ans99 | Entries tagged with wastedlands

Characters: The Master, Tenth Doctor, Sam, Martha
Date: Present
Location: Guess.
Rating: ~~I think I'd give myself a B on this one.~~ Dammit Sam, are the children going to be able to read ANYTHING we write? NC-17, you lucky bastard.

The past two days had been sort of a blur of calculations and benchwork for the Master, with a healthy dose of trial and error thrown in for good measure. And although they’d passed quickly, they had proven to be quite productive. He’d been able to work much more efficiently inside the TARDIS, had been able to find the proper materials and facilities to push forward in great strides what before he’d only taken feeble, tentative steps toward completing.

His little pet project. His ticket out.

The Master had parked the TARDIS on the beach just yesterday, after doing some experimental hopping around Wonderland to see how she handled now. He’d been a little surprised that she could manage even that, but put in any coordinates for a location outside the bounds of Wonderland and she’d just refuse to go altogether. Hopefully his plan would enable her to be pulled out with him, but then the actual implementation of this device involved a lot of minor details that were… fuzzy. Such as whether the dimension here would simply collapse in the wake of his departure, fold in on itself. A small bonus, perhaps, but whether it did or not was none of his concern.

He’d been able to concentrate quite well, actually, despite all the distractions the TARDIS had to offer— all the little reminders of cohabitation littered here and there. Rose’s jacket hanging off one of the console chairs; fresh danishes in the kitchen. The rumpled bedsheets in what looked like the Doctor’s quarters, the scents of sex and deodorant intermingling, the combination of the mundane and the erotic that he was all too familiar with now. The Master had carefully shut all he could find away, and retreated into a room far off down one of the branching corridors, just a small closet really, and he’d thrown everything into this, and when he pulled back a bit he’d been pleased to note that it was nearing completion.

And then she’d just had to contact him over the Network, hadn’t she? She'd just had to push, and push, and.

The Master stretched his neck and leaned back over the worktable, one hand flat against it for support, one of the danishes in his mouth, and corrected a few figures almost absently, letting his mind pace itself through the calculations without entirely being conscious of it. Despite what Rose had said, he was not really worried about being interrupted at this stage. As soon as he’d landed on the beach he had modified the TARDIS’ perception filter to block out the notice of everyone but himself. And once he’d melted down the metal from the coins the exploding dead had left behind, scattered and forgotten up and down the shoreline, he’d have the conductive medium required to tap the latent interdimensional energy, jump-start the entire process.

Not long now before all of this— Rose, the Doctor, Wonderland— would be a moot point.

( you've taken everything )

http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/100185.html

Current Music: radiohead- up on the ladder

All right.

So, you have the TARDIS.

Is that what the poem at the bottom of your message is about? Are you planning to do what I did and look into the heart of the TARDIS? Use the power to destroy Wonderland?

( call and answer )
http://community.livejournal.com/wastedlands/183475.html

Dear Rose,

I apologize for leaving so quickly after our afternoon together. Just wanted to check in to make sure you were doing alright. Any lasting marks you had to explain? I hope you were able to hide them well, if necessary. Depending on how he might take it, of course-- although I don't expect he'd be very understanding about us, would he?

I do hope you understand why I couldn't stay; it isn't that I don't think it would be right, or even enjoyable. But I couldn't bear to share you with him.

Perhaps we will see each other again. Perhaps not, and that may be for the best. But I wanted to let you know that I don't regret anything we did. I'd hope you feel the same.

The Master

When with moss and honey / She tips her bending brier,
And half unfolds her glowing heart, / She sets the world on fire.

***[[OOC: yes, the misspelling is intentional-- this is an unlocked, public message that everyone can see]]

http://community.livejournal.com/wastedlands/182067.html

Characters: The Master (yes, it's a solo log, deal with it)
Rating: PG
Date: Directly after Shark Week
Location: Diagon Alley

The Master had gotten as far as the hole where the fox shop had been before he'd remembered the TARDIS key, stuffed somewhere deep in his pockets, and considered.

