For years—eons, really—the Maestro has had a habit. It’s only to be expected, really: traveling around for as long as he has, going on a thousand years, he’s bound to have picked a few things up. How he takes his tea, patting the inside pocket of his jacket when he stands up. And, whenever he comes back into his console room after sulking around in the library or laboratory or squash court or whatever, he’ll inevitably check the readings. There’s a tally he keeps of sorts, a few sweeps and scans that his TARDIS completes and pings whenever something happens. Normally, there’s nothing. Sometimes, there’s an errant time traveler, somebody trying to change a little bit too much for his own good. This time, though, there’s a ping, and a little flashing red light.
“Now, what’s this?” The Master asks, frowning. He’s been doing that a lot lately. He’s fresh from a quick game of squash—no opponent, but it’s something to blow off steam and keep himself active. Game, shower, back into a suit, and bob’s your uncle! He taps the side of the screen, looking—ahh, hm. A slight tear in reality, a little gap between this Universe and a parallel. Could be dangerous in time, but it’d be easy to repair. Though he admits that he’s curious, just curious, as to what’s on the other side.
And so he chuckles to himself, and throws the TARDIS forwards, and off he goes, hurtling through the vortex until he finds a certain tear, and the TARDIS plows through it. He keeps the viewscreens open as he does so, just to see the change, when one reality gives way to the other. For most, it’d just look like traveling through the vortex always does. But for a Time Lord, it’s as stark as the change from blue to red. Sublime. Beautiful.
He lands, and breathes in. A new world! New people! Traveling between dimensions was tricky at the best of times, now, with Gallifrey gone, it’s nearly impossible. He’s excited, he admits, just to be doing it again. It takes him back to being a schoolboy again, to running around with Ushas and Theta and Mortimer and the rest.
The Maestro opens the door, and steps outside, and everything is wrong. It hits him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to his skull: a niggling, buzzing sensation down, one of the unnamed Time Lord senses flashing. Warning light. He takes off running, racing through the streets of the city, half a mile, barely even noticing the damage, the scorch-marks on the streets, the metal casing and armor littered at the sidewalk. He just looks like another bloke, albeit not one with earbuds in.
Cybermen too, eh? Wicked.
He ends up—where else?—in a factory, the headquarters. The battle’s won, the Cybermen are defeated, and some little men and women are trying to clean things up, or just holding on to one another. He doesn’t have time for that, not now. He vaults over a still-twitching corpse, ducks a half-fallen metal girder, rounds the corridor where the buzzing swells up, where it increases and blares and he can’t bloody ignore it.
Finally, he stops, out of breath, silently wheezing as he stares. Stares at the woman coolly regarding the Controller. It’s her. It’s her.
no subject
“Now, what’s this?” The Master asks, frowning. He’s been doing that a lot lately. He’s fresh from a quick game of squash—no opponent, but it’s something to blow off steam and keep himself active. Game, shower, back into a suit, and bob’s your uncle! He taps the side of the screen, looking—ahh, hm. A slight tear in reality, a little gap between this Universe and a parallel. Could be dangerous in time, but it’d be easy to repair. Though he admits that he’s curious, just curious, as to what’s on the other side.
And so he chuckles to himself, and throws the TARDIS forwards, and off he goes, hurtling through the vortex until he finds a certain tear, and the TARDIS plows through it. He keeps the viewscreens open as he does so, just to see the change, when one reality gives way to the other. For most, it’d just look like traveling through the vortex always does. But for a Time Lord, it’s as stark as the change from blue to red. Sublime. Beautiful.
He lands, and breathes in. A new world! New people! Traveling between dimensions was tricky at the best of times, now, with Gallifrey gone, it’s nearly impossible. He’s excited, he admits, just to be doing it again. It takes him back to being a schoolboy again, to running around with Ushas and Theta and Mortimer and the rest.
The Maestro opens the door, and steps outside, and everything is wrong. It hits him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to his skull: a niggling, buzzing sensation down, one of the unnamed Time Lord senses flashing. Warning light. He takes off running, racing through the streets of the city, half a mile, barely even noticing the damage, the scorch-marks on the streets, the metal casing and armor littered at the sidewalk. He just looks like another bloke, albeit not one with earbuds in.
Cybermen too, eh? Wicked.
He ends up—where else?—in a factory, the headquarters. The battle’s won, the Cybermen are defeated, and some little men and women are trying to clean things up, or just holding on to one another. He doesn’t have time for that, not now. He vaults over a still-twitching corpse, ducks a half-fallen metal girder, rounds the corridor where the buzzing swells up, where it increases and blares and he can’t bloody ignore it.
Finally, he stops, out of breath, silently wheezing as he stares. Stares at the woman coolly regarding the Controller. It’s her. It’s her.
“Doctor?”
And then there were two.