paradisa | empty in the valley of your heart

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empty in the valley of your heart

[when the sun comes up through the windows, that's the Doctor's first clue that the castle is up to its tricks - normally, in the TARDIS, he's not woken by the onset of light, he just ... wakes up whenever he wants.

so at first he's completely up for this, curious as he sits up in the bed he's been placed in. no TARDIS, that's fine - he'll be alright without the old girl and she can handle herself. but it looks like a normal castle room ... ]

Hm.

[well, nothing for it. he gets to his feet and stretches - then turns to survey the rest of the room and realizes who's sleeping on the other side of the --

oh no. Rassilon's earlobes, NO. he is NOT staring at a sleeping Master. he's just NOT.

except he totally is.]

Well, damn.

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[The Master feels movement and then a voice in his room. Both are out of place, given that he should be alone. Sitting up, he sees the Doctor, standing near the bed. He frowns, but is more puzzled than anything.]

Doctor? This is a pleasant surprise, but may I ask the reason for your presence at this moment?

[pardon him, he's just ... well, as hard as he's trying NOT to, he's staring a bit at those yellow eyes and those fangs. even with a warning, they're still surprising. he only takes a moment to recover, to his credit]

Oh, well, it assuredly wasn't my idea. This is -- well. The second time in as many weeks, I believe, that the forces behind this place have seen fit to shut me in a room with someone.

At least, that's my theory.

[he moves around to the door, still in his pyjamas (of course) and tries the handle - then blandly remarks]

Right again. As usual.

[The Master took a moment to fight with the Cheetah virus and was mostly successful. The effects did seem to be wearing off, but, though his eyes became blue, there was still a slight sharpness to his teeth, that shouldn't be there.]

Really. So, who was this other person and why is the castle wanting to lock you up...with anyone?

Oh, he's of no concern.

[thankfully he's a convincing liar, because the last person he wants the Master to meet is one Joshua Christopher, psychic basket case and all around creeper. he keeps his voice level and as polite as possible, but there's definitely a VERY strong undercurrent of annoyance]

What is, however, is that this will probably last at least a day or two. This ... happens to people rather frequently. Paradisa ... well, I suppose the best analogy is that we're all mice and it's a very large cat.

[as he speaks, he moves to try the windows - and realizes that the decor is a little - well - not quite what he would've expected from Koschei]

Bit fond of red all of a sudden, aren't you?

No.

[The Master blinks in surprise, wondering where that odd observation came from. Also, you'll pay for the cat comment, Doctor. For now, the Master looks around and is suitably horrified. Last night, his rooms had been decorated in tasteful greens, browns, and blacks. Today, it is done in reds, whites, and creams that shade towards gold. The Master shudders.]

Your precious castle is sick, Doctor, there's no other explanation. One thing I can promise you, my dear, is that I am no mouse.

[He might just let the fangs grow out a bit, again, to prove his point.]

I never said it was my castle, nor do I recall ever calling it precious... [he's keeping his jaw set, though not quite at the point of annoyance where he'd start speaking through his teeth]

So you're going to be that heavy-handed about it, are you? At least I know what I've to look forward to until we're both let out. Overdone threats and a ridiculous appearance. It's almost enough to make one feel a bit nostalgic.

[and with that, one of the light bulbs in the ceiling blows]

[The Master glares, first at the light bulb, then at the Doctor.]

Heavy handed about what, Doctor? About not wanting to listen to your sanctimonious prattling and absurd aspersions? No one wearing a vegetable as a boutonierre should insult the appearance of others.

[He closes his mouth tight, making sure the fangs receded completely. It is doubly humiliating to have this Doctor see his affliction. This Doctor is young and, well, beautiful, not that the Master plans on admitting that...ever.]

[the lightbulb gets a cursory glance, before he snaps his attention back to the Master. it's clear to him that he's struggling to control the remnants of the Cheetah Planet's influence, and he's almost sorry for him. almost. he knows him well enough to know that anything that happened was his own fault]

At least my appearance is a conscious choice, and not a consequence of some overblown ridiculous plan of conquest! You really have bitten off more than you can chew this time. You should almost count yourself lucky that you ended up here when you did -- and even if you hadn't, it may have been exactly the fate you deserved.

[the other lights are flickering, now, but he's too annoyed to notice. insults to the celery he can handle, but sanctimonious? really?]

[The Master continues to glare, but his expression also becomes somewhat shuttered.]

Yes, Doctor, I know exactly what fate you feel I deserve. It's a pity the rest of your presumptions are wrong. I merely offered meat to one of the kitlings and found myself on the Cheetah planet. As for biting off more than I can chew, I held off the transformation, by will alone, for many weeks! Now that I'm away from that place, the virus is loosing its slender hold on me.

