The Master gazed out disdainfully at the village. It was a flurry of activity, people rushing about madly trying to board up homes and gather provisions. He walked back towards the shack he'd just exited, checking to see if the beast had finished devouring her latest meal. It was an odd animal, resembled a small domestic Earth cat. She was nearing completion, ripping away at his intestines.
"Of all the places to be kidnapped and whisked away to, it had to be Trissiform, yogurt capital of the galaxy." He muttered sarcastically, pulling his gloves on and donning a rather filthy cloak.
It had been a rather bad couple of months for the Master, beginning with a run in with a future regeneration of the Doctor who seemed a bit too flirtatious and self righteous, something that really didn't help him focus on galactic domination. Then there had been those renegade assassins, the ones who were just a bit too smart for his hypnosis. They were everywhere, too. Infecting his population with spies and highly skilled marksmen. At least this one was dead now, and without the prat to go gallivanting about proclaiming to everyone that the Master had escaped his fate he'd at least bought himself some time. What did they expect when they tried to throw him in with that cat? That he would let it actually EAT him? Well, at least it will probably destroy this entire village, hopefully the others will think he died along with it. That should provide him with just enough time to slip back into the capitol city, back into his domain, his kingdom.
The Master let out a chuckle, then headed back towards the shack. The cat saw him, then turned and fled. Fear etched across its fur laden face.
He reached up, pulling the cadaver from the cart, then frowned. He'd need something to cover the blood. He began searching the shack, finally locating a heavy blanket that he draped over the bloody mess. He harnessed the animal, six hooves and a mane of tangled brown fur. He couldn't remember the species of the creature, much less a name. Touching the animals brow he told it what he expected of it, then climbed into the back of the cart, pulling his feet up as they began to head towards the road.
His shoes were muddy, and his feet were cold. It was winter on this backwater planet and he was beginning to think his limbs were bound to become frostbitten. He let out a growl that startled the large pack animal, but it continued along. He reached down and pulled his shoes off, hanging them over the edge of the cart, waiting for them to dry off.
"Barefooted and covered in a filthy cloak. I must look like a cheap beggar." he sneered.
The Master began counting and going through numerical equations, calculating how long it would take to reach the city from his location. A week. A week in the cold, with a smelly animal, and a blood covered blanket. He would have to leave the cart at some point, it wouldn't do for the supreme chancellor to make his entrance sitting in dried blood.
There was a sharp clack as the Master was thrust out of the cart. The beast stopped its slow cantering, glancing back towards the Master. He jumped up and shouted, glaring at the cart, then rushed over toward the wooden tire. It had cracked, and now it was only half functional. He cursed, then climbed back into its bed, searching frantically through the tool box, hoping to find something that would help.
There was a whirring sound, and the Master turned towards the source. It had a calming effect on his shattered nerves, he knew that sound. There was a blue box forming along the road a short distance ahead of him. He pulled the hood of the cloak over his face.
"Hello there!" The Doctor called out, waving frantically towards the Master.
"You wouldn't happen to know the way to Trissiform, would you?" The Master pointed down the road, behind him. The Doctor smiled, then noticed the broken cart.
"Are you alright? Do need help?" He asked worriedly, bending down to examine the damages.
"My friends are coming. I'm fine. Don't need help." he muttered, hoping he wouldn't be recognized.
The Doctor looked at him, eyes squinted. The Master pursed his lips. Another plan destroyed, he supposed. But then the Doctor was beaming at him, jumping onto his feet.
"Well, I suppose if your friends are coming! I've best be on my way, there's a glass of yogurt with my name on it. Lovely to meet you Mr. Snow-Clearer. Hope to see you again." He smiled, then trotted down the road, jumping at random intervals and laughing manically. The Master furrowed his brows. Snow Clearer? He took another look at the cart, then frowned. Ah. Shovels. Salt. Snow Clearer. He looked back towards the Doctor, watching until he disappeared over the hill, then turned towards the TARDIS. The door was slightly ajar. He walked towards it, wincing as the snow covered his feet, then nearly falling as he stepped off of the road.
The Master slipped down, crouching several yards away from the TARDIS, bare feet becoming damp as they sunk into the wet grass.
"So, looks like its just you and me." He whispered, eyes roaming along the façade of the time machine. "All alone."
Seconds passed, and the Master let a slow grin bloom across his features.
"What ever do you think we should do?"
The TARDIS door was only slightly open, pushed further by a frigid wind, and then it twitched of its own accord. The Master laughed victoriously as he rushed towards the door, pushing it open and slipping past it.
"Oh! No, no, no, no, no you don't!"
The TARDIS console let out an indignant hum and he could feel her pressing along the outside of his mind. 'Totally inappropriate!' she was shouting, but he ignored her, running his fingers along the console. She was flustered, babbling in her own incomprehensible language of impressions and emotions. It thrilled him.
"What to do, what to do." He muttered, grin still in place. It had started out as such a bad day, and look where he was now. All cozy in the Doctor's TARDIS, unattended with everything the Dear Doctor owned and loved at his fingertips.
