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Characters: The Master & The Doctor (Ten) [closed]
Rating: PG-13
Date: Presently
Location: The lovely grotto
Animals calmed down well in darkness. Most will sit completely still in it, blissfully unaware of the things they cannot see. It's soothing. The silence can be soothing, too. Even the slightest of external noises are known to cause mental distraction, even if the listener is unknowing of them. Constant distraction can lead to disruptions in the thought process, the inability to focus, to reason, to allow yourself to be soothed.
Then there were other noises; ones inside you.
The Doctor walked quietly to the base of the grotto; a deep mouth in the ground that grinned widely tempting you in. He caught himself, stepping on a blanket and then tugging it back roughly over his arm, scolding it for getting away from him again. Blanket secured, he stepped down firmly into the hole. So easily taking that first plunge, and so quickly feeling the weight of fear breathing down his neck. He drew a hand there, loosening his tie generously. He was suited, finally; in a stripeless dark brown, wishing he'd done without the pressure enveloping tightly around his throat.
I want to be here. I want to be here. I owe that to him if I don't, anyway.
He adjusted his blanket again, trying to kid himself that he wasn't leaning in place, wasn't trying to see behind the bars at an impossible angle. He forced himself along, feeling his fear blossom into dread. What if he's dead? If he is... "Master?"
I can't see him. "It's... The Doctor."
please, don't be dead.
He allowed his blanket to slip away from him, tossing down a canvas sack to join it, and free of material burden; pressed himself hard against the gate.
"Master..."
He'd heard the Doctor's approach for some time. It was easy to pick his hesitant footsteps out, even above ground; nobody ever seemed to come near the area, and his auditory centers had long since catalogued the plinks and ploits of the condensation drips into their respective rhythms and dismissed them as background noise.
And even if there wasn't that, he could feel him. The anxiety baking off him like solar radiation. Well, that was his own fault, wasn't it?
The Master sat there, back against the opposite wall, keeping the surface of his thoughts still. Although his voice... oh, how dare he. Cinders dropped to the core of him, ignited that smoldering anger.
He could continue to stay here, not answer him. Lead him to expect the worst. The messages from the Network glowed dimly across from him, but neither he nor the wall were visible from either gate.
( maybe it terrifies me )
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/83303.html
Rating: PG-13
Date: Presently
Location: The lovely grotto
Animals calmed down well in darkness. Most will sit completely still in it, blissfully unaware of the things they cannot see. It's soothing. The silence can be soothing, too. Even the slightest of external noises are known to cause mental distraction, even if the listener is unknowing of them. Constant distraction can lead to disruptions in the thought process, the inability to focus, to reason, to allow yourself to be soothed.
Then there were other noises; ones inside you.
The Doctor walked quietly to the base of the grotto; a deep mouth in the ground that grinned widely tempting you in. He caught himself, stepping on a blanket and then tugging it back roughly over his arm, scolding it for getting away from him again. Blanket secured, he stepped down firmly into the hole. So easily taking that first plunge, and so quickly feeling the weight of fear breathing down his neck. He drew a hand there, loosening his tie generously. He was suited, finally; in a stripeless dark brown, wishing he'd done without the pressure enveloping tightly around his throat.
I want to be here. I want to be here. I owe that to him if I don't, anyway.
He adjusted his blanket again, trying to kid himself that he wasn't leaning in place, wasn't trying to see behind the bars at an impossible angle. He forced himself along, feeling his fear blossom into dread. What if he's dead? If he is... "Master?"
I can't see him. "It's... The Doctor."
please, don't be dead.
He allowed his blanket to slip away from him, tossing down a canvas sack to join it, and free of material burden; pressed himself hard against the gate.
"Master..."
He'd heard the Doctor's approach for some time. It was easy to pick his hesitant footsteps out, even above ground; nobody ever seemed to come near the area, and his auditory centers had long since catalogued the plinks and ploits of the condensation drips into their respective rhythms and dismissed them as background noise.
And even if there wasn't that, he could feel him. The anxiety baking off him like solar radiation. Well, that was his own fault, wasn't it?
The Master sat there, back against the opposite wall, keeping the surface of his thoughts still. Although his voice... oh, how dare he. Cinders dropped to the core of him, ignited that smoldering anger.
He could continue to stay here, not answer him. Lead him to expect the worst. The messages from the Network glowed dimly across from him, but neither he nor the wall were visible from either gate.
( maybe it terrifies me )
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/83303.html
