blondechav:

 masterfulxrhythm‌:

     “HehHAHHHH!” 

The Master applauds Rose–be it her spunk, her wit or her existence that spurs this, one cannot be certain.  But he radiates satisfaction.

      “You are. You absolutely are Rose Tyler.  Oho, oi, you and me, mate, we’re a pair of blondes with brown eyes, and look, the aesthetic’s on par. Lots of glam, heavy eye makeup, I’m living the dream right now.   I’m this close to incorporating pink into my wardrobe because of looking at you.”

He offers a hand smugly.  

    “If you’re as dear to the Doctor as she says, you’ve heard of me. I’m the Master.  Congratulations on being you.  Because I like you, and I can count the people I like on the fingers of one hand.”  

           “ ‘s FUNNY. your name never really came up… ”

the master. he’s right, she has heard of him, though despite what he seems to think, it’s NOT because the doctor has ever made mention of him. her colleagues on the other hand… MOST of it was only in passing. sometimes she’d hear the name mentioned whenever someone wanted a doctor story to rival the plethora of her own. none of what she’d heard was particularly GOOD, at least as far as which side of trouble he was on.

it makes sense, she supposes. despite his current, jovial demeanor, she had a sneaking suspicion that something DANGEROUS was lurking there, underneath the surface. just what sort of trouble would she be in for if he didn’t like her?

           “ so ‘s tha’ supposed to sound impressive, then? ‘the master’? ‘cause between you &. me, mate, tha’s a bit pretentious, even for a time lord. ”  if nothing else, it was definitely the sort of name that gave off EVIL MASTERMIND vibes, so perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to be roasting him for his self-naming choices.

               if he really liked her so much, he could put up with it.

still, rudeness was much more up the doctor’s alley than her own. she starts to reach out her hand to take the one offered to try &. temper it out, but something about the way he’d phrased everything makes her pause.

               as she says. as SHE says. 

           “ actually, ‘ang on. she? as in: THE DOCTOR? ”  faint memories of the pictures clive had shown her years ago spring to mind. knowing what she knew now about regeneration, there was no doubt that clive had been right in his theory that all of them were the same person. shame she could never tell him that. shame she’d missed them all herself too. she’d quite liked the ones in between…  “ so, blonde again, then? yellow braces? or is she the TALL one now? ‘m no’ sayin’ it matters or anythin’, it jus’… puts things into PERSPECTIVE. ” 

they were what — three? maybe even four regenerations in since parting? &. the doctor was saying she was dear to her? that was MORE of a confidence boost than the strange shower of compliments the master had given.

   “ … ah.”  

Rose can’t know that her words are a sharp backhand across the face.  Or perhaps she can, and she conceals her schadenfreude considerably well, but that’s the rub: the Master highly doubts she has any notion of how dismissive she’s being.  Her compassion is legendary.  

No, she can’t know what she’s confirmed.  While the Doctor literally crafted the Master like a chisel to marble with a single childhood act of (understandable, so bloody understandable) selfishness, and another single adulthood act of (understandable, so bloody understandable) abandonment … . in the reverse, the Master is just one of many important people in the Doctor’s orbit, relegated to a place of convenience when all other options have grown too angry, disillusioned, or hurt by the Doctor’s actions.   The slight owes little to the Doctor having thought himself the last of his kind in Rose’s company.  After all, who can justify failing to ever mention an old friend, or a notorious enemy? Even once, over a fire, for nostalgia’s sake?

God, there are moments when the Master can fool himself that the Doctor is as infatuated with him as he is with her. 

This is not one of those moments.  

So wounded is he by Rose’s casual brush-off that he scarcely registers the intentional insult that follows.  He staggers for dignity, scrambling for a riposte, cheeks on fire.  

    “Well, my dear, that … happens to be the currency of Time Lords: we are affected and vain.”

He smiles thinly.  

     “It would seem that you could ask her all these things in person.”