Send “We’re married.” for my muse to wake up in a future or alternate reality where our muses are married.
This. This!
This actually wasn’t that surprising, at all. Missy opened her eyes, realized of her situation, groaned and proceeded to sank on her resting spot again. Of course, she was going to establish an economic and legal alliance with herself. Himself. Themselves.
“Since we are Mr. and Mrs. Paradox now, can we get our daughter back?”
The Master sheds his nightshirt and buttons up his charcoal top, with its flawlessly pressed collar, and then he slips into the throbbing red lined black overcoat, tucking up the collar, like donning a mantle of ill will.
He licks his lips and smiles.
“Oh, we’ll get back that which we love, that which we deserve, my darling. All of it. A l l . Of it. But first. Don’t you think it’d be fun if we reminded this universe why it fears us?”
The one he was proposing was a quite logical and sensible course of actions. Yes, the universe needed a reminder.
And yet.
“There’s always time for that, Junior. The universe will fear me, will fear you no matter what we do. Old men will piss themselves at the very sight of your face, you can count on that. But I’m tired. Of waiting. You can go out and play if you want to so bad, but I have a better idea.”
He cocks his head, quelled by her suggestion, and takes a seat at the foot of the bed, watching her closely.
“I confess myself confused, dearest. Do you speak of the same daughter we lost well before the Time War? The one we …ah, abandoned, in pursuit of the Doctor? I’ve been looking for her for years. No matter who I interrogate, torture or kill, the answer is always that she’s dead. That’ll not stop me, though. Not if you’ve ‘an idea’ … ?”
“D’you mean to say that by being in the same place despite our horse-shoed timeline, we’ve created a temporal paradox big enough to find her?”
Send “We’re married.” for my muse to wake up in a future or alternate reality where our muses are married.
This. This!
This actually wasn’t that surprising, at all. Missy opened her eyes, realized of her situation, groaned and proceeded to sank on her resting spot again. Of course, she was going to establish an economic and legal alliance with herself. Himself. Themselves.
“Since we are Mr. and Mrs. Paradox now, can we get our daughter back?”
The Master sheds his nightshirt and buttons up his charcoal top, with its flawlessly pressed collar, and then he slips into the throbbing red lined black overcoat, tucking up the collar, like donning a mantle of ill will.
He licks his lips and smiles.
“Oh, we’ll get back that which we love, that which we deserve, my darling. All of it. A l l . Of it. But first. Don’t you think it’d be fun if we reminded this universe why it fears us?”
Icarus 