Because, after all, where was he going to go now? Where could he go. Alone. It was a word that was apparently destined to haunt him. Because of what he'd done.

Couldn't do.

He ignored that for the moment and tried to focus, the drums still weaving wildly in between his wounded thoughts, Rose laughing, the Doctor begging. The TARDIS would give him the dimensional stability he needed, for his little project. Nothing more. And how beautiful, how stunningly beautiful, how correct would it be, for the Doctor to come back to his home and find it gone?

He'd seen Rose, hadn't he, trying to clear off the stairs to a flat. All philanthropy aside...

She told me they live in Diagon Alley, the Master thought, and immediately the bad taste was in his mouth again and he swallowed it away.

Focus.

Could it be there? He walked back slowly to the spot where they'd had their little... encounter, half-expecting to see her there, back to precisely what she'd been doing earlier hauling the rubble feebly, futilely. As if nothing had happened, and that was the way she was, wasn't it? Always snapped back, like a rubberband. No matter what, back to him. Always him.

There was nobody there. The Master walked a little around the side of the building, trying to ignore his own bitter thoughts, trying to get a handle on the situation, when he noticed the hum. It was volatile, flitting on the fringes of his perception, but it was there, and as he walked round to the back, edging past piles of dusty bricks interspersed with piles of wigs-- and then, as if Wonderland liked the rhyming scheme, the shattered remains of what looked like piggy banks-- it grew and grew until it sang to him, interweaving with the drums to form something even more beautiful than before.

Yes. The Doctor's TARDIS was almost directly above him, in that flat.

The question of how he was going to reach it, now, was another entirely. He couldn't see himself going round to the front and continuing Rose's efforts; not when she was likely to return at any moment. Or maybe he would. In any case, it would be better if he could find another way in.

He stood in the narrow little alley looking up at the wall of the flat. A little way past him, it looked like some of the structure had crumbled around the window, shattering it, the glass nearly completely gone. Surrounding the area were large mountains of debris, mostly fantastical but a fair amount belonging to the buildings on either side. The Master smiled, a grim little set line, and began to climb.

There were a few moments when he was sure he was going to slip, break his neck, or perhaps the mound itself would crumble into its small, somewhat innocuous components, but somehow he found himself lurching over the edge of the sill, ripping his dress shirt on a snag of glass left behind like an old tooth. The hum was nearly overpowering now, and the Master struggled to his knees, looking up to find himself at the base of the TARDIS as if he were a devoted supplicant. He scrabbled to his feet, placing his palm against the faded blue wood for a second and closing his eyes.

home

Alarmed, he pushed the unwelcome sentiment away and grinned at the old bitch. "Miss me?" The Doctor's key was out, and eagerly he fumbled it into the doors and pushed them inward, shutting them behind him.

There was a small pause, perhaps the span of a minute, the universal equivalent of the catch of a breath, before the screaming, grinding sound began and the blue box in the middle of the flat gradually, gracefully, disappeared.

http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/99323.html

Current Music: regina spektor- apres moi

Characters: Rose, the Master
Location: Diagon Alley
Date: Afternoon
Rating: R territory now...

The Alley was a mess. An absolute mess. Rose walked through the rubble and fragmented corpses slowly, stopping and stooping periodically to pick up coins and slip them into her pocket. She surveyed the buildings, their facades crumbled, almost unrecognizable. She was pretty sure she recognized the entrance to the stairway that led to the apartment she shared with the Doctor, but it was pretty well blocked with wreckage. Rose sighed and started to move the smaller pieces.

The Master had read the Network, and so he had some idea of what to expect upon his return to the Alley (not the least of which was the distinct possibility of incarceration). But just the sight of the place was something expectations could not prepare one for, and it gave him pause.

He was just starting to cross to the other side to where he hoped his belongings were still accessible-- at first attempting to pick his way carefully through the gore and debris, but very quickly giving up that idea and treading unevenly and carelessly over it all, this suit was ruined anyway-- when he spotted a small blonde figure a few doors down, struggling to unblock some stairs.