[he will NOT allow himself to look relieved at that remark, he just won't. luckily, another bulb goes out, and it's a little easier to hide the expression by wincing, until he can push it down]

Yes, well, forgive me if I'm fresh out of gold stars ... what on Earth are you doing to the lighting?

We're not on Earth and I've done nothing. Rassilon's sake, Doctor, I'm in bed. You've done more than I have this morning, simply by standing there. At least wait until I'm dressed, before being so suspicious.

[dress---- oh right. he's --- oh. well. he doesn't even want to THINK about the implications of the castle throwing them together like this. it's cruel, and it's uncalled for, and ~~entirely too dangerous an idea~~---]

Forgive me if I prefer to catch the proverbial worm. If it wasn't you, it was Paradisa, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. If you'll excuse me.

[he heads for the bathroom door, silently wishing for his clothes to be waiting for him once he's inside. he's not even leaving this room without his proper clothes on, thank you - at this point it's almost like armor... reminding himself that he's another self, now, and there are centuries between now and what was, and that this is all just utter nonsense fabricated by the castle. not ... some old memory rippling to the surface. once the coat and the jumper and the celery are all on, he'll remember that far more easily]

[The Master laughs and gets out of bed, but he doesn't bother pulling on clothes. After all, his current attire is bound to make his dear Doctor uncomfortable, if his abrupt retreat is any indication.]

[once he's had a moment to compose himself and put things in order, however, the Doctor's a little less easily ruffled. he had the foresight to wish up an extra robe, and strides up to the Master, tossing it over him nonchalantly on his way past to the door]

Put this on, would you?

[The Master shrugs it off, staring at it disdainfully.]

No, but thank you for the thought. I'm comfortable enough.

Mm, yes, well, stay comfortable all you like, I'm getting to the bottom of this.

[and he tugs at the doorknob, even though at this point he knows what's coming]

... I suppose it figures.

[The Master discovers that the castle has, at least, provided them with breakfast. True, he prefers his pancakes not to be heart-shaped, but he does appreciate the strawberries and whipped cream. The bacon roses are delicious, if a bit silly. The Master sits down and proceeds to serve himself.}

What figures, Doctor?

[at first he's just frustrated, whipping out his sonic screwdriver and testing the door, muttering as he does] … That we're trapped like this. It's one of the castle's favourite tricks. Just the other week, I was shut up in the laundry room with someone. It's odd that of would do it again so soon... though I suppose you did all but issue it a direct challenge ... it doesn't take those lightly ...

[finding nothing of merit, he stuffs the screwdriver back in his coat and turns --- and finally registers the scope and purpose of their decor.]

Ah.

[he's suddenly even more glad to have changed into his clothes. he clears his throat and moves to fix his own plate, doing his level best to remain unruffled. mustn't feed either troll, after all] …Well. It's early. That's interesting. ... Pass the butter, if you please.

[The Master passes the butter, shrugging.]

Doctor, it's difficult to carry on a conversation, when most of your comments are responses to things inside your own mind. What is interesting, pray tell? Do you have an explanation for the garish decorations and this odd breakfast?

Oh, so it's to be a conversation, now, and not a tennis match of barbs? [he makes a pleased little sound and starts buttering up his pancakes. point one for the Doctor, in NOT being the first to call it a civil conversation.

no one ever said his scoring system had to make sense]

Very well, then, yes. By the local calendar, it is, in fact, the twelfth of February. Take that in context with my remark about things being early, and you should come to a rational conclusion soon enough. Pardon me if I'm not about to talk with my mouth full.

[and with that, he'll take a decisive first bite of pancake, already focused on his next plan: how to get the Master to put some blessed clothes on. otherwise it's going to be a slightly uncomfortable weekend. he IS in the body of a former companion's father, after all. that's just plain ODD no matter how you slice it]

You've been tossing barbs. I've made perfectly polite remarks.

[The Master frowns, watching the Doctor eat. Mid-February? The Master had once disguised himself as a vicar, so had done extensive research on Christian traditions and holidays. Looking at the decor, he supposes it could be considered romantic...by someone of inferior taste and intellect.]

Ah. St. Valentine's Day. So, the Castle is in a romantic mood. How trite.

Extremely so. Though, trite seems to be the way it likes to do things. You should've seen last Christmas. [none of the lights are going out, but they're not coming back on, either. he's just going to refuse to rise to the bait. especially since, knowing Paradisa, they could be stuck here as long as a week]

That's quite all right. Next Christmas is soon enough. I must say, given this turn of events, I think the Castle must be inherently female. There is a distinct feminine quality to the details of our current predicament.

[The Master has no intention of harming the Doctor, but then, he is quite fluid in his definition of "harm." Also, he considers all Doctors to be his Doctors.]

Edited 2012-02-12 06:44 (UTC)

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Assuming the journal is open?

Sure. I can close it later, if need be.