"Oh Knock it off! I'm not going to steal you! Just maybe………. Tag the place up a bit." He glanced towards the clinical white walls, so similar to his own. The TARDIS's angry hum calmed, though she was still clearly irritated.
"Where's his room?" The Master queried, turning abruptly towards the corridor. "First door had better be his room."
The TARDIS let out a huff, and he could feel her resistance.
"Look, I'll be out of here so much faster if you'd just cooperate." He waited a moment, but could feel nothing from her. No communication whatsoever. 'Giving ME the cold shoulder!' He wrapped his hand around the door knob, it felt stuck, or locked, and he growled before the door budged. There was a large bed with blankets piled upon blankets, bookcases that seemed to have no logical order, a desk covered in some kind of mechanical mess, papers on the floor and various knick knacks strewn about. His eyebrows raised and his features showed how unimpressed he was. The TARDIS was back, and she seemed to be expressing her agreement.
"Definitely the Doctor's room. You really let him live like this? It's a wonder he manages to find his way to the console room, let alone how he actually sleeps in here." She didn't seem to appreciate the comment, and began blabbering on about how she tried to get him to clean it, how she did it sometimes but then he'd always tear through and it ended up worse as he flung things around searching for something inconsequential, like a rubber duck, and how he had ended up getting distracted by some sort of Earth movie about alien vampire transvestites and didn't even take a bath! He ignored her, for the most part, carefully picking his way about the mess. He wasn't wearing shoes, after all, and he really didn't want to lose a regeneration because he stepped on something lethal in the Doctor's bedroom. That would be horribly embarrassing.
As he reached the bed he sat down, pulling his feet up and began to eye the room. It had been an awfully long time since he'd played a prank on the Doctor, and he felt a little rusty. Normally he would have thought of something immediately, now look at him. An old man sitting in his equally old friends bedroom, no shoes, ignoring a nagging TARDIS and wondering what he should do next.
"So much for evil." He muttered, casting his eye's along the junk. His eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. A tutu, a bassoon, a tiny Master doll (upon closer inspection he identified it as his last regeneration), several bottles of nail polish, a rather premium hairdryer that wouldn't be invented for another two hundred years, a large box packed to the brim with old glasses, a ream of psychic paper, a signed photo of Tim Curry in what appeared to be drag, a book with the words Don't Panic scrawled across the cover in large letters, and what appeared to be a fairly vast collection of Zombie Movies.
"Shouldn't those be kept in the cinema?" He wondered aloud. There were millions upon billions of potential rooms within the TARDIS, did he really need to keep all of this in here?
'He likes to be close to some things. They make him feel safe.'
"Zombie movies make him feel safe?" He shot back in incredulously. She merely gave her equivalent of a shrug. He looked at the tiny Master doll, then rolled his eyes. He leaned back into the bed, intent to think of something marvelously diabolical. His head slipped into a several weeks old ham sandwich, wrapped haphazardly in saran film. His face recoiled in disgust as he pulled the putrid object out of his hair. His eyes narrowed, then he let out a smile and laughed.
"Tell me, does the Dear Doctor happen to have an aquarium within your walls?" The TARDIS seemed confused, but told him that there was. It was mostly filled with turtles and goldfish, though. "Wonderful. Where's your saran wrap?"
The Doctor hummed merrily, balloons tied to his belt loops and arms full of wonderful, wonderful Trissiform Yogurt. It had been such a good day. Except for the two mile hike he'd had to take to get to the town, he really had thought he'd parked closer. Ah well. Who didn't enjoy communing with nature? It would have been nice, of course, if nature hadn't tried to poison him with that feral cat, though.
Not a cat, he reminded himself. But it looked very much like a cat. Didn't quite act like a cat, and it was trying to eat the population of the village, but it still looked quite cute. Even with the blood caking on its very, very soft fur. And he got free yogurt! Quite a lot of free yogurt, too!
"Hello old girl!" he called out, quite pleased at the sight of his dear blue box. He fished around his pockets, searching for the key, dropping several choice flavors in the process. "Oh!" He shouted, chasing them down the hill. They didn't get far. Not with how the hill was sloped.
"Cheeky little buggar, you are. But I'm not letting go of you quite that easily." As he reached to lift the renegade yogurt he became aware of three things. One, the snow clearer's cart was parked exactly where he'd seen it last, two, the snow hadn't really been cleared from the area, and three, the man was no where to be found. He set the yogurt's down near the TARDIS and crept over towards the cart.
"Hello? Anyone here? I thought your friends were coming to pick you up." He glanced in the cart, no one. He fell to his knees, checking under the cart, then climbing in and standing on the tool box, examining the surrounding. No one at all. Not for miles. As he climbed down the blanket was dragged away, revealing blood soaked wooden boards, nail scratches, and bits of intestines. He put the blanket back. He stared at the empty cart, at an utter loss.
