Caz251's Fiction Both Fan & Original
Title: Words of the Master
Author: Caz251
Summary: A collection of letters written by the Master.
Spoilers: Spoilers for S3 EP 11 12 & 13, Utopia, Sound of Drums & The Last of the TimeLords
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
Author: Caz251
Summary: A collection of letters written by the Master.
Spoilers: Spoilers for S3 EP 11 12 & 13, Utopia, Sound of Drums & The Last of the TimeLords
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.
Chapter 1 - Dear Lucy
Dear Lucy,
My Darling Wife, you are completely useless, you understand that don’t you. You are utterly worthless, of all the things you had to screw up, you screw up my death and condemn me to life with him, the bloody Doctor. I’m stuck in this TARDIS, I must admit the little bit of home is comforting, but I’m stuck with Mr. Bleeding-Bloody-Heart. Why did you have to miss, firing a gun isn’t that hard, especially not for someone from such a war-like race, it didn’t need to be any fancy shot just one that would have put me out of my misery. We discussed this, you promised me that if it all went to hell you would end me, all the things I did to make you happy and you couldn’t do one thing for me. Shakespeare had the right idea, even if he was an ape, “Frailty thy name is woman.”
The TARDIS is healing from my cannibalisation of her, and the song is returning, it cannot however block the sound of the drums. I hear them Lucy, I hear the calling, the call to war, they won’t stop, they just get louder and louder and louder. Dun, Den, Dun, Dun. Over and over again, that is all I hear, not even the sound of the universe can block them, the constant drumming that only I am cursed with.
I know I always wanted to stand out and be different, unique, but I could live without this form of uniqueness. Why I wonder was I chosen, out of all of us who looked into the untempered schism, why did the drums choose me? I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, your little brain won’t really understand the complexity of it all, I suppose I just need to tell someone, even if they don’t understand.
Mr. Sanctimonious or the Doctor as he prefers to be called would probably say something along the lines of how “talking about these things helps” or how a problem shared is a problem halved, or some other contrite nonsense. I can’t stand him, people think I’m the one with the problems, I’m not the one who believes that he can save everything he comes across, then gets upset for the loss of life, all the while he’s got me chained up in the TARDIS like some damned pet.
He just left me here unable to go anywhere while he strutted around on what he informed me was a replica of the Titanic, but an airship, did you see it Lucy dear, it apparently came quite close to meeting the Queen. Then he comes back bemoaning the fate of those who had lost their lives, how cruel is that? I would gladly die to be rid of him or for him to die, and then when he doesn’t die he talks about those who did manage to escape in front of me, the one who needs to escape him the most.
Anyway, I must go, it is nearly time for my daily dose of “Why did you do what you did? Why wouldn’t you talk to me?” he really does make me feel ill.
Your Master
Harry
My Darling Wife, you are completely useless, you understand that don’t you. You are utterly worthless, of all the things you had to screw up, you screw up my death and condemn me to life with him, the bloody Doctor. I’m stuck in this TARDIS, I must admit the little bit of home is comforting, but I’m stuck with Mr. Bleeding-Bloody-Heart. Why did you have to miss, firing a gun isn’t that hard, especially not for someone from such a war-like race, it didn’t need to be any fancy shot just one that would have put me out of my misery. We discussed this, you promised me that if it all went to hell you would end me, all the things I did to make you happy and you couldn’t do one thing for me. Shakespeare had the right idea, even if he was an ape, “Frailty thy name is woman.”
The TARDIS is healing from my cannibalisation of her, and the song is returning, it cannot however block the sound of the drums. I hear them Lucy, I hear the calling, the call to war, they won’t stop, they just get louder and louder and louder. Dun, Den, Dun, Dun. Over and over again, that is all I hear, not even the sound of the universe can block them, the constant drumming that only I am cursed with.
I know I always wanted to stand out and be different, unique, but I could live without this form of uniqueness. Why I wonder was I chosen, out of all of us who looked into the untempered schism, why did the drums choose me? I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, your little brain won’t really understand the complexity of it all, I suppose I just need to tell someone, even if they don’t understand.
Mr. Sanctimonious or the Doctor as he prefers to be called would probably say something along the lines of how “talking about these things helps” or how a problem shared is a problem halved, or some other contrite nonsense. I can’t stand him, people think I’m the one with the problems, I’m not the one who believes that he can save everything he comes across, then gets upset for the loss of life, all the while he’s got me chained up in the TARDIS like some damned pet.
He just left me here unable to go anywhere while he strutted around on what he informed me was a replica of the Titanic, but an airship, did you see it Lucy dear, it apparently came quite close to meeting the Queen. Then he comes back bemoaning the fate of those who had lost their lives, how cruel is that? I would gladly die to be rid of him or for him to die, and then when he doesn’t die he talks about those who did manage to escape in front of me, the one who needs to escape him the most.
Anyway, I must go, it is nearly time for my daily dose of “Why did you do what you did? Why wouldn’t you talk to me?” he really does make me feel ill.
Your Master
Harry
