So I think I’m actually done roleplaying… or at least done with this fandom. I’ll leave everything here and stuff, but I won’t be posting anything else. Guess I’m just too tired and busy and not really creative anyway. It was really great playing with you guys and I hope y’all continue to have a great time. Thank you all for the brilliant experiences and stories. Goodbye.
P.S.:If you want to stay in contact with me for some reason, I’ll be on my personal blog from now on. <3
"I already know what you think of me…" The Master pressed his face against the dog’s fur and sighed. The knife dropped from his hand and he whispered small comforts to Sam. "You think I’m weak… and stupid. You think I won’t do something monstrous to prove a point. You think I’m not a monster and that’s the problem here. We both seem to have forgotten that…”
He pulled away from the dog and let it go. Sam trotted over to Lucy and licked her hand gently. Another sigh and the Master met his wife’s gaze with resolve.
"Push me too far and everyone—except you—dies."
As if he hadn’t heard a word Lucy had said to him, the Master stood suddenly. A hand wrapped around her arm and pushed her into the counter. The Master held her there for a minute, his eyes angry and his grip bruising.
Before she could get her hands on him, he moved back away from her and walked into the bedroom. He returned a minute or so later, half-dragging Sam into the room by his collar. In his other hand, he held a rather large and unusually designed knife. He knelt next to the dog and stared up at his wife.
"Are you in the mood for German Shepard tonight? I hear the meat is very tender…" he asked, a casual smile on his face. Sam sat down so the Master would let go of his collar and the Time Lord merely petted him gently.
The Master let out a long, heavy sigh, took a sip of his drink, and set it gently on the table.
"You really should know better, Lucy…" he muttered, tracing a finger around the edge of the glass. His next words were patronizing, as if he was talking to a child. He still would not look at her. "How many times has this gotten you in trouble? This game you like playing so much… Do you like making me angry?"
The glass in the Master’s hand cracked… but it didn’t shatter. He didn’t look up at Lucy, he just kept staring into his glass. Did she think that this was some kind of game?
"Take it off," he said quietly, a sneer curling his lips. "Now.”
A few hours later, the Master arrives home looking ten times beyond irritated. It’s the kind of irritation that is shown in posture rather than facial expression. He’s standing up straight as drops his bag loudly on the table; moving slowly and precisely as he pours himself a glass of some foreign type of alcohol. It’s as if he’s trying hard not to break everything he’s holding… the slight tremor in his hands is testament to that.
He does not call for his wife—he does not say anything, in fact. He merely sits at the table and stares at the substance swirling in his glass. His eyes are empty and his breathing is slow and steady. There are so many things going around in his head about the situation he’s found himself in recently that the dog chewing up his favorite leather jacket (which is no longer in production) is the last straw. I’m going to kill that dog…
[Text] The dog goes.
[Text] This is not up for negotiation.
[Text] I’ll see you when I get home.
[Text] That dog is going back to whatever hell-hole you picked him up from.
[Text] End of conversation.