taxonomites | x13 [accidental visual] darling I want to destroy you

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x13 [accidental visual] darling I want to destroy you

((Expect either or both Time Lords to answer replies. lol.

Warning: Swordfighting, lots of stabbing, and blood in the Doctor-Master thread.))

When the visual switches on the only thing it momentarily shows is the wall that the tablet slammed into, and then as it slowly drags away the shaky view reveals two Time Lords, bloodied, bruised, and breathing heavily. There's a vicious look in the Master's eyes, the visual brushing across the side of his face and catching a small spatter of red before dropping back down.

The tablet sits fittingly minimized in the Master's bracelet, but it displays the scene: the Master and the Doctor, fencing foils brandished, and a quiet Taxon street around them (certainly if they had at one time had company, their fight has long since chased it away). Their is nothing innocent about this fight anymore. They are both out to win, and they'll both fight dirty to get it.

"Really, Doctor," the Master drawls, "you can do better than that." Because mocking an angry Time Lord is always a brilliant idea.

If any brave soul were to comment on what in Taxon's name they thought they were doing... well. It may at least distract them from losing all their blood on the streets.

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He is asking for it now. The Master may never be able to kill the Doctor, but he has no qualms about injuring him until he regrets having ever opened his mouth. His anger dances like fire in his eyes; his attack is not half-hearted, and he strikes into the Doctor again with no remorse.

The Doctor cries out and drops as the attack slashes his fighting shoulder. He leans forward and coughs up more blood.

He's failing. He's losing. He never loses, there's always a way out.

He switches hands and fights with his off arm.

"Is that the best you can do?" he demands. "No wonder I've always beat you. You don't know how to play an endgame, Master, you never have!"

This is actually quite pathetic; that's all the Master can think now as he looks at the Doctor. Bloodied, and pathetic. He doesn't even put in much effort to block the other. The drums have quieted through the battle, and even though he's sure they're itching for a killing blow, his head doesn't ache for it.

He feels subdued, and instead of replying to the Doctor, he simply watches him, silent.

The Doctor can't beat him, but the Master's lack of a response infuriates him. He sneers.

"Come on," he goads. "Go on and do it! Or haven't you got the stomach for it?"

He loses his balance and stumbles forward.

"And allow you to rise up from regeneration with a new, whole body? No. Keep your cuts and scrapes for a few days, why don't you." The Master isn't taking the bait. His gaze remains neutral as he watches the Doctor fall. He shuts his eyes and takes a quiet moment to let his beat knock amongst his thoughts, while still keeping alert if the Doctor is stupid enough to still move and attack him.

"I'm not going to regenerate, or weren't you listening?" the Doctor says with a cynical laugh. "Four knocks, big prophecy? Do you think it would only be about me doing something as simple as regeneration?"

He struggles to get back to his feet and moves to attack again.

"It's highly likely that will be the case," the Master answers. "You're too attached to this body of yours." The sound of the Doctor's struggle alerts the Master of the other moving again, but he doesn't open his eyes when the Doctor attacks. In fact, he takes the blow, a fast cut into his side. He grits his teeth and lets out a hiss of a breath from the pain, but otherwise remains strong, eyes still closed.

"You're pathetic," he finally voices at last.

"You're the one who can't finish the fight," the Doctor shouts. "Finish it! Kill me! Do it!"

He can't, can he?

But the Doctor couldn't kill him, if the situations were reversed.

The Master shoves him, hard, away from him. "I have plans," he says coolly. "There's no benefit in killing you now."

"That's a pathetic excuse," the Doctor says. "You just don't want to kill me, do you? Or maybe you just don't think you can."

"Fine," he spits. "I don't want to kill you. Can I? Oh yes, I could. It'd be too damn easy with how crippled you've gotten yourself. Terrible footwork."

He shakes his head and paces around the Doctor's side, watching the area before him rather than the Doctor himself. He skims the tip of his blade against the ground as he moves.

The admittance throws the Doctor. He expected to be able to ride this out for a good while longer, but now he's thrown and has no idea how to respond.

