(wastedlands) A Humble Request for Reconciliation

My dear fellow citizens (whom I one day hope to call friends),

In the wake of the recent tragedies that have shaken our little community, I've come to realize that a great many of us scarcely know each other. In fact, we actively mistrust and exclude certain parties from information that could be quite vital to their survival. I find this very, very sad, indeed.

I for one am particularly interested in dispelling those vicious rumours that appear to be floating around about me-- that I am a "monster," or a "bad person," or at the very least someone not to be trusted. I gather that many of these are preconceptions fostered by a certain... acquaintance of mine, and I would urge you to come to your own conclusions rather than assume the worst based on hearsay. I admit that I am not proud of everything I've done in the past, but I do not think I should be punished for it forever. Especially during a time when we should be fostering close ties with formidable allies.

To that end, I would like to reach out to you.

I hereby offer, to anyone who feels it is deserved, a heartfelt apology for any pain or annoyance I may have caused. And I offer an opportunity as well. An opportunity to put all of this animosity behind us and start anew. If you have an issue you'd like to resolve with me, I invite you to come see me personally in my humble abode. Whenever you like, really. Given I'm actually home at the time.

Hopefully (over tea and biscuits of course) we can talk everything over in a civilised fashion. I am going to trust you all because I feel trust is something severely lacking in this community, and I want to take a step towards healing it.

I live in Diagon Alley, in the flat above a fox shop. The shop has wooden sign with a fox engraved on it, and it is near the north end of the Alley, across from a surprisingly good sweet shop.

Have a wonderful day, and stay safe, please.

The Master

http://community.livejournal.com/wastedlands/133331.html

(wastedlands) Boom.

Characters: The Doctor, The Master's flat, and OPEN to anyone else, but PING FIRST.
Rating: R (Sorry Sam, you've exceeded the rating system's limit for use of the fucking "f"-word)
Date: Today, evening
Location: The Master's flat, Diagon Alley

The Master tapped the last few characters into his Network device, pressed "send," and leaned back for a few seconds, grinning. He felt the need to bask for a bit, although honestly he had very little time. The Doctor would not wait around after receiving a message like that, trap or not.

And yes, it was a trap. Not a clever one, not even halfway creative; the Master hadn't been able to scrape together many resources after his first narrow escape, largely due to his reluctance to roam the Alley for supplies while a certain someone roamed it also, looking for him. But it was something, at least. It would do the job. And in a perverse way he was almost proud of it.

And maybe you won't be able to save them all, this time. That would be icing on the cake.

The Master rose abruptly, his allotted gloating time having run out, and gathered up the few things he felt necessary to take in a grotesque, oversized canvas knapsack with appliqued hearts all over it. Short notice and all. After a brief hesitation he also stuffed in the yellow rain slicker.

He looked around the flat one last time. There was still a fair amount of damaged equipment strewn about the room, but let the Doctor figure it out. The explosive device and its timer (really just an old-fashioned clock with a pin at the five-minute mark and a piece of foil wrapped around the minute hand) was nestled in the center of a particularly large pile of the stuff, completely hidden. Satisfied, he unlocked the door, stepped outside, and closed it a little more than halfway.

Setting up the tripwire would prove to be the trickiest part, if there were such a thing. The Master had carefully tied one end of a sturdy string to a heavy ceramic lawn gnome inexplicably positioned inside the flat and behind the door; he now took the other end, attached to a small scrap of wood, and stretched it across the door about four inches off the ground. He'd tied a clothespin to the wooden coat rack; small pieces of foil were wrapped around its tips. The Master carefully positioned the scrap of wood between them, then nudged a wire, seemingly carelessly strewn on the floor, underneath each foil contact. With any luck, when the Doctor (or whoever) opened the door, the string would hold, pulling the wood from between the foil contacts of the clothespin, snapping it closed and triggering the clock. And when the minute hand struck the time--

He poked the string tentatively, and it thrummed lightly back and forth, indicating it was sufficiently taut. The Master nodded to himself and closed the door. He hitched his knapsack on his back, descended into the shop and out the door as casually as he could, and started walking.

( and it means nothing to me that you blew this away )

http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/77064.html