Rose. She hadn't looked up, but he was almost sure of it. The Master froze for a second. He didn't recall seeing her since witnessing the break-up of Abberline's oh-so-secret meeting, but he had the vague idea he had anyway. The feel of her hand on his, pulling him through a void.

This is really not the time. He continued to walk quickly, turning his face from her and hoping he could disappear from her sight before she did look up.

( unfortunately, this is not your day, master )
(http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/96107.html)

Current Music: the violent femmes- add it up

Characters: The Master & The Doctor (Ten)
Rating: Oh, look. Rocks.
Date: Present
Location: The grotto

It had been a sort of forever. The kind where your internal clock either ran sempiternal or didn't run at all. It was unsettling, tormenting, and especially... it was... annoying. One long looping tape of darkness and drumming. That was until the sun rose again, pouring through the dark places and making everything real again.

Everything still here, the whole mess.

Grotto walls. Grotto ceiling. Grotto fountain. Grotto bowling ball. Grotto locked gate...

The Doctor shifted his weight, back from one uncomfortable seated position to another; taking the grotto in again, the staleness gone and redrawn in light -- and maybe this time someone drew him a door, or at least a door knob.

Before the first edge of morning light had crept off the cave floor, the Doctor was on his feet again; hurrying back and forth as if it could die at any moment. He inspected every inch thoroughly, and would have done it again in thou. Except someone stole his sonic screwdriver and it was terribly hard to test for structural weakness via vibrational resonance with a pair of non-sonic spectacles.

He piled rocks high in a corner, trying to tower them up to a particularly cracked piece of ceiling. The bruises, and cuts he had gathered during the collapse were healing rapidly and besides a stiffness of joints that came from a self-induced lethargy; the Doctor felt better than he had all week. His rock tower, however, was looking a little shabby.

Failing that, he resorted again to physics -- or how much force will it take to break open a steel lock with a rock. Apparently the answer was... something more than this and he moved on.

Then the light began to creep up the grotto wall, and he was tired of all the struggling without hope and sat to rest against the pounding in his head. At first the drums were a source of anxiety, until that was all there was and he grew to enjoy them. Like the comforting constant idle of a machine's engine.

Like the hum of a TARDIS.

And in that rhythm the Doctor sunk back into sleep... while a shifting up above began cutting into his senses -- bleeding them out. Until the very lack of them raised tingles through the hairs on his arms. He waned back against the wall, eyes wide and fixed staring at the ceiling. Someone was up there. Digging down to reach him.

( reach out and hurt someone )
(http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/93862.html#cutid1)

Current Music: Radiohead- jigsaw falling into place

Characters: Sam, the Master and Martha
Rating: PG-13 for probable language
Location: A bedroom inside the Malibu Castle.
Date: After this

Sam nearly dozed off, while "keeping an eye" on the Master as he slept peacefully. Most of the commotion in the room had quieted down. Namely, the horse being killed by two werewolves. He could feel his head bobbing, and finally he decided to find somewhere to lay down.

The problem was the Master. The problem seemed to be the Master a lot of the time.

Sam grumbled, but slipped out of the room quietly with the Master. The man weighed a little less than himself, so he found the closest room possible before dropping the Master onto the bed in there. Sam settled into he room next door, and slept quietly. Just enough to keep himself awake for whatever was still to happen.

When Sam did wake, he panicked and pulled himself back to the Master's room. He knocked once on the door, and walked in, not really expecting a reply. In all honesty, he expected the Master to be gone.

But in fact he hadn't gone. The Master lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, arms held out away from his body awkwardly. He'd gotten to the wardrobe, gone as far as changing into something clean, before he'd felt the room begin to tilt in a highly unacceptable and inconvenient manner.

On the plus side, he had found a suit very like his old one, and he felt a little more like himself with it on. The t-shirt and jeans had smelled, predictably, of the Doctor.

He spoke to the ceiling as Sam took the unwelcome liberty of inviting himself in, mostly to cover for the embarrassment of being seen like this.

And how I must have been earlier. Mortifying.

"So sorry, but if you've come for a peep show I'm afraid you're a little late. If you'd arrived a few minutes ago you really would have seen something."

