LINK TO MUSE JOURNAL: andyouwillobey
LINK TO MUN'S JOURNAL: risingfire
REFERENCES: I've never written the Master formally, however, cricketycricket and I have been running a PSL for a few months now, with me writing for the Master. You can find examples of my writing style here (my writing journal), as well as here (writing Tia Dalma), and here (writing Alexander Knox).
Usually, when he wants to see the Doctor, he goes out of his way to make a commotion somewhere. An explosion here, an attempt to senselessly murder someone there, it really doesn't matter. What matters is that the Doctor always comes running which, despite the fact that he'd like to see his plan come to fruition once in awhile, is all he really wants. It's all he ever wants, though he's loathe to admit it, even to himself. This time around, however, he doesn't bother with the cloak and dagger or the complex, near ridiculous plans. This time around, he's the one who comes running, following him from point to point like the madman he is, and it's all because the fool is hurt.
Word travels fast, even through space and time to the ears of an exile, and the Doctor, it seems, has lost one of his companions to Cybermen. The others have been sent away to, if he knows the Doctor like he thinks he does, be spared a similar fate. And while his oldest enemy seems to think it's for the best, he knows it's not. Not when the Doctor depends on others, counts on them as his strength because he needs someone to protect. At any other time, the Master would have thought it hysterical, but even he knows when enough is enough. When pain - the Doctor's pain, which he loves so very much - spoils the proverbial soup like too much wine in a fine broth.
So, he follows, and when the Doctor stops for what seems to be more than just a quick jaunt in the famed Library of Alexandria, he approaches him.
"Hello, Doctor," he near-purrs - checking up on him or not, he refuses to relinquish the illusion that he's here to cause more damage.
When the Doctor fails to answer, he can't help but entertain the notion of hurting him in earnest. Snapping his neck would be oh so very easy, right now, the poor fool leaned over one of his precious books, specs sitting across his nose as he reads on, ignoring him. He thinks better of it, however, swallows his temper because it would be too easy. And so he rounds the reading table, putting his hands on the Doctor's shoulders to pull himself close to his ear.
"Oh, my dear, you really should be careful about whom you're seen associating with, or your own reputation will suffer." It's idle banter - baiting - to go along with the fact that he has his hands so close to his neck, to replace the numbness he can practically feel running off the other man with the fear of God. Of him.
The Doctor fails to even tense - a real indication of how wounded he must be - but he does answer, waving a hand as if to shoo him away. "Koschei."
It's not exactly what he was hoping for, and the casualness of it all is enough to spark that infamous temper of his again, but it's a start. A flicker of hope, so rare when time curses both their names, and so he spins plans to keep at him. After all, a universe with the Doctor so unconcerened as he is now equates with the same nightmare land he imagines said universe without the Doctor to be.
And he'll do anything, even burn down the library if he has to - a true crime to a bibliophile such as him - to spare them both that.
Muse: The Master (Three)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 589 words