quite appealing.
culumacilinte: The Doctor's eyes drift distractedly to the liquor bottle, and the Master snorts a little, subvocally, lifting it and pouring a generous measure into the Doctor's tea. 'We're already a pair of sad old bastards,' he says as careless explanation. 'Might as well do the thing properly.'
teyla: The Doctor raises a protesting hand, but the Master's too quick, and admittedly, the protest was more for appearances than anything else. He smiles ruefully at the Master's words and picks up his cup. The aroma suggests that there actually might be more liquor than tea in it, and the Doctor knows that this is a bad idea, but for some reason, he doesn't seem to be able to make himself care. He tips his mug towards the Master in a half-mocking salute and takes a generous sip.
culumacilinte: The Master drinks in silence for a moment, running his tongue distractedly along the imprint of his lips on the rim of the mug. 'I might destroy half your wardrobe anyway,' he says consideringly, before trailing disdainful eyes down what of the Doctor isn't hidden by the table. 'Force you to wear something else. Pinstripes and trainers, really?'
teyla: The Doctor looks up, surprised at the change of topic, then looks down at himself. "You don't like the pinstripes?"
culumacilinte: 'There's nothing wrong with them in and of themselves, but *really*.' The look he gives the Doctor suggests that something about the way in which he wears pinstripes is deeply reproachful. There isn't, really. All his regenerations considered, this one actually has a semi-decent fashion sense.
teyla: The look the Master is giving him suggests that the Doctor's suit is breaking some sort of basic fashion rule, and the Doctor glances down at himself once more. "What is it?" He can't really see anything wrong. Maybe the Master's taking offence that he's not wearing a tie today.
culumacilinte: The Master merely shakes his head. If he can have nothing else, at least he can have the petty satisfaction of annoying the Doctor. Tipping his mug back, he drains the last of his tea, and sighs. Yes, getting drunk sounds like a good idea. Pettiness is far more satisfying when he's not sober. He takes the bottle by the neck, lifting it to his lips, and the Doctor gets a challenging little look when he replaces it on the table.
teyla: At the Master's vague reaction, the Doctor returns his attention to his tea, deciding to figure this out at a later point. He watches the Master take a swig straight from the brandy bottle, and when the Master glances over, the Doctor quickly raises his cup to his lips to hide any expression that might have been anything else but neutral.
culumacilinte: The Doctor's hasty burial of his face in his cup of tea is nothing if not obvious, and the Master laughs, a graceless little snort. 'Something to say?'
teyla: "No," the Doctor shakes his head. "No, not at all. You're right, if we're going to do this, we might as well do it right." As if to underline his words, he drains his mug in one long swig.
culumacilinte: The Master's lips twist into a crooked little smirk at that. 'And what exactly is it we're "doing"?' He inquires, stressing the word. Though if the answer is getting smashed out of their skulls, it occurs to him that that might be a good way to get the Doctor to let him out somewhere. He doesn't know how this regeneration is with alcohol, but given the way he behaves when he's sober, he expects it'll be entertaining, at least
teyla: The Doctor reaches for the bottle and pours himself another generous shot. "I thought it was obvious," he says. "We're getting drunk."
culumacilinte: Idly, he tracks the Doctor's movements as he pours himself another measure of brandy. Oh, very good. A wide grin stretches his face. 'That's certainly one way to stave off boredom.'
teyla: 'Better than beating each other up, at any rate.' The Doctor's starting to feel strangely giddy, and with a slight twinge of unease he remembers how badly this regeneration deals with alcohol. Well, too late to back out now.
culumacilinte: 'Might still end up beating each other up,' the Master says reflectively, taking another swig from the bottle- no pansy mugs for him, thank you very much- and enjoying the burn of the alcohol down his throat. 'Only with less finesse.' He spares the Doctor a wolfish grin. 'Who knows? I might be a *violent* drunk.'
teyla: The Doctor gives the Master a slightly uneasy side-glance. He's already starting to doubt the wisdom in his decision quite a lot, but mostly because he's not sure if getting drunk off his wits when he's supposed to be keeping an eye on the Master is such a good idea. The thought that the Master might get nasty when drunk hasn't even really occurred to him until now, although thinking about it, it really should have. "*Are* you a violent drunk?" he asks.
culumacilinte: The answer to that question is usually no, in point of fact. Not unless he's in a really thunderous temper when he starts drinking, and he tends to know better than to do that. The Master's brand of violence is a carefully controlled one, as most things about him are, and drunkenness, obviously, does not much lend itself to control. He doesn't tell the Doctor that, though, just tips the bottle back for a long drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hands and giving the Doctor a little waggle of his eyebrows.
teyla: It's sort of an answer. If the Master's being this provocative about it, he's most probably just trying to get the Doctor to worry. Slightly reassured, the Doctor takes a drink himself, absentmindedly noticing that the mug's already half-empty again. He's trying to remember if and when the Master and he have ever done this before, but to his surprise, he can't come up with an occasion.
culumacilinte: 'The thing about drinking,' the Master says after a moment, 'is that the fun lies not solely in being drunk-' not that he's nearly drunk yet. He's always had a decent tolerance for alcohol, and this body is as good as any- 'But in what one does *whilst* drunk.' He cocks an eyebrow.
teyla: "Is that so?" The Doctor answers the Master's challenging glance with a slightly guarded one. "What would count as something fun to do whilst drunk, then?"
