beholdthedrums: [Saxon] (Today we go to war!)
The Master ([personal profile] beholdthedrums) wrote2010-02-22 05:55 pm

FIC: Burn at the Stake!

Character(s): The Master and The Doctor
Summary: Arriving in the middle of some poor bloke’s bedroom, during the time of this planet’s version of the Salem Witch Trials? The Master tsks in thought.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1,614

Not exactly Shades of Three. It's pre-story and only actually mentioned once in the fic. Was also written awhile ago.

And anything So3-related is post-s3 AU. So they're 'traveling' and... having issues. Ta-da.

Burn at the Stake!

It’s almost hysterical enough that he wants to rush around and give the TARDIS a hug, but that would only serve to reveal his position and put him up to the same fate that the Doctor was miserably facing alone. He claps his hands, rubs them together and a look of glee crosses his face; he walks around the console, still laughing, and the dead silence of the solemn TARDIS just makes it all even better.

Outside her walls, he can hear the conversation that quickly is going bad for one rambling Doctor:

“… W-Wizard!”
“Well, I have been called that before in my time…”
“You’ve been dealing with the devil! I cannot allow you to summon demons in my town!”
Now that’s a bit much… don’t you think?”

And then a pitch of panic from the Doctor, and the insistent calls of Wizard! Wizard! and rushing footsteps, then:

“Secure the wizard! Lock him up, quickly! Don’t let him cast his spells!”

“Oh, do stop worrying so much. Have you no faith in your precious Doctor?” he asks the emptiness of the room. He thinks maybe he could swipe the ship up from the Doctor’s hands, but after the last ‘fiasco’ (as the Doctor put it) with him having access to the ship’s controls, he was locked out. Blast. Give it time, Doctor. I’ll have control again.

Actually, right now he could say he had quite a handful of control. After all, the Doctor had been dragged off to stand trial after being accused as a witch. Well, wizard. Arriving in the middle of some poor bloke’s bedroom, during the time of this planet’s version of the Salem Witch Trials? The Master tsks in thought. Of course it wasn’t going to go well; lucky for him, he had stayed inside when the Doctor slid out to observe their surroundings.

“I have to hand it to you,” he continues to say to the ship, “for having your faults, you do such a wonderful job!” It was impossible for her to ever be what she once was. The Doctor would like to pretend he always knew where they were going to land, but it was more than often a surprise. It was funny all the times the Master got to watch him trip over his own two feet trying to get himself out of the situations he got himself into by trying to make the lives of others better.

As if it made himself feel like his own life was less of a hellpit.

He brought it on himself.

All of it.

“Well, my good lady, I do believe it’s ‘safe’ outside now. There is a hearing for the Doctor I must attend to. Ta!”

With that, he slips out of the ship after taking a quick glance around to make sure it really was safe (it would most certainly become very un-funny if he found himself on trial alongside the Doctor), and makes his way out of the house and into public eye. The place he belonged! Although perhaps he was a bit overdressed (his best suit for the occasion)… alas, he was a Time Lord, and a bloody manipulative one at that. They couldn’t burn him if they tried.

He could probably convince them to burn each other.

Oh wait, they already do that!

This was a wonderful adventure. The best yet!

There’s a flow of people moving in one direction, towards which the Master can only assume to be the courthouse, and his anticipation grows excitedly as he merges with the crowd and follows along. The Doctor doesn’t even get to be locked up for long, it seems! A trial right away.

See if the Doctor can talk himself out of this one.

It’s unlikely.

The Doctor stares down at the uncomfortable iron shackles, trying to shift his wrists around to find comfort, but fails. He again tries to convince his guard escorts that this was all a big misunderstanding; that despite his earlier comment he really isn’t some sort of wizard. Hardly devil-worshipping. Or trying to consort with demons (although some would argue that the Master fits that category). He’s just a regular ol’ innocent man named John Smith, and no, he doesn’t know why he was suddenly in that scared man’s bedroom standing by a blue box.

