There's nothing here but what here's mine.

[standsonhigh]

This wasn't, exactly, how he had planned his return. He had expected to be on home turf, a place he understood and wanted to be. Surrounded by worshippers and already plotting. Not here with some strange man using the power he gave specifically to his followers to bring him back. The books of Saxon weren't meant to be public knowledge, they were his private notes, and yet this man decided to drag him into a world he didn't want to be in.

The Master always had a funny feeling that magic wasn't something he should of ever tried to toy with because as it stood, he didn't like where this was going. It defied the logic he knew.

Voldemort was a strange creature, a very unpleasant one at that. He looked sickly and his eyes were red like an albino. Still, he didn't say much on it, he'd looked worse himself and damages were just a sign of ambition and desire. It always took everything out of you, especially with humans.

The drums were raging in his head as he followed Voldemort into this meeting he'd decided to attend. He'd only been back a few days and already he seemed to of captured the imagination of this tiny little creature who was all but eager to introduce him.

An ancient ruler from another reality must of been interesting.

He didn't walk behind Voldemort, he kept in step, not willing to seem a lesser. Hey, the dark lord brought him here. If he was going to play with this merry band of psychopaths, he wanted to seem equal.

Comments

[liquidsky]

Of course his place wasn't in the front row. Not yet. Bartemius Crouch jr was ambitious, but he was young. Younger still than others that had had the time to prove themselves already, like Snape, for instance. Oh, he was talented, but he had his father's action to cancel out and he knew there was potential he hadn't yet fulfilled.

But he stood behind the older ones, his arm marked same as theirs and his conviction, he was sure, far greater than theirs. He listened to their Lord's every word, eyes focused on him. Even if the man he talked about stood right beside him, he hardly spared him more than a glance.

Different worlds and conquering, the speech wasn't that different from the usual. But it was his charisma more than the words that inspired.

[standsonhigh]

The Master looked about as interested as everyone else in the room, distractedly checking his watch and pulling a face when Voldemort spoke of him but hardly gave him the spotlight. Did he actually remember the Master was here or was he that desperate to be in the limelight? An obvious question but one could never be entirely sure.

With a slight frown, he tilted his head to the side and cleared his throat, purposefully waving his hand behind Voldemort. The man barely broke stride in his speech but those in the crowd seemed to murmur and look around, unsure what to make of someone trying to interrupt their lord.

"Helllllo? Hi! I'm right here and I'm sure I have better input on who and what I am. If you ever get tired of hearing your own voice, I'll take over cause you're boring everyone. Me included," he chipped in, grinning brightly at the 'dark lord'. He turned his head to get a better look at the mass of people now staring at him. Some angry, some confused, mostly not pleased by his interference. Blind worship was such a silly notion, did they have a sense of humour?

The Master moved closer to the edge of the area they were standing and intended to take off when something caught his eye. Or more someone.

No. No! He couldn't be here, that was impossible! How-- no! It wasn't fair. With a snarl, Voldemort and his followers were forgotten as the Master leapt off the slightly raised platform and started angrily pushing his way through the crowd.

"How are you here? Tell me how you did this?!"

And, like that, he had a hold of his target. He gripped the Doctor's jacket tight in his hands, practically growling at him, barely noticing anything but his face. "You little rat, you followed me!"

[liquidsky]

Too sensitive. It was a joke that this was what he'd remember now, that he'd find that in some twisted way it was actually true. His mother had always said he was too sensitive. It had kept him from various activities, had kept him by her side and weak, intentionally or not, but that had only been for a while. In some ways, his mother had been easier to break free from than his father. In others, he felt as if her weakness was dragging him down now.

He was no longer screaming, because he was closer to feeling catatonic. Sitting in a cell with his knees pulled up to his chest and staring straight ahead at nothing, but always too aware of the Dementor's presence. Feeling how they took from him, reduced him too less and less. Too sensitive. Perhaps she had been right.

[standsonhigh]

Establishing himself had been an easy enough task, a few months showing his intelligence and efficiency as well as a dose of charm and hypnotism had soon gotten him in among those with authority. Where Voldemort sought to separate himself and be above them, the Master dropped to their level and played along. While his magic abilities were still shaky, he held a rather impressive position that few dared to question.

Mostly because his power was steadily growing and others were constantly being purged and moved around. Soon, he had a council adoring him and thousands of workers doing as he said. Perfection.

Azkaban had not been on his list of desired places to visit but he couldn't help himself. After a recent chat with the Dark Lords army, he'd learned just a few names that had been trapped there. And one definitely took his interest.