culumacilinte: The Master snorts, and pours the Doctor more brandy, ignoring any protestations he might make. 'I don't know,' he says expansively, drawing out the vowel sounds and leaning back in his chair to give a little shrug. 'Nothing that involves sitting in wooden kitchen chairs; don't you have anything more comfortable?' An overstuffed armchair would be nice. Or a couch. He's sure the TARDIS is full of such things, this Doctor being the sort, the Master imagines, wont to fling all his long limbs out over them.
teyla: 'There's the library,' the Doctor says. Some of his earlier regenerations have kept the TARDIS' library rather spartan, with shelves and registers and nothing much to actually sit down and enjoy the countless books stored in the considerable archive, but not so this one. The Doctor loves reading, he loves being surrounded by books, and he loves a comfortable seating arrangement. One corner of the library is solely devoted to providing the latter, and the Master won't be disappointed - the rather enormous couch that takes up more than half of the space in that corner is definitely more comfortable than the kitchen chairs.
culumacilinte: 'Well then.' The Master gets up, snagging the brandy bottle from the table and holding the hand with it out in a gesture to the kitchen doorway. 'Lead on.' The words seem to be little more than words, though, because he starts off himself, before halting in the doorway. 'And grab something else to drink, will you? This,' he shakes the bottle, sending the few fingers of iridescent purple liquor left sloshing about the bottom, 'is hardly enough.'
teyla: The Doctor's not sure if he *has* anything else - he's just not a very frequent drinker - but a quick check of the kitchen cupboards reveal another bottle of brandy and an already opened, but still half-full bottle of what looks like genuine Russian vodka. The Doctor eyes it for a moment - he can't remember where it came from, which might suggest that drinking it won't be such a good idea - but then shrugs and takes it with him anyway. It's 40 percent alcohol; nothing too odd should have happened to the chemical structure.
culumacilinte: The Master doesn't bother waiting up for the Doctor. He knows where the library is, after all- come to that, he expects he knows most of the TARDIS better than the Doctor himself, given all the time he has nothing to do but wander around in it. He's quite fond of the library, actually; it's all polished wood and deep shag carpets and fireplaces. And there in one corner, a ridiculously massive couch. At that, the Master blinks slightly. Somehow he's managed to miss that before. But a couch is a couch, and he flops down on it, toeing off his shoes and taking another pull on the brandy bottle as he waits for the Doctor.
teyla: When the Doctor enters the library, the Master's already sprawled on the couch. he's taken off his shoes - that's one thing about the Master the Doctor can't help but admire, his endurance to constantly wear these surely completely uncomfortable shoes - and is following the Doctor with a slightly lethargic gaze. The Doctor flops down on the couch as well, leaving a reasonable distance between himself and the Master, and then realizes that he's left his mug in the kitchen. After a short moment of contemplation, he puts the vodka on the floor and opens the second bottle of brandy.
culumacilinte: The Master snorts at the Doctor's rather confused look at the two bottles he holds, as though he's not entirely sure what to do with them, lifting an eyebrow as he unscrews the cap on one. 'Been a while?'
teyla: 'Hmm?' The Doctor looks around to see the Master watching him, amusedly. He shrugs. 'Kind of.' He takes a swig from the bottle, the burning in his throat as he swallows strangely exhilarating. 'For some reason, I don't get the opportunity that often anymore.' Not that he ever had been prone to drinking a lot.
culumacilinte: The Master's gaze, as the Doctor lifts a bottle to his lips, comes to focus absently on his throat. The way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 'Perhaps you should,' he offers, his eyes not bothering to return to the Doctor's face. 'Omega knows you're repressed enough.'
teyla: At the somewhat unexpected statement, the Doctor raises his eyebrows. 'And drinking helps with that?'
culumacilinte: 'Hmm?' He'd hardly been expecting the Doctor to make anything of the Master's words. It's not like this is the first time he's accused him of being a repressed prig, after all, and with the weirdly companionable air which seems to have settled on them, a tried old insult seemed the thing. He shrugs. 'I find that slaughter on a grand scale works marvels as well, but in your case, I'd just recommend liquor.'
teyla: The Doctor's not sure why, but the statement and the way it's offered amuse him greatly, and he snorts. 'If those are my options, I think that yeah, I'll be going with the liquor.'
culumacilinte: At the Doctor's laughter- and the obvious cause of it- a smirk twitches around the Master's lips. He must really not be able to hold his liquor this time around, if a jibe about genocide failed to annoy him.
teyla: If this is what they can have afterwards, the Doctor idly contemplates suggesting to the Master that they should make a physical/mental altercation an every-morning routine. He's comfortable, relaxing more and more as the Master fails to attempt provocation for yet another minute. This really isn't bad at all.
culumacilinte: Idly listening in on the Doctor's thoughts (since he's failing to be considerate enough to voice any of them), the Master snorts a little, again, tipping back the bottle and gritting his teeth around the last dregs of the brandy. 'It's a common enough phenomenon; I believe the term you're looking for is make-up sex.' A pause, and he shrugs. 'Only without the sex.'
teyla: The Doctor's surprised when the Master answers his thoughts aloud, and realizes that his mental shielding is slipping. When he's around humans or other non-telepaths, he usually doesn't bother with keeping it up, but when the Master's around, the Doctor has made the experience that it's a good idea to control how much of what you're thinking the Master can listen in on. He quickly puts the shield back up, sending a slightly reproachful mental jibe at the Master. Poking around in other people's thoughts just isn't polite.
"I always thought make-up sex is the sex you have when you've made up already and feel all cuddly and apologetic," he says. "Kind of the sex we'd be having right now. If we were having sex."
~ part 2 ~