The Master (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beholdthedrums) wrote2010-01-06 11:50 am
beholdthedrums) wrote2010-01-06 11:50 am
Entry tags:
Music Meme - Song III: Running Through the Gardens by Fleetwood Mac
It's been like... eons since I posted heavy ficcage. All these ooc posts. Eesh. SO! I turned back to my music meme, which I'm doing here and partially on my occasionally used 10.5 journal lol.
Rules Recap:
1.) Select songs of your choice.
2.) Write two different fics/drabbles/whatever from each song. Change the lyric, the character, whichever.
3.) …Profit?
Song: Running Through the Gardens by Fleetwood Mac
Characters: 1 - the Doctor and the Master / 2 - the Doctor
Words: 1,837
Notes: First drabble is AU post-LotTL, and a bit angsty but more... angry. Second drabble has really slight spoilers for recent episodes, and also completely wtf I have no idea where it ran off to but I'm leaving it as is.It also has a quote from The Stone Rose. lol.
Also, I swear to god I’ve seen something where the TARDIS had a garden of sorts in the classic series, and I can’t for the life of me find any reference to it at all now. fff. Madness.
“Never did I mean to imprison you, here in my garden.”
-Running Through the Garden, Fleetwood Mac
The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that somewhere in the Doctor’s ship, the Master was likely making trouble. Even if she wasn’t sending off alarm signals in his mind, even if there was the slimmest of chances that everything was alright, the Doctor knew. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.
The Master couldn’t hide from him in his own ship. Where was he expecting to go? It doesn’t take the Doctor long, of course. He knew it wouldn’t, but the look of utter disgust the Master sends him causes him to lock up and draw back a step from the entrance of his garden. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to find the other Time Lord so soon. Maybe he should have waited it out, should have given him space. They both need that, don’t they? After everything with the Year and the trauma they’ve both dealt with; after the Master realizing the terrifying silence from the near-extinct Time Lords, and the Doctor remembering what those synapses in his mind were for.
It’s chilling to be in the same room as one another and yet so very far apart.
“I…” the Doctor swallows back the shakiness of his voice, tries to clear his mind and focus on the situation at hand. He brought this on himself, and he can’t even turn and leave now. He should have stayed in the console room. The TARDIS would have alerted him if something was wrong. He could’ve waited for that. Why did he… why did he have to… “What are you doing?”
The Master cracks his neck to the side, wrinkles his nose, and peers off towards the collective shrubbery. He remains silent, dismissing the Doctor in that one gesture. He sits on stone steps, arms loosely hanging between his knees, almost peaceful, but the Doctor knew better.
Perhaps he would have been peaceful had the Doctor not interrupted.
“Look… do you want to go somewhere? There’s gotta be a planet neither of us had been to. Bit of old fashion exploring, you know. Get out of the TARDIS.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his favorite brown jacket. He looks everywhere but the Master, telling himself that he’s taking in the sights. After all, he hasn’t been here himself in quite some time… Still, it’s an excuse, and he damn well knows it. “I’d imagine she’s getting rather bored having us cooped up all the time. Likes to have some time to herself.”
Slowly, the Master’s eyes fall back to the Doctor. There’s that wildness – the predator still lurking within them. His hearts hammer away at chest; he feels a lapse of his seventh self and it hurts. All the things they’ve been through, all the things they’ve done! Sometimes… most of the time… the Doctor doesn’t want to remember.
Most of their lifetimes together were bad ones. They can’t get to the old days before the Master was still sane, before they were ever taken for initiation. The Doctor was being foolish in his age to think there could even have been a possibility.
“Funny,” the Master quips coolly. He runs his tongue along molars, rolls his head along his shoulders. He finds nothing ‘funny’ right now about this moment, about this life. “That you would grant your ship solitude over the only other last existing Time Lord of Gallifrey. You always think you offer out kindness. And you wonder why no one ever stays with you.”
His voice is dripping with hatred. He wanted to die. That feeling of holding back a regeneration… it was remarkable. There was nothing like it. Death was beautiful. It was truly the most brilliant design of the universe – and the Master knew how to shape it to his will. He had a backup plan; he would be revived by his little cult, hidden amongst the screaming and howling disease called the human race. While the Doctor had been clutching to him like the sentimental sap he was, the Master was succumbed to the drums, but with the knowledge in his mind that he would be back to slap the Doctor across the face another place, another time.
He always came back, after all. The universe would never leave him behind. It needed him.
But no! No, no, no, no! He isn’t allowed that victory! Swept away from his grasp by med student Martha Jones! How dare she take everything away from him! Somewhere during her process of ‘saving him’ he had marked up her arms, clawing angrily in retaliation so that maybe she would just kill him!