( sam is not amused )
http://communty.livejournal.com/nonevidence/92099.html

Current Music: shivaree- 2 far

Characters: The Master, Sam Tyler, Angua, Faye Valentine, Dante, Belgarath, DOCTOR Martha Jones, Rose Tyler
Rating: R
Date: Continued from the Doctor's cottage
Location: Malibu Castle

The horse's last few steps were an exhausted stumble, as it finally reached the steps to the castle. The beast wasn't meant for carrying two men, but it had managed to get them there relatively safely. By the time they arrived, the Master was delirious from blood loss. Sam had tried to ignore him most of the way. The horse waited obediently as Sam heaved himself over the side of the horse, and then pulled the Master down and into the castle.

Sam shoved the Master into the first seating he found once inside, and gave him strict orders to stay in place. Sam left him there to find something, anything to bandage the Master's arm and help cease the bleeding. He collected whatever supplies, or make shift supplies he came across, before making his way back to one of the main rooms of the castle.

Sam sauntered in, and then stopped, glancing around at the new people in confusion. He wasn't that surprised to see people here -- it was a good place to get away from the zombies. But the Master was gone. And amazingly, there wasn't a trail of blood to follow him by.

A crash-splat, and then the shattering and tinkling of glass falling.

The Master had rediscovered the wine room almost by accident, only recognizing the dimly lit, tapestried corridor when he was halfway down it. When he'd swung the door open, his grin had stretched impossibly wider and he'd flung his arms open as if greeting an old friend.

Then he'd started in on the wine, although he was having more fun throwing the bottles against the walls spitefully than actually drinking any of it.

( i drink alone )

Current Music: portishead- silence

Characters: The Master, Sam Tyler, the Doctor's horse (o.0), anyone else? PING if your character is interested in joining up
Rating: R? Zombies? Eh?
Date: Present, a little after this
Location: The Doctor's Cottage (for starters, but who knows where the not-so-gentle night takes us?)

He'd stumbled through the woods all night, as best he could. When he'd been forced to take periodic rests, either because the way was blocked or (as was more typical) he had simply run out of steam, he would find a clearing, devoid of structure, and sit down in the middle of it. Outside was better-- calmer-- and he'd given up trying to make sense of it. Seismic activity in Wonderland didn't have to make sense; none of the rest of it ever did.

While he sat, he would poke at the Network a bit on the Doctor's PDA to apprise himself of any useful information (there was precious little, besides the laughable plan of meeting up at the seashore. He had to chuckle at that, imagining a group of people so inept at survival that they would cut themselves off from escape on one entire side). And, of course, to read all of the Doctor's private messages.

The Master had gotten to a particularly bad jumble of uprooted trees that completely blocked his path, and was debating just scrambling over or retracing his steps to route around, when he heard a soft nicker out in the dark, to his left.

He really, really, hoped that was only a horse.

( don't worry Master, it is just a horse )
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/90151.html

Current Music: nine inch nails- in this twilight

Characters: Doctor (Ten), Master (closed)
Rating: PG
Date: Begins a few days after this, and with any luck catches up to the present
Location: Grotto of the Damned

He'd been dreaming of Gallifrey again. Not the last time he'd seen it, half-burning, the Citadel destroyed, all the things he'd told himself he hated smashed and dying. More the idyllic version, for which he was almost sorry.

Almost.

It was the blanket, really. It did smell a bit of horse, it was true, but his show of disgust had been a misdirect. Really, wrapped in the blanket, it smelled more like him than anything. Overpoweringly so, the Doctor's essence imprinted there, encoded by scent. A memory.

While awake he spent the majority of his time trying to pretend the Doctor did not exist-- which was difficult considering he apparently had decided that if the Master would not go to him, he would go to the Master, and to that end had had taken it upon himself to actually, preposterously, "move in." But, as often is the case, when the Master slept his own dreams betrayed him.