"Why not?" he snaps. "Why won't you kill me? It's what you wanted! You want me dead!"

"No. I want you violently mutilated to the point where you're an edge away from regeneration so that you can heal, and then I can do it again." He turns with a manic grin to face the Doctor again. There's an edge of brutal honesty to his voice.

The Doctor looks up at him with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Maybe I'll do what you did," he says. "Maybe I'll die, just to win."

The Master's face goes blank. He stares at the Doctor, just as taken aback as the Doctor had been by his earlier admittance. Then, he shakes his head again and looks away. "You would never," he says with confidence. He doesn't think the Doctor could take victory in that way; it's too much like giving up, for him. Likely no backup plan, either.

"Oh, I've done a lot of things you think I'd never do," the Doctor says, grinning at him manically. Madly. This far into his life, he's certainly lost a good deal of his sanity.

"Destroyed whole worlds, ripped lives apart, rewrote time. I think this is just the next logical step." He grips his sword handle and pulls himself back to his feet.

His blade instantly straightens, well balanced, horizontally in the air, angled in the Doctor's direction. The Master doesn't look at him. Still, after all this time, he isn't sure what to make of this Doctor. He isn't sure he likes it, at all. His cracks are in his companions, but where once he would become broken, now this Time Lord Victorious was held up by anger.

"The drums would like you," he says. "I should share them with you. That's the next logical step."

"I thought you wanted them to be all for yourself," the Doctor asks, sounding more amused than anything else.

He holds his own blade out, then tosses it up, catching it by the blade. It slices his palm, but he holds it steady.

"Take it."

Yes, the Master was quite the contradictory one, wasn't he? Always changing his mind on so many things, but some of those opinions will never falter. He chooses not to comment, but at seeing the offered blade, he raises a brow in question.

"And you said I was predictable."

The Doctor tosses the rapier towards the Master, handle out so he can catch it easily.

He's been in here too long. He's been locked up and losing his mind and he's ready to push a few more buttons. The moment the Master catches the sword, he runs onto it.

The Master only has a moment for confusion to spike, and then the Doctor is too close, the blade through him, and the Master is far too horrified to hide it. He lets go of the handle and drops his own sword, stepping back.

He realizes the Doctor never answered his question: do you want to die. He avoided it skillfully, and likely on purpose, and he knows the Master wouldn't ever kill him purposely so then... "Why?" the Master demands, fists clenched at his sides to try and hide the fact that he's shaking. "Why?"

The Doctor looks down at the rapier going through his belly. It's just about missed his spine, but his stomach has a hole through it and he can feel the symbiotic bacteria in the lining start to seep out into his bloodstream. Sepsis, soon, if he doesn't die from blood loss, first.

Nobody's knocking.

"I win," he says, feeling his legs start to buckle, and he's surprised at how very like the Master he sounds.

He's not the only one surprised. The Master is furious. How dare the Doctor even think to do something like this! He didn't have that right!

He does keep the Doctor from falling, but it's a rough grip, his hands digging into the skin of the Doctor's shoulders (and yes, though wound on one of them). He shakes him, as if that would help matters, but in some twisted way it makes the Master feel better. That's what matters, right? Feeling good.

But no, no, no! This is wrong! He has plans! He's almost done! His signal is almost ready, everything's almost in place! "You're not going to ruin this!" The Master yells at him. "You can't! This goes my way!"

The Doctor cries out in pain as the Master's hand grips his shoulder. He hurts all over. He wants to be smug, he wants to smile about this, but it hurts.

If he dies here, will he stay dead? Will he regenerate, if he allows himself to? What will happen to the TARDIS? And, really, does it matter anymore?

"I don't think it does this time, Master."

"Trying to put to wreck my plans before they even reach fruition." He shakes his head, mind racing and clouded in panic that he tries not to show.

"You're an idiot," the Master snaps. He shifts his hands off the Doctor's shoulder wound. It's a small gesture. He isn't about to show outright compassion, but he doesn't need to make the situation any worse than it already is.

He clenches his eyes shut against the pain in his mind. He needs to think right now, not deal with their non-stop racket.

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