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 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.

Soon enough? [he gets an odd look for that - it's ten months away. though he supposes he's a lot more accustomed to linear time now than he used to be]

You know, I've had the same thought rather often, myself.

If the result is the Castle indulging in tastelessness and bizarre antics, I'm not looking forward to holidays, my dear Doctor.

[The Master arched an eyebrow at his "guest," that said quite clearly he thought the Doctor's reactions were somewhat silly.]

I'm glad you agree with me. No doubt, this feminine sensibility believes trapping us together will have romantic, or perhaps only erotic, results. It's not inconceivable that the Castle is trying to produce mating pairs, in order to increase the population.

Though most of them are rather a nuisance, a few have been quite enjoyable. Diwali was quite nice, for one... [he pauses to have some more of his breakfast and assess the situation. the Master isn't actively trying to kill him, so ... maybe they can make it however long this is set to last without being at each other's throats. and thank goodness for small mercies, he seems to think the romantic contrivances are just as ridiculous as he does]

Yes, well. Clearly if that's its goal, it has a few lines crossed. [he snorts softly in amusement] At the very least, past experience says we'll be here like this for a day or two.

I think it having lines crossed is a given, at this point, Doctor. I'm glad to hear this will last only days. I do not appreciate being imprisoned, even with such pleasant company.

[The Master smirks, taking a bite of pancakes and chewing with relish. It never pays to let the Doctor get too comfortable.]

Edited 2012-02-22 04:06 (UTC)

Nor do I. [he side-eyes him, wryly. he doesn't have to like this, but he can be civil if he needs to.]

Though I think we may need to do something about the decor. I've got standards, after all.

Do you? [The Master laughs.] Don't get used to them. You'll be abandoning them soon enough. Still, you're right, Doctor. The color scheme is not to my tastes.

[there's a hint of that squeaky register he slips into when he's flustered] And who're you to say if I will and when?! ...

Very well. If we can't open the door, I suppose we could try to get some of it out the window.

I'm the person who has met your sixth and seventh selves.

[The Master's response is serene, with just a hint of smugness.]

We could, but that would leave the grounds below in an appalling state. I think we should burn them.

Mmmm. Well, I've known my Eleventh for two years now, so I'm still ahead of you. [so there]

Burn them?! Really now. And soot up the walls? [honestly, he's suprised that he'd even recommend it - but, then again, on second thought, it's been years since Sarn for him, probably even centuries.]

I thought you approved of burning things you disapprove of.

[This is said with just enough acid to assure the Doctor that Sarn is not forgotten at all.]

Soot can be cleaned, Doctor, and I make sure my chimney stays clean. As for your eleventh self, I've yet to see him in person, so I cannot comment on his tastes. They certainly can't be worse than some of your earlier regenerations.

And you said I was the one making uncouth remarks. [that's all the attention he'll give that. he doesn't need to try and deal with his Conflicting Feelings About Sarn right now. he needs to solve problems. he abandons his breakfast and gets to his feet, starting to gather up the decorations]

Far better than the Sixth, if how I spent a day my first year here is to be believed.

Rassilon's ears, this garland is hideous.

You are. [The Master smirks, watching the Doctor as he works.] I doubt it's possible to have worse taste than your Sixth. [He eyed the garland and chuckled.] It is. Are you sure you don't want to burn it?

Quite certain. Who knows what sort of fumes that material might give off. [he makes a face] The last thing we'd want to do is suffocate ourselves. I'd rather not have two weeks in limbo, personally.

[The Master pauses, a forkful of eggs halfway to his lips. He peers at the Doctor suspiciously.]

Limbo, Doctor? What does that mean?

Ah, so you haven't heard. [he shrugs, mildly] Death is ... well, I suppose you could say it doesn't exist, here. Not as we know it. Nor does regeneration. One is simply ... not present, for two weeks. In some cases the body disappears for the allotted time, in others it lies in state, either in the clinic or in their room.

You still get a gravestone, though, morbidly enough. I've one of my own - on a previous visit, apparently, I was killed. Not that I remember it, of course.

[The Master finishes his bite, chewing thoughtfully. Part of him is elated at this turn of events. To never die...it is something he's long desired. To be dead is to be useless and the Master can't stomach that. But...part of the Master is suspicious. Even in death, there is no escaping Paradisa? That seems wrong.

He also wonders how the Doctor died. He swallows, before answering.]

That's interesting. Why do you put up tombstones, if the dead always return?

Oh, no one consciously puts them up, they just ... appear. It's unnerving, really.

That would be, yes. [Said with the mildest of sarcasm.] Then again, everything about this place, so far, has been. Tell me, Doctor, of all the people here, why did the Castle put us together? It seems an odd choice, whether or not it knows our history.

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