"Where's the body then?" He asked no one. " She never ate the whole body." He looked around, the pack animal was gone. There were feet imprints leading towards the side of the road, they came back later, then there were shoe prints, and finally hooves, leading off the road like the feet. The snow clearer hadn't been wearing shoes. He…
He wasn't the snow clearer. The snow clearer was dead, killed by the kitty cat. He had probably stolen the cart so he could escape. He had seemed jittery when the Doctor had met him.
"Probably didn't want me to see the blood. Would have thought him a murderer, and a thief." he glanced back to the hoof prints. "Good man, leaving the cart behind. Wouldn't want you to be killed for something that nasty beastie did…"
After several moments, he let out a shout.
"Right! Yogurt, TARDIS, quick pop in to Tralphagmaphapador, then bit of tea, watch a movie." He marched towards the door, unlocked her, then hefted his yogurt up in his arms, and took a cheerful step forward.
"Hello, hello! I've got yogurt--" The yogurt clattered to the floor, and he was certain it would probably be ruined by now. Trissiform Yogurt was wonderful, but highly unstable. He couldn't be bothered too much, however. His lovely little Master doll, the one that took him three weeks and four failed attempts to make, was sitting atop the consol. Completely innocent looking, and completely in the wrong place. That doll never left his room. Never never. He walked forward, eying it as though it might jump up and lung at him with some form of dangerous weapon. He always knew Chucky was based on a true story. The doll made no move, and when he grabbed it there was nothing unusual about it, aside from its placement. The TARDIS didn't seem alarmed, rather a bit of long suffering irritation, and he could tell she didn't want to talk about it.
He spent the rest of the evening prowling the TARDIS, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Something misplaced. One of his towels seemed a bit damp, and there were bits of moldy food in the sink. The kettle had been on and one of his thermos's was missing. And there seemed to be a dirty pan on the counter. Someone had been in the TARDIS. But he'd locked it. He'd closed the door and he'd…
He'd actually been in a bit of a rush to get out, see the village, meet new people, and to get his hands on some yogurt. He remembered that he'd knocked the yogurt around quite a bit and that he'd left it sitting on the console room floor. So much for that. But back to the intruder.
Well, they could hardly be considered an intruder, not if he'd left the door open and practically invited them in. But who could have…
The not-really- snow clearer. He'd come in for a quick wash, taken something to keep him warm, and apparently moved his Master doll, then locked up when he left.
"Well, I suppose that's understandable. He was a bit dirty, and it is awfully cold out. Can't imagine why he'd move you, Itty Master." He muttered to the doll. He looked up. "It is a bit late for tea, and I'm sure the Tralphagmapahpatorians won't mind if I take a quick nap." He headed down several twisting corridors, untying balloons from his waistband and letting them float about on their own, before reaching his room. His favorite room. Favorite in this regeneration, at least. There was a plate on the floor, cookies piled atop it, and a brightly colored thermos sitting next to it. He gaped at the plate, then towards Itty Master, then the plate again.
"No…….No, no, no, no, no, no, no…" There was a small slip of paper under the thermos.
It's going to be quite a long night Doctor.
Hugs and Kisses.
The Doctor looked back towards the plate, then at the note. It was different.
THE MASTER WUZ HERE!
There was a terrible drawing of the Master, gallivanting about the Doctor's precious home, mucking things up and causing general problems.
He looked away again, then back. The note was empty.
Setting the sheet of psychic paper back under the thermos, he reached for his door and pulled it open. There was a rather annoyed turtle staring at him, and several hundred goldfish floundering about, trying to stay away from it. His tutu was floating in the water.
"You………. Saran wrapped my entire room? And filled it with sea life? Where the hell did you get so many little fishies? And turtles? Who keeps sea turtles handy?" He paused, listening as the TARDIS interjected something, sounding tired and annoyed.
"What do you mean I have an aquarium? Why wasn't I told about this aquarium? Is it new? Did you install one? I don't really need that do I?" With a huff the Doctor dropped to the floor, and tossed a cookie into his mouth. It was actually very good.
He sighed. So much for a quick nap. His favorite jammies were in there, floating next to a particularly angry looking she-turtle. He sat Itty Master beside him, then leaned back, opened the thermos, and gazed contemplatively into the saran fish bowl.
Authors Note:Incidentally, Chucky really is based on a true story. Go google Robert the haunted doll. Then, I want you to get all your dolls, place them beside your bed, and go to sleep. Tell me how that works out for you.
I actually got this idea from a dream. You see, in the dream I was reading a Doctor Who story, then I went to read the comments that others had left. In one of them, someone challenged the writer to write a story based on this 'Ten times the Master gives the Doctor Sweets.' there was another sentence, but I don't recall it. All I know is that I immediately began writing the story, and I woke up when I was halfway through it. This is the last one I was writing as I woke up, and I thought it was rather adorable. I don't know if I'll end up writing ten stores, but do expect at least two or three more.
(I'VE BEEN WRITING THIS SINCE I WOKE UP, THREE HOURS AGO, AND I STILL HAVEN'T HAD BREAKFAST! I FEEL HUNGRY LIKE EMO MASTER!)