Reblog and fill in the answers you most associate your character to with each question.
1. Animal? Arctic fox.
2. Colour? Red.
3. Month? October.
4. Song? I Can’t Decide. [x]
5. Number? 1234.
6. Day or Night? Night.
7. Plant? White Baneberry.
8. Smell? Blood and a strong, spice-based cologne.
9. Periodic Element? Francium.
10. Season? Winter.
11. Place? Gallifrey.
12. Food? Burgers.
13. Astrological Sign? Scorpio.
14. Element(s)? Fire, Earth.
15. Drink? Scotch.
Whats that in the mirror, or the corner of your eye
What’s that footstep following, never passing by
Perhaps they’re not just waiting, perhaps when we’re all dead
Out they’ll come a slithering, from underneath the bed
As if on cue, the Master was walking down the pavement towards the coffee shop just as the woman was hanging up her second call. He carried the pizza box balanced on one arm and the bag of chips rested on top.
He was dressed casually, a pair of jeans, a light button down shirt, leather jacket, instead of his usual suit. It would help with his false image and first impression, he figured.
The Master pulled open the door to the coffee shop with his free hand and, after stepping inside and briefly looking around, said, “Delivery?
Rose looked around the moment she heard a man say ‘delivery’. Finally. Her pizza and chips were there. She turned away from the counter and walked over to the man. ”Oh, thank you so much. I gotta meet someone any time now,” she said. Well, that was a partial lie. She did need to meet someone, but it wasn’t an immediate rush. She had some time to kill before she was needed back at the TARDIS.
Just as she was about to grab the the pizza and chips from him when she remembered that he probably had to pay for it himself. ”Oh, how much do I owe you?” she asked.
The Master smiled softly, eyes falling closed as he shook his head and waved a hand in protest.
"Don’t worry about it, my dear, it’s on me." His voice was smooth as silk; he crooned just as the Devil may have whispered temptations in humans’ ears.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. He didn’t want anything? Too easy? If he wasn’t on guard before, he was now.
My character is up for an ‘auction’ in one of those charity fundraisers;
- $ : My character will react to your character winning mine after a long bidding war with another bidder where the price got pretty high.
The mere fact that he’d gotten caught and then trapped and then had been held for bidding war was humiliating. They had taken his sonic screwdriver from him and his hands were cuffed together. This could be bad, if one of his enemies got a hold of him. When the bidding had ended, he’d been pushed toward him, toward….,”Kos—Master?” Surprised and puzzled. They handed the other man his sonic screwdriver and the keys to the handcuffs after the payment had been done. “Why? How?”
"Until next time we meet? You really think that there will be a next time?" He doubted it, if anything, now that he knew that he was out there, he would try his best to keep his distance, to stay away.
He scoffed. “If you wanted to kill me you would have done so already.”
"When timelines, when lives are as intertwined as ours, do you really expect there won’t be a next time? You disappoint me, Theta.”
The Master shrugged nonchalantly, a light, pleasantly displeased frown touching his lips.
"How well you know me."
"But it is fun.”
"And oh please you have to admit, televisions in their stomachs? That’s brilliant.”
"Well as long as you stay with singing, preferably quietly singing, go on, but don’t expect me to stuck around to listening to that. .. and no it isn’t. It’s rather perverted and I hope you realise it is pure fiction."
"And what if I don’t want your help?”
What the hell can he say?
What good would it do if he said anything?
"I know.. I know I won’t understand. What the hell am I supposed to do? I don’t know, Koschei. And I don’t say it that often."
"… Koschei. Just… You can just explain. If you want. Or not."
"I- I can’t. And,
I want to.
But… it just doesn’t work.
It never works.
I’ve poured hours, days
into trying to form the words
trying helplessly to find
to compare it to for you…”
After a pause,
the Master drew nearer to Jim,
raised his hands and
placed the pads of his fingers
along the sides
of Jim’s face.
He blocked out the drums and,
with great concentration,
sent the sounds of
a million people
conversing all at once,
all in soft tones,
overlapping with one another
so no one word,
no single sentence
could be made out.
There was simply a hum of presentness.
The sound of other people.
Then, without warning,
the Master cut it all out,
and left nothing but the
of f o u r.
John listened to him, nodding every now and then as he took bites of his breakfast. “Good. You could probably do with a bit of relaxing later.” They both could really, after their nightmares kept them up for most of the night.
He knew that he would be busy that evening with grading papers though.
He knew that the other had a higher, considerably better job than he did, but that didn’t bother him. He had a lot of money left from winning the games, money that he didn’t even know what to do with. They’d given him a house so he didn’t have to buy that, he didn’t really have family that needed it, so it mostly just sat there unless he needed to use it.
John shrugged. “Nothing too interesting.” Grading papers was a bore, probably the only boring part of his job. He enjoyed teaching the children and many of them were smart, but sometimes just reading similar things over and over bored him. “Oh, just grading papers. I might stop by the store too, if I have time.” He wondered if he’d see him again that evening, though he felt too embarrassed about what he’d done earlier to ask.
Harold nodded acknowledgingly, then brought his focus to the food in front of him. He forced himself to eat as much as his protesting stomach would allow, then set the cutlery down with a light clatter and set the plate aside. He had a question on his mind, but his lips refused to form sentences. Finally, after a bit of struggle, he managed to get the words out.
"I’ll- I’ll be home after stopping off at the store so, er, if you like… you could stop by? I mean, once you’re done with the papers, of course. We could do something, maybe even something as simple as going for a walk…"
Harold felt a light blush creeping up his face. He was being too forward, too uncomfortable, too awkward. To sound more aloof, he added, “Or whatever. It doesn’t matter to me.”