You feel her before you see her. The air grows rigid at the approach of her presence. It whispers you cannot hide, not from her. The sharp click-clack of advancing high-heels becomes more amplified with each step, the stride purposeful and efficient. Your every instinct screams at you to run, run as fast as you can but a small part desires to wait, to understand, to experience this person with your own two eyes. Despite yourself, you do so, heart thumping in time with the rhythm of the heels.
The Master arrives. She stands straight and tall, a lithe figure in a flattering navy blue pantsuit adorned about her. Her blonde hair is tied back expertly in a short ponytail, framing a surprisingly soft, youthful face. Smoky hazel eyes hint at a dark pleasure in things that should not be enjoyed, strange, forbidden things. Her thin lips only serve to exacerbate that, curled up into a mysterious smile.
"So," she says, her tone soft and teasing. "You're the one who's been muckin' up my plans." The accent is Yorkshire, broad but with a pleasant lilt.
She's clearly dangerous, you think, but she makes no effort to hide it. No doubt she'll have gone for the friendly angle so as to catch you off guard. You decide to humor her, just to satisfy that small, savagely curious part of yourself.
"I suppose I am. You seem quite eager to meet me," you say, careful to keep the steel in your voice to a minimum.
She laughs, a soft sinister sound that slithers down your spine and leaves you with a feeling of dread. What games does this woman play? What twisted thoughts does she entertain? What dreams satisfy her waking hours?
"Indeed I am. You don't look like much, but we both know appearances are deceivin', don't we?" The Master winks, as if she's uncovered some big secret. Then it hits you. There's something that she wants from you , or she would have killed you already. You decide to get straight to the point.
"Is there anything about me that you're after?" you ask. Her grin widens at this, you must have hit upon her strategy.
"Well, I guess there's no point hidin' it now, is there?" She circles you as she speaks, like a vulture closing in for the kill. "What I want from you is... entertainment." That sadistic playful fire in her eyes burns brighter, her teeth now bared in a predatory grin.
Your stomach drops several stories. The blood in your veins goes cold and your hands start to sweat. You've fallen right into her trap. Of course she would want to be entertained! She wants to know what makes you tick, what motivates you, what drives you to interfere in her plans. Curiosity did kill the cat after all, and you're the cat.
"Who, me? I'd hardly call myself entertaining. I'm usually not worth noticing," you say, attempting to stall for time. You find yourself backing up and stop abruptly. Do not show her any weakness. Don't give her the satisfaction. Despite your attempts to remain calm, you feel sweat trickle down the back of your neck.
"Exactly. Which is why I want to find out how you managed to interfere so well," she breathes, coming ever closer to you.
You're about to reach for the doorknob, when an idea pops into your head. She wants you to play her game, so why not beat her at it? You might end up learning a thing or two about her. See how she likes it. Time for the prey to bait the predator.
"So, you're doing your whole bad guy spiel here, right? Where you attempt to interrogate the protagonist? Well, you'll have to catch me first!" you taunt.
"Ah... so I'm the bad guy, huh? Looks like you'd better start runnin', love 'cause I'm comin' for ya!" she hisses, the glee in her voice evident.
Time to run.