syncopath: (apprehensive)
Ok, this is where you tell me what a great job I am doing; what a terrible job I am doing; that you think my icons rock; that you think my icons suck; that you'd like to "steal" an icon; that you have some hot pictures of John Simm to share with me; that you'd like to plot with me; that you have a burning question about why the Master did such-and-such, or whether the Master would do such-and-such, in a plot; that you want to have my babies; that you want me to have your babies; that you are my biggest fan; that you are my worst enemy; the high points of charismatic sociopathy; and so on.

Anon is disabled but all comments are screened. This isn't a trap; I really want to know what you think (of my rping). I won't hate you if you're relatively kind, I promise.

For Jess

Sep. 9th, 2011 10:33 pm
syncopath: (what is that smell)
It's the middle of the night when the Valiant's alarms start blaring, but the Master is already up and fully dressed, stalking the halls with a perturbed expression. Normally he'd let the guards get first crack at an intruder-- usually some scared, raggedy Earthling intent on playing the hero and assassinating 'Saxon' himself. He'd usually let them rough the ape up a little, throw him bruised and bleeding at the Master's feet. Not broken, of course, oh no. He did the honors there.

But not this time. Because, in the spare few seconds before the alarms went off, the Master heard a sound that shouldn't have been, not with the measures he's taken. Not when he has the source of that sound, well and truly under his control and already on board.

It was the sound of a materializing TARDIS.

He meets the guards at the doors to one of the storage bays, waves off their questioning hesitance, and motions for them to go on in ahead. Whatever is behind those doors, he doesn't want to miss this.


Jul. 15th, 2010 05:09 pm
syncopath: (crossdress)
Title: Hello, Sweetie.
Author: Meeee (unfortunately)
Fandom: Doctor Who, set during "Silence in the Library" and "Forest of the Dead"
Characters: River Song, Tenth Doctor, the Master
Rating: PG
Summary: She never traveled with him in this body. There is no River Song. These are the places he's already been. With someone else.

Located here.
syncopath: (Default)
This is an in-game history and CR chart for the Master in Taxonomites, 8/2010-11/2010, RIP.

Logs and Transmissions )

Relationships )
Permissions )
syncopath: (Default)
This is an in-game history and CR chart for the Master in Amat, December 2009 - October 2010 RIP.

Transmissions and Logs )

Character Relationships )
syncopath: (as anything alive can be)
This is an in-game history and CR chart for the Master in Anteceded, July-August 2010 RIP.

Transmissions, Logs, and Chats )

Character Relationships )
syncopath: (how the $@#% does this thing work)
[ text | email | call | chat ]

Greetings, fellow hostages of Ceriu, and congratulations. It is your lucky day, for you have reached the Master of All. No doubt you feel you have something desperately important to tell me, but I'm afraid I'm rather... busy at the moment. Out saving the world, and all that.

Go on, then. Leave your message, and if I deem it interesting enough to respond to I shall.
syncopath: (restless)
"Couldn't you have brought us anywhere a bit more interesting?"

By 'more interesting', the Master really meant a planet with anything at all he could use to hide or escape from the Doctor. This one, with fields of purple grass as far even a Time Lord eye could see, did not fit that criteria. There was also the larger problem that the planet's atmosphere was not breathable. The two of them were lying in that grass in an atmosphere created by the TARDIS' extending its defense shields, although the Master had insisted on keeping a considerable distance from the Doctor. They were supposed to be cloudgazing-- Kelboros-5 was famous for its semi-sentient cloud formations manifesting a low-level psychic field, which would metamorphose them in response to faint psychic cues from the minds of visitors. Those with a bit of telepathic skill could control these clouds, to some extent, and it was considered an art in some cultures.

But the Master's eyes were continually drawn to the TARDIS. It was locked up, of course; else-wise the Master would have been long gone from this planet by now, and the Doctor would be asphyxiating slowly. The idea thrilled him.

Above their heads, the clouds morphed into a cruel-beaked bird swooping down on a snake, catching it in its talons and shaking fiercely.
syncopath: (tired)
He had no way of knowing how long he had been in the dark; it was a funny thing, perhaps, but even a Time Lord must concede (as much as it might personally gall him) that death is timeless by its very nature. Still, he remembered everything.

When he awoke, groggily, the first thing he did was clap a hand to his neck, expecting a mark or a hole where the persistent memory of pain told him it should be. There was nothing. A ghost feeling. He blinked twice and sat up.

The room was dim, dusty and unused, and the small sink in the corner rattled ominously before spitting out water of some unsavory color, but there was comfort, egregiously tiny as it may be, in washing up as best he could. He surveyed his surroundings again. Besides the mattress he'd woken up on (and who had placed him there?) the room boasted nothing else.

He knew when he was, but not where. Or why. Not for the first time, he wondered if it might not be a prison.

The Master took panicked strides toward the door, fully expecting it not to open when he yanked on the handle roughly, and almost falling backwards when he was proven wrong.

A maze of hallways spread itself before him, each equally dim and dusty as the room behind. As the Master began to walk, it became obvious what he'd somehow known from the moment he opened the door. It wasn't a prison.

It was a ruin.
syncopath: (scarf)
This is an in-game history for the Master in both Wasted Lands (Mar 2008-May 2008, RIP) and Crowded Hour (Mar 2009-May 2009, RIP). Some notes:

  • I picked him up from another player with the journal [ profile] lordmaster. As I did not reset him, the history therein informed his subsequent actions in-game. Therefore I've included the previous logs but marked them as decidedly Not Mine.

  • The player has since reclaimed the [ profile] lordmaster journal and is using it for god knows what.

  • I chose to import his history from Wasted Lands, his previous game, into Crowded Hour.

at Wasted Lands )
interim )

at The Crowded Hour )
syncopath: (mocking)
Hmmm. And one has to wonder where the Doctor is in all of this. Hiding in the TARDIS, like the coward he is? Aren't you meant to be the hero of this piece, Doctor? Saving everybody? You and your faithful companions? Isn't that what you live for?

Or perhaps you are, at this very moment, working on an absolutely brilliant plan which will inevitably culminate in blowing it all up? That does seem to be your modus operandi. Nothing a good cleansing fire won't fix, eh?
syncopath: (lizard)
[accidental voice post]

[the echoing sound of footsteps clacking for a few seconds, before ending abruptly. after a moment of confused silence, a disgruntled growl, and violent banging noises can be heard as he pounds a wall in frustration]

[...sort-of deliberate text]
/?~?~`````?~! yy y yyour stup pid bitthch of a ship pp//~@
canteathere no food nofood foood oOUTutside /?//////1`~ bodees letmeoutlettmeeou tLET
mE O
O uUT tt~?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1112

cant'tt' keep me e here no rihgt noriight not fair y ou sancyctimoonious g ffool

[[the Master is trapped in the Doctor's TARDIS for the time being. someone should send him a consolation fruit basket. except filled with raw meat.]]
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