A tidbit in which the Doctor gets everything wrong ever, and the Master's basically a cat: rather clumsy, mostly silly, and very, very mercurial. Also, a song! (It's Jonathan Coulton's "Skullcrusher Mountain", which has in the past been set to a lovely Doctor/Master fan video made by one blinkidybah.)
The Master enjoys showers. Not to the point where she makes a whole song and dance of it, but enough for a bit of a song. As she lathers up her hair, she hums to herself, then gets progressively louder as she approaches the chorus.
"I'm so into you, but I'm way too smart for you. Even my henchmen think I'm crazy, and I'm not surprised that you agree!" She sways under the temperate stream, letting the suds wash away. Then conditioner, face wash, and "... I made this half-pony, half-monkey monster to please you, but I get the feeling that you don't like it. What's with all the scream - eh? What's that?"
The Master fumbles for the knob and turns off the water. From deep in some other part of her TARDIS, she can definitely hear ringing. She often forgets she has a phone, because nobody has her number because everyone knows interrupting her'd be a death sentence. Everybody except for the Doctor. She'd put her number in his contacts list ages ago, on one of the many instances he'd left his TARDIS unattended and unlocked, and has been waiting patiently for a call from him since.
The Doctor is finally calling her! And she's of course otherwise occupied.
The Master reaches for the door at the same time as she steps from the shower, and topples over. She catches herself on the vanity, mostly by way of skinning her arm on the edge. "Bloody piece of - nevermind." The Master cuts herself off before her TARDIS gets moody; like ship like pilot, after all. Instead, she drags herself up, finds a towel, and escapes the slippery confines of her bathroom.
Leaving wet, sudsy footprints all down the hall, she wipes at the foam on her face while trying to maintain her balance on the slick, hard floor. The phone's still ringing, and the Master only manages to resist the urge to run for the first few yards. The Doctor's impatient. She can't give him time to rethink why he's called. She skids to a stop, hitting her shoulder and ankle on the door frame. Her towel's abandoned for the sake of speed.
The console room is layered in rugs, at least, so she doesn't have to worry about her balance as she clutches her ankle and hops her way to the console. A light is glowing, flashing the Doctor's name, and she grabs for the phone. "Hello, my de-aah!" The Master catches on an edge of rug, and rights herself so abruptly she bangs her knee on the underside of the console. "Bugger. Fuck. Ow."
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" the Doctor asks, not out of shock hearing her curse, it seems, but because he actually didn't hear her.
Oh. Well, that works.
"I said," she says, voice lowering to a purr even as she rubs her various bruised body parts. Water's dripping everywhere, her eyes sting of face cleaner, and she can taste the bitter chemicals. Thank god he can't see her now. It'd be an utter embarrassment.
"Hello, my dear Doctor."