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x13 [accidental visual] darling I want to destroy you
fight with me don't run from me
beholdthedrums wrote in taxonomites
((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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The Doctor spits out a mouthful of blood. He's not looking particularly happy with his current status. His hand that holds the rapier is bruised from throwing punches that have hit and those that have missed.

He used to fight with rules and with some vestige of honor.

That was before, of course. He's learned that being victorious feels good.

"Really?" he calls back. "Cause I don't think you can!"

He throws a few thrusts in the Master's direction, each a little off in their precision due to the anger and force he puts behind them.

The Master's lips curl back in a snarl. At one time he'd been good at hiding his emotions from the Doctor, now he's furious and unable to contain it. But unlike the Doctor, in his anger the Master still has his accuracy after being long since accustomed to this dance.

Only in the past, the Doctor hasn't been this violent. It's something new the Master hasn't quite been able to work around, and the explanation for several of his own bruises.

He fends away the Doctor's attempts and ducks in for his own. The Doctor has not yet bled enough. "Do not even dare to test my skills!"

The Doctor cries out as the Master's sword hits him in the side. He backs up and tosses his suit jacket away, freeing up his arms and showing off the lovely red mark where the Master just hit.

"I wouldn't dare," he says in return. "You're always really tetchy when you fail."

He throws another few slashes in the Master's direction, then follows it up with a kick towards his knee, to try to knock him off balance.

The Master isn't allowed enough time to be pleased over his new mark, and he meets the ground roughly, one hand skidding raw across it. He has his sword up quickly to defend and swipe at the Doctor's ankles with the tip, wrapping in the fingers of his other hand to try and dull the pain.

He suddenly lets out a laugh, despite the Doctor's comment, as he picks himself up off the ground, careful of the Doctor's blade, and he continues to laugh. "Oh, this is glorious, Doctor," he snickers, slow and deadly. "You're feeding them exactly what they want." And by 'them' he meant the drums.

"Oh, and here I thought they hated me," the Doctor says after just leaping back to avoid the Master's sword tip. "Because I know how to make them silent. I know how to stop them, Master, even if you won't let me."

He circles the Master, trying to get his breath back. He's out of practice and he's not happy with how he can't seem to get an advantage.

"Blood, violence, battle," the Master says each word as though he relishes them above any other; he gives each their own mental pedestal to feed his mental torrent. A slow grin curves across his face, his head tilting back, and he looks so at ease with the situation. Yes, the Doctor will not ever hold any advantage over the Master for long, because the Master himself is far too unpredictable.

He spreads his arms loosely, the grin never faltering. He continues, voice low. "Hatred. Chaos. Keep it coming, Doctor."

Despite how loose the Master may appear, he will be quick to react when the Doctor moves for him again.

The Doctor wants to deny him. He wants to stand there and tell the drums to go to hell and leave because they don't deserve the energy he's putting into them. He wants to do this. He wants to do it very badly.

But he can't. He can't control himself, where the Master is concerned, and he rushes forward to attack.

He walked right into the trap. Idiot, he mentally chastises, but then, the Doctor had done exactly what the Master expected him to do. Rushed in head-on without thinking, and the Master was well prepared.

He immediately tenses up the moment the Doctor takes his first move, and sidesteps him, using his free, bloodied hand to grab the Doctor's blade (what's a little bit more of a cut?) and twist it around, then stepping close to jab his own blade for an open spot of the Doctor's flesh.

The Doctor should've seen it coming, but he's stupidly blind when it comes to the Master and he knows this. The Master's sword goes through his side, tearing up already bruised flesh and piercing a lung. It hurts, and the Doctor can already feel blood begin to pool in his lung. He mentally shuts down that part of his body, but still manages to cough up some blood before he does.

He kicks upwards, aiming for the Master's stomach or groin. Hardly the fairest of moves, but he's not about to die, not here.

"No one's knocking yet," he hisses.

He takes the kick and draws in a sharp breath, but no pain can get rid of his feeling of victory and he slides back a few paces. "Do you want me to knock?" the Master whispers; an offer. "Do you want to die, Doctor? Running for so long... to one side of the universe to the other..." A chuckle. "It could all stop. Four, simple, knocks..."

Then he scoffs. As if.

"That will hardly be what kills you. Stop being such a drama queen and get up."

"You never could," the Doctor replies in a hiss. "You never could kill me and don't pretend you could."

In many ways, he does want to die. This regeneration started out so promising, there was so much life and happiness there. Now he's cruel, he's cold, he can't even fight without needing to win.

"You coward."

The Master's expression hardens. Coward. He's no coward! And the Doctor, such the hypocrite! It isn't as though he could kill the Master, either. "Maybe if you asked nicely," he says forcefully, his hand tightening on his sword. He stares down at the Doctor with a look of complete disgust.

Edited at 2010-05-01 03:41 am (UTC)

"Maybe if you learned how to fight," the Doctor snaps. "Maybe if you thought about actually finishing what you started!"

He throws a few half-hearted attacks at the Master, as if begging for him to just take the advantage, to kill him now.

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!"

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