Imprisoned in the TARDIS. What a life.
The Doctor stands in the entranceway awkwardly, his gaze finally settling weakly on the Master.
“What’s this, Doctor?” the Master says, rising to his feet and skirting towards the other, eyes wide; crazy. The drumming thrashes. His body twitches, a constant need filtering in now to move. Be on the move, always on the move, always always always – “You came down here. Oh don’t tell me you didn’t even think to have yourself some ammunition! You’re priceless, Doctor. You really are!”
“That’s not – look, I was just worried, alright?” he snaps in return, going rigid. “You go locking yourself up in on your own and I have to wonder if you’re already starting to shape some plan in breaking out and reeking your havoc on the universe! No more! I can’t have that!”
“I don’t have to lock myself up anywhere!” the Master yells, flinging out an arm and closing the distance between him and the Doctor. If his head didn’t feel like it was ready to explode, he would have taken a strong note in how the Doctor did not back down. “You’ve done it for me! You couldn’t even let me die, could you? You selfish idiot! You can’t bring the Time Lords back through me. You killed them and Gallifrey – why the hell didn’t you let the job get finished?!”
The Doctor tries to remember to breath. He’s holding his ground, but he wants nothing more than to turn and run and hide. That’s all he can do these days: run.
“I couldn’t,” he rasps. “I could never…” Not you. Never you.
The Master strikes him across the face, and the Doctor stumbles into the frame, reaching up a hand and snapping his stunned eyes to the Master’s fury.
“You think being a coward saves lives?” the Master drawls, stepping in closer again and grabbing the lapels of the other’s jacket roughly with one hand. He draws the Doctor up. “You’re nothing but a murderer, Doctor. Always have been, always will be. You haven’t saved me. You think you can fix me?” And then he throws the Doctor away from him again, watching him crumple towards the floor. “Even your title is a lie. You ‘make things better’ by breaking others and eventually even those you try and save. You were too cowardly to let Lucy’s bullet kill me. But don’t you dare think that my life is saved.”
He steps over the Doctor’s body and exits, knowing that the Doctor wouldn’t even try to go after him now. He could have his solitude, still bogging down the Doctor’s precious TARDIS with his ‘cooped up’ presence.
The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that the Doctor was still alone, more than ever before. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.
“Never did I mean to imprison you, here in my garden.”
-Running Through the Garden, Fleetwood Mac
There’re people that come to him for many reasons. Sometimes it’s accidental, but it can be purposeful as well. He’s the Doctor. His name is sung across the stars, popping up through history – the man and his blue box. He does no good alone, so he seeks them out just the same. He often needs them more than they do of him. He asks for too much, maybe. Just wants a traveling companion… that’s what it appears to be.
There’s more to it, sometimes. It creeps up and chokes him, the ever-burning darkness of his soul. The truth of what he does to people. Davros and Dalek Caan… they weren’t showing him lies. The Doctor made others do his dirty work for him, trying to make himself look innocent, but oh no he’s so far from it. He’s so very old.
They always leave him. He doesn’t want to cling – that isn’t becoming of him – yet his life is so much more important than theirs. He’s significant. He can do things in the universe! He can make differences! On such grander scales than the little people ever –
He’s the Doctor, with his song rippling through the universe, and he’s so old. Too old. He’s missing the picture that he could once reach out and grasp and feel pleased of who he is. His confidence in that is wavering. The man and his blue box are running across the stars to find his song so that he knows it is still out there. He doesn’t want to go.
Why do they so often say that they will stay with him forever?
They can’t. He can’t keep them. He wants to shut them in the TARDIS and stay with them forever, traveling the stars and showing them everything that their minds would never have dreamed of. His mind is great and vast. These things need to be known and shown and time is running out and there’s no one left he’s alone and it’s too quiet the silence is crushing. He’s never felt as though his hearts were divided, opposites beating around each other.
Forever.
He named a galaxy Alison. It should have been Rose or Martha or Donna – his saviors that made surviving the brutal, hellish war bearable. Donna’s song intertwines with his amongst the stars; he finds it, and he breaks down. His TARDIS sings with it. He keeps running.
Rose and Donna were taken from him. Martha left him.
They never stay, they always go. He’s alone and the darkness aches. He’s done things he isn’t proud of. How far can he run… from himself?
He can’t keep them. He can’t lock them up and keep them safe. “What was I supposed to do?! Wrap her in cotton-wool? Tell her, ‘Here, I could give you the universe, but I’m not going to in case you get hurt’!”
Maybe it’s himself that needs to be locked away, imprisoned. The man and the blue box are far, far too old. Lived too long. He could just… make it simple. Beat out the prophecy. None of this knocking nonsense…
…simple…
But no.
