Title: "Hannibal"
Status: Ficlet; complete
Fandom: Doctor Who (New Series)
Characters: Tenth!Doctor & Simm!Master
Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC, Steven Moffat and others - not mine. I sooo weep...
Rating: K
Warnings: unbeta'ed
Summary: The Master's latest... well... masterplan, involves muffins, Sherlock and Teletubbies, amongst other things...
Feedback: Most welcome! Be the grammar savvy to my chaos; concrit is love!
Hannibal
The Master watched with rapt attention as the Doctor's lips moved, all the while not bothering to listen to a single word they formed. He used his drums to drown out the Doctors senseless babbling, irritated that he would waste such kiss-able lips for the weakest attempt at turning the tables during an interrogation the Master had yet to witness.
His finger tapped quicker on the tabletop as he reclined back in his chair, managing to affect a slouched aired of being relaxed – which was quite a feat with his arse planted on wood that felt more like hastily carved stone.
"Master?" the Doctor asked with forced politeness.
His lips twitched just short of a pout and the Doctor had that look again. The one like a kicked puppy that had to stand by and was forced to watch while the rest of its litter was drowned. The Master was fond of that one.
"Could you be bothered to answer my question?"
"At least one of us has to stick to standard procedure," the Master said, wriggling a bit on his seat.
The Doctor, to his delight, blinked, thrown by the apparent non sequitur. "Come again?"
"I'm sure you know the one," the Master said with patronizing air. "It's the one about not letting yourself be talked into circles by a psychopath. Plus the one about never answering questions not related to the case. And, pardon me for saying so, but you suck at the whole Hannibal lecture thing. AND you're stealing my text, dooming this conversation, where I would usually pick your brain apart, into a monologue of yawwwwwwwwwwning proportions."
"Back to eating people, Master. Really?"
The Master sat up straight abruptly, wondering why he bothered with a fool who could not listen to the simplest of things. Kiss-able lips, he reminded himself immediately. And other parts, equally kiss-able – and lick-able and bite-able. Yummy yummy; nom nom. But that would have to wait for later, when his plan had come to fruition and he was ready to leave his vacation-being-'kept'-time.
"Not eating, Doctor, although that reminds me – I want muffins!" The Master lifted a warning finger, "With icing! And to wipe that pathetic, clueless look form your face I shall only say: TV Tropes."
The Doctors gaze lit up with curiosity – the exact one that killed the cat - and he turned in the direction of the TARDIS' console room, where he could access the internet.
It gave the Master the perfect opportunity to filch some of the items that lay strewn, innocuously, on the tabletop. His escape plan was a bit like painting by numbers when it came to acquiring the parts, but he had to say that poisoning someone's mind with the addicting lure of a webpage was bloody ingenious, even for him. The good Doctor would stay glued to his monitor for ages.
"I suggest starting with Teletubbies. And Sherlock! Rassilon, how I love those cheekbones! And the coat!"
Needless to say, his plan worked. Ravaging of edible bodyparts included.
End