And he'd been sleeping an awful lot. Definitely above and beyond the normal requirements for a Time Lord. The Doctor seemed to think it was good for him, "restorative sleep," he called it, but privately the Master figured it was his only chance for escape. And here he was ruining it dreaming about him anyway. And so for a time he was young and hopeful and maybe even maybe a tiny bit enamored, even, and he'd count stars while they lay on their backs together in the fields and he'd plot out in his head all the places they'd find together, find and set right, together. And then he'd wake up and remember, everything flooding back as if it were happening for the first time, just as surely as when he'd woken up from longer, darker intervals, with a small stinging barb in his chest.

A small rumble, hysterical laughter. The man who was not quite the Master yet sat up in the field, as his companion chattered on. The smell of smoke, burning, blood, flesh, commingled in the air, and something bright, almost mistakable for a sunrise, lightened the sky's horizon.

The Citadel was on fire. And in the distance, and in the very back of his mind, above the Doctor's incessant prattle, he could hear the cold, mechanical, eternally angry screams. They were coming.

The Master jolted back into consciousness, his hearts pounding, aching, thinking daleks war hide human gallifrey TARDIS cruciform utopia YOU LEFT ME

And then he felt it, almost a nothing, almost, but...

there.

He hadn't dreamt the rumbling.

( i could go on and on. it just gets worse. )

Current Music: modest mouse- spitting venom

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

Current Music: tori amos- smokey joe

Characters: Master, Tenth Doctor [closed]
Rating: PG-13. Time Lords don't swear, and they certainly never shag. Nope. Not ever.
Date: After this.
Location: Some crazy sort of satanic grotto.

The sensation of being carried, limbs dangling over the edge. Canoeing on Loch Lomond with Lucy, his first time in a long time on a boat of any kind. Fingers trailing in the water, eyes closed.

Fog rolling in.

Darkness and cold seeping through, penetrating, spiraling on the edge of nothing. The pain of being ripped apart seemed to take forever.

And he's there, watching it all happen. Making it happen.

Being laid out, arranged, prepared, by those hands, the long slender fingers. Paralyzed. Cold. Deep within, forcing a pressure differential, trying to scream. Hovering around the edge, the smell of smoke.

And through it all, the drumming.

The Master woke suddenly, with almost instant clarity. The cold was damp stone against his cheek. The pain... He reached to the back of his head, gingerly prodding, and hissed as the tips of his fingers made contact with the knot slowly forming there. And what felt like dried blood.

He remembered skirting the edge of the debris, waiting with growing impatience as the Doctor chatted on with Sam about the very urgent issue of the fire. As soon as everyone was looking the other way, somehow, in a magical confluence he'd thought would never come-- he'd made his move, hurriedly slipping around the side of the building and making his way purposefully back to the knapsack.

Then the Doctor pinning him against the cobblestones in the 'Alley, shouting something but he was almost free, almost—until he felt himself jerked up by the collar. Then a jarring sensation, interrupting every other sensory input. Then nothing.

The Doctor had knocked him out and must have brought him... here. The Master blinked, surprised, as he gave the place a proper look and realized exactly where he was.

Rose's grotto. Except now, he was betting the gates were locked.

The Master slowly got to his feet, wincing, and made his way slowly over to one end to confirm. He noted with a certain amount of disgust that he was nearly soaked through with condensation from lying on the stone floor. And, even more disturbingly, he was missing his tie.

The first gate was, indeed, locked. The Master stumbled his way towards the other end of the grotto, and the second gate.

( and if you don't love me let me go )
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/81141.html

Current Music: the decemberists- the engine driver

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

Current Music: kate bush- pull out the pin

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

Characters: Abberline, Sam Tyler, Belgarath, Faye, Ruby, The Doctor, and The Master.
Rating: light R for macabre settings.
Date: Very shortly after Riki and Maleficent's posts.
Location: City-> Diagon Alley-> City/"morgue"

The Master followed the small group at a far distance, not wanting to be seen. He knew the Doctor would be there, knew the risks, but did not care. He had to see this firsthand.

He noted with amusement that Abberline's newest pet... was, in fact, an actual pet this time. At least by the looks of it.