The Doctor runs.
Previously done songs:
Song I: Blindness by Metric - 1 - the Master / 2 - the Doctor
Song II: Handlebars by Flobots 1 - the Doctor / 2 - the Doctor (human) @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
battleborndr
Rules Recap:
1.) Select songs of your choice.
2.) Write two different fics/drabbles/whatever from each song. Change the lyric, the character, whichever.
3.) …Profit?
Song: Running Through the Gardens by Fleetwood Mac
Characters: 1 - the Doctor and the Master / 2 - the Doctor
Words: 1,837
Notes: First drabble is AU post-LotTL, and a bit angsty but more... angry. Second drabble has really slight spoilers for recent episodes, and also completely wtf I have no idea where it ran off to but I'm leaving it as is.
Also, I swear to god I’ve seen something where the TARDIS had a garden of sorts in the classic series, and I can’t for the life of me find any reference to it at all now. fff. Madness.
-Running Through the Garden, Fleetwood Mac
The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that somewhere in the Doctor’s ship, the Master was likely making trouble. Even if she wasn’t sending off alarm signals in his mind, even if there was the slimmest of chances that everything was alright, the Doctor knew. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.
The Master couldn’t hide from him in his own ship. Where was he expecting to go? It doesn’t take the Doctor long, of course. He knew it wouldn’t, but the look of utter disgust the Master sends him causes him to lock up and draw back a step from the entrance of his garden. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to find the other Time Lord so soon. Maybe he should have waited it out, should have given him space. They both need that, don’t they? After everything with the Year and the trauma they’ve both dealt with; after the Master realizing the terrifying silence from the near-extinct Time Lords, and the Doctor remembering what those synapses in his mind were for.
It’s chilling to be in the same room as one another and yet so very far apart.
“I…” the Doctor swallows back the shakiness of his voice, tries to clear his mind and focus on the situation at hand. He brought this on himself, and he can’t even turn and leave now. He should have stayed in the console room. The TARDIS would have alerted him if something was wrong. He could’ve waited for that. Why did he… why did he have to… “What are you doing?”
The Master cracks his neck to the side, wrinkles his nose, and peers off towards the collective shrubbery. He remains silent, dismissing the Doctor in that one gesture. He sits on stone steps, arms loosely hanging between his knees, almost peaceful, but the Doctor knew better.
Perhaps he would have been peaceful had the Doctor not interrupted.
“Look… do you want to go somewhere? There’s gotta be a planet neither of us had been to. Bit of old fashion exploring, you know. Get out of the TARDIS.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his favorite brown jacket. He looks everywhere but the Master, telling himself that he’s taking in the sights. After all, he hasn’t been here himself in quite some time… Still, it’s an excuse, and he damn well knows it. “I’d imagine she’s getting rather bored having us cooped up all the time. Likes to have some time to herself.”
Slowly, the Master’s eyes fall back to the Doctor. There’s that wildness – the predator still lurking within them. His hearts hammer away at chest; he feels a lapse of his seventh self and it hurts. All the things they’ve been through, all the things they’ve done! Sometimes… most of the time… the Doctor doesn’t want to remember.
Most of their lifetimes together were bad ones. They can’t get to the old days before the Master was still sane, before they were ever taken for initiation. The Doctor was being foolish in his age to think there could even have been a possibility.
“Funny,” the Master quips coolly. He runs his tongue along molars, rolls his head along his shoulders. He finds nothing ‘funny’ right now about this moment, about this life. “That you would grant your ship solitude over the only other last existing Time Lord of Gallifrey. You always think you offer out kindness. And you wonder why no one ever stays with you.”
His voice is dripping with hatred. He wanted to die. That feeling of holding back a regeneration… it was remarkable. There was nothing like it. Death was beautiful. It was truly the most brilliant design of the universe – and the Master knew how to shape it to his will. He had a backup plan; he would be revived by his little cult, hidden amongst the screaming and howling disease called the human race. While the Doctor had been clutching to him like the sentimental sap he was, the Master was succumbed to the drums, but with the knowledge in his mind that he would be back to slap the Doctor across the face another place, another time.
He always came back, after all. The universe would never leave him behind. It needed him.
But no! No, no, no, no! He isn’t allowed that victory! Swept away from his grasp by med student Martha Jones! How dare she take everything away from him! Somewhere during her process of ‘saving him’ he had marked up her arms, clawing angrily in retaliation so that maybe she would just kill him!
Imprisoned in the TARDIS. What a life.
The Doctor stands in the entranceway awkwardly, his gaze finally settling weakly on the Master.
