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fandomweekly2017-02-23 02:01 am
but_can_i_be_trusted) wrote in fandomweekly2017-02-23 02:01 am
Entry tags:
[#034] Parade of Horrors (Doctor Who)
Theme Prompt: #034: Signs and Portents
Title: 'Parade of Horrors'
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: PG; some disturbing concepts; some mild emotional blackmail/psychological torture
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 546
Summary: There was nothing the Doctor could offer to the Master, to make him bring the parade of horrors to an end.
The arrival of the spheres had been lauded as the long-awaited First Contact, a momentous event in Earth history.
Bleakly, the Doctor wondered just how many people had seen that event for what it truly was: An omen of disaster. Now death and destruction were the rule, the world burning and churning and screaming out in unending agony. Safe havens were a thing of the past, for certainly there were none to be found any longer.
It stung both his hearts to see the world he'd always protected lying vulnerable, prey to the whims of a madman. A madman he had once treasured as his dearest friend. While all he himself could do was watch, a helpless captive.
To have to sit idly by and bear witness to the slaughter the Toclafane wrought...no other form of torture could be so painful. So cruel.
There were times when he would try to make the Master see reason--an effort that, deep down, he knew could only go to waste. Reason was lost on the renegade. But he was still the Doctor, and he'd be damned to a thousand Hells if he didn't at least make the attempt now and then.
"Please," he would whisper plaintively, unable to look away from the way the humans were being made to suffer. "You brought this about; you can stop it."
One hand would clutch at his necktie, and he would fight the urge to flinch as he was spun around to face that insane smile.
"Look at you," the Master would murmur, his voice thick with demonic glee. "Praying to me like a supplicant to his god. Am I your god now, Doctor? What sacrifices would you make to me, in order to make me end my rule of this sickening little rock you're so fond of? Come on, Doctor," he would suddenly shout, forcing the Doctor to his knees and standing over him, arms spread to encompass his dark triumph. "Tell me! Let's pretend, you and I, that the Valiant is my temple. What would you bring to the altar, to guarantee that I'd have mercy on these worthless little insects?" He would stride confidently, circling the Doctor, knowing who held all the cards.
It was all just another cat-and-mouse game. They both knew that, every time the scenario played out. It was a perpetual exercise of ecstasy on one hand, humiliation on the other. There was nothing the Doctor could offer to the Master, to make him bring the parade of horrors to an end. But he still could never help trying.
"Myself," he would mutter, as humbly as possible. "I'll act as the sacrifice. Leave Earth alone, and I'll do whatever you want. I'll be your slave for the rest of our lives, if that's what it will take."
At this point, merciless fingers would clench at the back of his neck and shove hard, forcing him face-down onto the floor. He would lie there, unflinching, as one foot rested gently on his back.
"Sacrifice rejected," the Master would always hiss before walking away. Leaving him lying there, ashamed of having failed yet again. Knowing that he'd do it all again, out of a dim hope that maybe--maybe--the next time would be a success.
Title: 'Parade of Horrors'
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating/Warnings: PG; some disturbing concepts; some mild emotional blackmail/psychological torture
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 546
Summary: There was nothing the Doctor could offer to the Master, to make him bring the parade of horrors to an end.
The arrival of the spheres had been lauded as the long-awaited First Contact, a momentous event in Earth history.
Bleakly, the Doctor wondered just how many people had seen that event for what it truly was: An omen of disaster. Now death and destruction were the rule, the world burning and churning and screaming out in unending agony. Safe havens were a thing of the past, for certainly there were none to be found any longer.
It stung both his hearts to see the world he'd always protected lying vulnerable, prey to the whims of a madman. A madman he had once treasured as his dearest friend. While all he himself could do was watch, a helpless captive.
To have to sit idly by and bear witness to the slaughter the Toclafane wrought...no other form of torture could be so painful. So cruel.
There were times when he would try to make the Master see reason--an effort that, deep down, he knew could only go to waste. Reason was lost on the renegade. But he was still the Doctor, and he'd be damned to a thousand Hells if he didn't at least make the attempt now and then.
"Please," he would whisper plaintively, unable to look away from the way the humans were being made to suffer. "You brought this about; you can stop it."
One hand would clutch at his necktie, and he would fight the urge to flinch as he was spun around to face that insane smile.
"Look at you," the Master would murmur, his voice thick with demonic glee. "Praying to me like a supplicant to his god. Am I your god now, Doctor? What sacrifices would you make to me, in order to make me end my rule of this sickening little rock you're so fond of? Come on, Doctor," he would suddenly shout, forcing the Doctor to his knees and standing over him, arms spread to encompass his dark triumph. "Tell me! Let's pretend, you and I, that the Valiant is my temple. What would you bring to the altar, to guarantee that I'd have mercy on these worthless little insects?" He would stride confidently, circling the Doctor, knowing who held all the cards.
It was all just another cat-and-mouse game. They both knew that, every time the scenario played out. It was a perpetual exercise of ecstasy on one hand, humiliation on the other. There was nothing the Doctor could offer to the Master, to make him bring the parade of horrors to an end. But he still could never help trying.
"Myself," he would mutter, as humbly as possible. "I'll act as the sacrifice. Leave Earth alone, and I'll do whatever you want. I'll be your slave for the rest of our lives, if that's what it will take."
At this point, merciless fingers would clench at the back of his neck and shove hard, forcing him face-down onto the floor. He would lie there, unflinching, as one foot rested gently on his back.
"Sacrifice rejected," the Master would always hiss before walking away. Leaving him lying there, ashamed of having failed yet again. Knowing that he'd do it all again, out of a dim hope that maybe--maybe--the next time would be a success.
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