The Master, seeing the Projectile Best Friend, drops a project at which he’s labored for sixty-eight solid hours, and it shatters, motherboard, wires, bolts, and all, onto the ground, in a fantastical cacophony of destruction.
He lets out an undignified squeak, just as the Doctor’s body strikes his, and he goes flying back onto his ass.
“What the DEVIL? What in the name of RASSILON’S LEFT TESTICLE?!”
That moment when your character looks more like their adopted Pa’ Than their Bio Dad – The roundness, the angles, the nose and the smile… Hell even the hair colour… (tho its dyed lighter – naturally its a dark blonde/brown)
“Not helpful. Not helpful even a LITTLE BIT.” He moved past the other, barely touching him as he ran to the kitchen. “Come on-!! Quickly, follow me !!”
“ … right.”
The Master watches the Doctor exiting the room, flailing like a demented howler monkey, proclaiming death and despair at the hands of legumes.
Takes him back, really, to their school days. All he ever really wanted to do was complete his homework undisturbed.
Three guesses as to how many nights a schoolweek this successfully occurred.
He gathers his superhuman patience, draws his laser, and composedly follows the demented howler monkey.
“Absolutely,” he retorts, without another syllable, certainly not about where it’s been stashed.
//Anyway now that weirdly insecure anons are trying to plant seeds of doubt about my writing skills in my mind, this convinces me that I’m actually doing a respectable job, and fuels my contrary and stubborn ass to ask you all to FOLLOW AND INTERACT WITH MY THIRTEEN BLOG :DDDD
Icarus 