“What’s this, Doctor?” the Master says, rising to his feet and skirting towards the other, eyes wide; crazy. The drumming thrashes. His body twitches, a constant need filtering in now to move. Be on the move, always on the move, always always always – “You came down here. Oh don’t tell me you didn’t even think to have yourself some ammunition! You’re priceless, Doctor. You really are!”
“That’s not – look, I was just worried, alright?” he snaps in return, going rigid. “You go locking yourself up in on your own and I have to wonder if you’re already starting to shape some plan in breaking out and reeking your havoc on the universe! No more! I can’t have that!”
“I don’t have to lock myself up anywhere!” the Master yells, flinging out an arm and closing the distance between him and the Doctor. If his head didn’t feel like it was ready to explode, he would have taken a strong note in how the Doctor did not back down. “You’ve done it for me! You couldn’t even let me die, could you? You selfish idiot! You can’t bring the Time Lords back through me. You killed them and Gallifrey – why the hell didn’t you let the job get finished?!”
The Doctor tries to remember to breath. He’s holding his ground, but he wants nothing more than to turn and run and hide. That’s all he can do these days: run.
“I couldn’t,” he rasps. “I could never…” Not you. Never you.
The Master strikes him across the face, and the Doctor stumbles into the frame, reaching up a hand and snapping his stunned eyes to the Master’s fury.
“You think being a coward saves lives?” the Master drawls, stepping in closer again and grabbing the lapels of the other’s jacket roughly with one hand. He draws the Doctor up. “You’re nothing but a murderer, Doctor. Always have been, always will be. You haven’t saved me. You think you can fix me?” And then he throws the Doctor away from him again, watching him crumple towards the floor. “Even your title is a lie. You ‘make things better’ by breaking others and eventually even those you try and save. You were too cowardly to let Lucy’s bullet kill me. But don’t you dare think that my life is saved.”
He steps over the Doctor’s body and exits, knowing that the Doctor wouldn’t even try to go after him now. He could have his solitude, still bogging down the Doctor’s precious TARDIS with his ‘cooped up’ presence.
The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that the Doctor was still alone, more than ever before. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.
-Running Through the Garden, Fleetwood Mac
There’re people that come to him for many reasons. Sometimes it’s accidental, but it can be purposeful as well. He’s the Doctor. His name is sung across the stars, popping up through history – the man and his blue box. He does no good alone, so he seeks them out just the same. He often needs them more than they do of him. He asks for too much, maybe. Just wants a traveling companion… that’s what it appears to be.
There’s more to it, sometimes. It creeps up and chokes him, the ever-burning darkness of his soul. The truth of what he does to people. Davros and Dalek Caan… they weren’t showing him lies. The Doctor made others do his dirty work for him, trying to make himself look innocent, but oh no he’s so far from it. He’s so very old.
They always leave him. He doesn’t want to cling – that isn’t becoming of him – yet his life is so much more important than theirs. He’s significant. He can do things in the universe! He can make differences! On such grander scales than the little people ever –
He’s the Doctor, with his song rippling through the universe, and he’s so old. Too old. He’s missing the picture that he could once reach out and grasp and feel pleased of who he is. His confidence in that is wavering. The man and his blue box are running across the stars to find his song so that he knows it is still out there. He doesn’t want to go.
Why do they so often say that they will stay with him forever?
They can’t. He can’t keep them. He wants to shut them in the TARDIS and stay with them forever, traveling the stars and showing them everything that their minds would never have dreamed of. His mind is great and vast. These things need to be known and shown and time is running out and there’s no one left he’s alone and it’s too quiet the silence is crushing. He’s never felt as though his hearts were divided, opposites beating around each other.
Forever.
He named a galaxy Alison. It should have been Rose or Martha or Donna – his saviors that made surviving the brutal, hellish war bearable. Donna’s song intertwines with his amongst the stars; he finds it, and he breaks down. His TARDIS sings with it. He keeps running.
Rose and Donna were taken from him. Martha left him.
They never stay, they always go. He’s alone and the darkness aches. He’s done things he isn’t proud of. How far can he run… from himself?
He can’t keep them. He can’t lock them up and keep them safe. “What was I supposed to do?! Wrap her in cotton-wool? Tell her, ‘Here, I could give you the universe, but I’m not going to in case you get hurt’!”
Maybe it’s himself that needs to be locked away, imprisoned. The man and the blue box are far, far too old. Lived too long. He could just… make it simple. Beat out the prophecy. None of this knocking nonsense…
…simple…
But no.
The Doctor runs.
Previously done songs:
Song I: Blindness by Metric - 1 - the Master / 2 - the Doctor
Song II: Handlebars by Flobots 1 - the Doctor / 2 - the Doctor (human) @
battleborndr