He tries: “I don’t know, maybe someone summoned me there to put me in this position.”

The judge looks at him coolly, unconvinced. A man paces around before him, throwing his arms through the air and making this all a lot more dramatic than it needed to be. “Only demons are summoned from other worlds! So you say that you are a demon, then!”

“Wh – no. No, no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Really. This is all a mistake.”

“We do not make mistakes here! Your devil-worshipping cults must be put to an end!”

So… he went from a wizard summoning demons and worshipping the devil, to a demon who in fact… still worships the devil. Fantastic.

No, no, no. This was really not looking good. He needed a quick getaway plan so that he could rush back to the TARDIS and fly off this planet. Unfortunately, that morning the Master had decided it’d be fun to toy around with his sonic screwdriver (make it ‘better’) and the Doctor had yet to give him enough of a mouthful to get it back.

He could use it right about now.

“Maybe I was summoned here to help put an end to this cult you seem to be having trouble with. I can help! Just… need you to get these off of me, see…”

“Lies!” someone from the audience yells. “He’ll curse us all if he has his hands free!”

Annoyed, the Doctor shoots a look towards the figure. That was when he notices the Master amongst the crowd, and he can only feel a bit startled at seeing him. … Did he have to look so amused by this?

A slam from the judge brings the Doctor back to focusing on the problem at hand. “I have heard enough!” the judge calls, and all the Doctor can think is that he hadn’t really heard much of anything.

“This isn’t a fair trial!” he yells back, trying to hold the desperation from his voice.

Ignoring him, the judge continues on, “Our village has suffered far too much at the hands of these creatures! I sentence this beast of the bowels to burn at the stake come morning!”

“Wait! Just listen!” the Doctor insists, but his guard escorts have already taken his arms and begun to pull him back the way they came. He tries to dig his converses into the wood flooring, stand his ground, get the judge to just think about things more clearly for a moment, but no one listens. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. The devil will be vanquished. Their village will be safe again in the morning.

Wide-eyed and flustered, the Doctor turns another look towards his fellow Time Lord, and nearly begs right there for even a bit of assistance, but the Master continues to look pleased, as if his own devil was to be burned as well.

Morning doesn’t come soon enough for the Master. The TARDIS had been moved from the house it formerly resided in and to an easier location for him to return to it. Only the ship was being so dreary regarding the Doctor’s coming execution; it was insufferable. And so he spent the rest of the night sitting atop a grassy hill overlooking the village.

At dawn he watches several men set up in the village center where the Doctor is due to burn. It’s another few hours before the center is filled with people, all eager for the event, chanting their dislike for witches and wizards and demons… all that sort of thing. Funny because who knows whether or not in the following days if one of them will be accused of the same crime and burn all the same.

Although he doesn’t actually plan on letting the Doctor burn. As wonderful as watching him regenerate would be (wouldn’t that send the village into a panic?), he has an interest in this form of the Doctor, and unfortunately he does need him if he ever wants to get off this planet again.

Not a place he wishes to be stranded on.

That does not mean he stops the charade.

The wood around the stake that the Doctor finds himself tied to is already set aflame, and the Doctor struggles wildly, the panic now firmly set in, yelling that this is wrong of them and staring furiously at the Master, who at last shrug his shoulders as if now deciding he might as well help out.

He pulls out his laser screwdriver, grinning as he shoots it into the air several times for good measure, causing the crowd to split and shriek. He calls out loudly over their cries, a manic pitch to his voice, “My ‘magic wand’ has a tendency to kill people! Better back off or there may just be an accident!”

And yet the Doctor has the nerve to snap at him with his ‘holier than thou’ attitude, insisting that the Master can’t kill these people. Right. Did the Doctor want saving or not?

They get back to the TARDIS with little problem; the village’s natives cower away from the Master, as they should. They leave the planet in silence, which carries on for nearly a week. It was truly a wonderful, wonderful relief for the Master.

Too bad the Doctor couldn’t hold a grudge for longer than that.

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