Author Notes: Crackfic! Well, semi-crack fic, since it's a feasible scenario (in my opinion, anyway). For anyone who hasn't seen the Youtube video 'Llamas with hats', I urge you to watch that first before reading this. I also apologise if it's not up to standard :| As I uploaded this one in haste in order to get rid of it. Even so, it's just a bit of fun. :]

Acknowledgments: My wife, Casey, for her attempt to Grammar Nazi but being too sleep deprived to do so and Tat for urging me to upload anyway by convincing me everything was fine with it.

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Time Lords with Hats.

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"Master, there is a dead human in the Tardis." The moment he had walked out the Tardis door, he knew it had been a mistake. It should have prevented him from going, but he had assured himself in knowing that he had installed isomorphics. Sure, the isomorphics had definitely worked on keeping the Master in, but, unfortunately, it had somehow failed to keep those outside, from getting inside.

The Master appeared from the depths of the Tardis, freshly showered, droplets of water still beaded his hair and his shirt clung to damp skin. "Oh, hey, how did he get there?" Needless to say, he hadn't put much effort into the shock factor.

The Doctor looked up from the blood stained floor and away from the mutilated body. The Masters composure was concerning as it was unnerving and he found himself staring into two shining hazel orbs. Just a faintest of pride resided in his gaze, blood lust, contentment - a smirk tugging at the corners of his perfect lips. "Master, what did you do…?"

Naturally, the spell was broken when he was forced to tear his eyes away from the scene, "Me?" The Master brushed off the accusation with an air of disgust and anger, "I didn't do this."

Of course, the Doctor didn't buy into it and he sighed, "Explain what happened, Master," moving to take a seat. He knew that this was going to be the kind of thing that was best taken when one was sitting.

However, the other simply insisted upon his innocence, "I've never seen him before in my life," the straightness of his expression doing next to nothing to convince.

"Why did you kill this person, Master?" He confronted. His voice firm and direct, he wasn't pleased.

"My Dear Doctor, I do not kill people. That is my LEAST favourite thing to do." Sure. It was a lie. But that was what he was supposed to say, wasn't it? It was what the Doctor wanted to hear? A renegade Time Lord, domesticated and house trained. He had worked hard for this but sometimes appearances were hard to keep up. Sometimes the drumming was hard to maintain.

The Doctor sat tall, an unconscious desire to control the situation, to be able to hold some power of the other. "Tell me, Master, exactly what you were doing before I got home."

Deciding that the Doctor wasn't going to drop it anytime soon, and figuring that as long as the body was lying around, it was going to be the main topic of interest, he gave him a little, "Right." He began, "Well, I was upstairs."

Now they were getting somewhere. But the Doctor remained tense and apprehensive. It wasn't as if he really wanted to know, "Okay."

"I was sitting in my room, reading a book." Silence followed and he quietly considered his options,

"…Go on" The Doctor pressed him, hardening his jaw.

"Then this guy walked in." The Master spared the bloodied corpse a glance, "So I walked up to him… And I stabbed him thirty seven times in the chest." Boredly, he examined his cuticles in the stunned silence which followed his confession, and after a long pause, he was forced to look up just to check that his counterpart was still breathing.

He was, albeit unevenly. Shocked and eyes wide, the Doctor stared at him with a foolish disbelief. "Master! That kills people!"

Feigning surprise wasn't impossible but it was still trying to his patience and a demand of his energy. He raised his brow, typical of shock, but his tone didn't match his words, "Oh. Wow… I didn't know that."

Aggravated, the Doctor persisted, hounding in on him, "How could you not know that?"

Unaffected, "Yeahhh," he exhaled, "I'm in the wrong here. I suck."

The Doctor got to his feet, shaking his head, as if he were trying to rid himself of the facts that were overwhelming him. Okay. How were they going to fix this? … It was then he was struck by the pooling blood at either side of the man, the coagulated blood on what now appeared to be stumps at the end of his arms.

He didn't move, wasn't sure if he could, wasn't even sure if he wanted to ask. He could feel the cool, collected calm behind him and knew just how disinterested the Master was in all of this…. but persisted. "What happened to his hands?"

"What's that?" the Master asked casually, looking up from his cuticles once again to engage in the situation, watching the Doctor attempt to compose himself, but it was easy to see the distress in his eyes.

"His hands" The Doctor clarified irritably though his brow knit with concern, "Why… why are they missing?

"Well, as long as we're being honest here." He saw the Doctor tense, almost flinch away as the possibilities crept into his head, "I kind of cooked them up… and ate them."

"Master!" he gasped,

"I was hungry." The dark Time Lord informed, "And, you know, when you crave hands…"

"…why on Earth would you do that?!" The Doctor snapped, before trying to calm himself down. Pinching the bridge of his nose to fight off an oncoming headache, he decided it was best to be amicable. After all, it was him who had decided that the Master was his responsibility, wasn't it? "… Nothing in the pantry or the fridge would have been sufficient?"

"I was hungry for hands. Give me a break."

"Master…" he breathed, disturbed, the only argument he could muster was the repetition of his name. And even then, it wasn't much of an argument, just alarm.

The Master smirked, leaning back to admire his work and make himself comfortable, "My stomach was making the rumblies…"

Ill feeling, he shut his eyes momentarily to rid himself of the mental image. It was one thing to kill a man and certainly another to eat his hands, "Master!"

"…that only hands would satisfy," the Master continued, eyes radiant with delight.

"What is wrong with you, Master?"

There were many things to consider, and it was hard to consider them all in such a small time gap. "Well," he began, drawing from his most recent of encounters, "I kill people and I eat hands, that's two things." He offered helpfully.

The Doctor could only stare at him.

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