The Master's stomach dropped slightly as they rounded the curve and he caught sight of the Doctor. He ducked behind what by all rights looked like a smiling mailbox and waited until the group entered the alley. Then he abandoned the mailbox (which had started giggling) and crept as close as he dared, slipping into an alley opposite and backing into the shadows. Just watching.

Abberline greeted Ruby silently, and stood aside to let her photograph the body. He was sketching out the scene - it was second nature, quick, and remarkably accurate, and it was back in his pocket soon enough.

"I know moving a body without forensics is unwise, but we have limited time if we're to believe that there are rogue vampires about the place," he said quietly. "We can wait it out until we can raise Mr. Morgan and Agent Ziva, or we can move him..."

He trailed off, hearing the wolf's warning in his head, and he looked over at where he was facing. He raised the torch and aimed it at the end of the alley, his other hand automatically going to the revolver at his side, though he didn't draw his weapon just yet. "Someone's watching us."

( who can it be now? )

http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/71523.html?thread=2836067#t2836067

Current Music: thom yorke- black swan

Characters: Sam Tyler, James Doakes, and The Master (PING if you live in Diagon Alley, and were NOT at the meeting - Sam and Doakes want to talk to you!)
Rating: PG13, probably
Date: After this.
Location: Diagon Alley

Sam waved back at Doakes as he made his way to the shop across the street. There was a fox on the sign, and he could see stairs in through the window, so he opened the door to the fox shop and walked inside. He didn't want to seem impatient, so he glanced around before walking to the stairs.

He ascended them easily, and found the door at the top of the stairs. He waited a moment, before knocking steadily on the door. Again, he clasped his hands behind his back and waited at attention. Waited at the Master's door.

The Master jumped a little at the sound. He'd just gotten back from his little tete-a-tete with Gwen and for a thin, tense second he was convinced that retribution was already here, at his door.

He shook his head slightly, erasing that notion. Too soon. And almost nobody knew where, specifically, he was-- he had been very careful to limit information. Still, he made a mental note to install a peephole.

His caution now tempered with irritation at being disturbed, the Master made his way to the door, noting the rick-a-rack had mysteriously leapt back to the walls of its own accord. He hadn't bothered relocking the door yet (although he had removed that horrible rain slicker) but he slid the chain back on before opening the door a crack and peering out.

His own face gaped back at him. Brilliant.

"Sorry, I gave to the Pathetic Dimwits' Fund already," he managed, and started closing the door.

( but sam insisted on a mud-wrestling contest, and so... )
http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/66268.html

Current Music: aimee mann- lost in space

Characters: The Master, and later Gwen
Rating: PG13 (violence).
Date: Present
Location: Somewhere between Diagon Alley and Malibu Castle

((OOC: Sorry this is so long; I'm secretly Stephen King. I decided to pick up from my application post, reworking it a bit. I've lj-cut all but the initiating action, but suffice to say for any cut-to-the-chase readers that the Master is pretty grumpy and needs to get out of his flat.))

Things were not moving quickly enough.

The Master frowned, stabbed at his calculator buttons, delete delete delete deleted out his latest tentative schematics. He wished there was some paper to crumple-- it was much more satisfying to throw, for one thing, and for another, easier to guard from prying eyes-- he still didn't trust the Network. But the only time he'd actually managed to procure some, it had bitten him, sprouted legs, and run off before he'd even gotten the chance to write on it.

The situation, as he could see it, was verging on completely intolerable.

And this decor. He glared at the treacherous wood-paneled walls; they were enough to pummel his sense of aesthetic to a bloody pulp, but the overabundance of cloying folk art, spreading across them like a mephitic fungus, delivered the final killing blow. Changing it had done no good; his repeated attempts to redecorate had not lasted more than a few minutes, and they had become more half-hearted as he began to realize that the room apparently liked the way it looked already, and did not desire his input. He never even heard or saw his surroundings shift, but one minute he'd be focused on his work and the next he'd look up and be back in Americana Hell.

And now it was raining blood out there. Perhaps worst of all, he wasn't even involved.

Intolerable.

( a long, lonely time )

http://community.livejournal.com/nonevidence/61519.html