All it took was a call and he'd gotten himself a ticket inside. And his first stop? The cell that held his best enemies lookalike. Pushing the door open, the Master strode in like he owned the place, smirking as he crouched down in front of Bartimus. He looked so much like him, it was almost impossible to understand how that even worked. "Well, well, funny seeing you here."

[liquidsky]

When Barty woke up, his head was pounding. That wasn't all that unusual, on the whole, he never slept well and the recent stay at Azkaban hadn't exactly helped matters with that. What had woken him though was the sharp pain in his left arm. His eyes were still close when he tried to shift it only to let out a stifled gasp, eyes opening so he could look around frantically. A basement, pipes, his arms wrenched behind him and around them and the angle his left arm was at was definitely not natural.

His hand was already cold, prickling from the restricted blood flow, not helped by how sturdy these damn handcuffs were. Slowly his memories returned and Barty leaned back against the pipes, shifting as he tried to find a somewhat comfortable position. It didn't really work.

There was a bowl of water near him and if he could have, he'd have pushed it over to show his defiance, but it was out of reach. Maybe for the best, because as time passed he became more aware of his thirst. Barty knew that leaving him waiting, especially in this slow and annoying pain, was already part of what was to come. He ended up glaring darkly at the workbench across the room, staring at the device that had brought about his Lord's device. What a fool he had been.

[standsonhigh]

The Master didn't know what to expect when he'd done what he'd done, the moment Voldemort was lost into that blackhole, he'd expected to be mobbed. Hence the forcefield. And many did try, Barty included, but after another display of his power, most bowed out of fear. Plenty ran away. More than a few swore revenge but he didn't really fear them. No, he'd done exactly what he'd wanted and he never regretted that.

The only disappointment tonight was that Barty had rushed to stop him. He'd failed but it was still annoying, after all he'd done for the little bastard. What did Voldemort ever do but let him rot in prison? Such a foolish idiot, blindly following a man who didn't even understand what he was doing. Humans who craved eternal life didn't understand the price of it.

The Master had to finish up some business before he went down. Well, business was used lightly. He made himself some dinner, had a shower, read a book, practised a few spells and eventually he decided he'd killed enough time. Long enough to make that arm hurt and his stomach rumble anyway. Grabbing a bread roll off the counter, he held it in his hand as he finally pushed the basement door open and happily hopped down the stairs.

There was no anger, no worry or annoyance. Just a great big grin plastered on his face, smug and exceptionally proud. He threw the roll at Barty, harder than needed and enough to bounce off his chest. But he had to give him something to eat. "Dinner time. Not sure how you're going to manage, can you contort your neck to reach down to it? Because I don't trust hand feeding you, bet you're a biter."

[liquidsky]

Obviously Barty couldn't sleep. Not in the position he was forced in, not with how much pain he was in. But he did drift in and out of it and he preferred to be awake, because even that was better than his feverish dreams. His jaw was throbbing with pain, even though he kept his mouth shut. There was no light down here, nothing. He wasn't scared of the dark, never had been, but the lack of vision combined with hearing nothing but his own ragged breathing was getting to him.

His arm hurt. Not just the dislocation and still being forced and twisted, but he imagined his mark burning. As if it was trying to hurt worse than everything else combined and in his mind it almost seemed to succeed. He'd failed his Lord. He'd failed his life.

Death would be mercy, the Master was right about that. He had made a halfhearted attempt at suicide, knocking his head against the wall, but with the pipes keeping him away from them a little and the way he was tied not allowing for any momentum, it didn't get him anything but a headache. He had lost his sense of time. Maybe the Master would forget him here. Maybe he'd get to starve or die of thirst after all.

He found himself thinking back of having knocked over the bowl, imagining he had drunken some instead. His throat was dry and raw and his tongue tasted like paper. He longed for water now, another thing to haunt his dreams. Would giving in really be so bad? But he couldn't fail again.

And just quickly before work!

[standsonhigh]

When the Master next came down to check on it him, it had been at least a day and a half. He was in his dressing gown still, hair ruffled from sleep but still in a very chipper mood. He'd spent most of yesterday nailing the curse and now he was ready to prove he could do it, to show he could conquer magic after all.

But, first, he had to take care of the basics. Humans were like keeping a pet. They needed water, food, maybe a walk. He was going to have to skip the first one but he could be kind, he could share some food and maybe a little water.

Coming down the stairs, he flicked on the light and came towards the bound man. He looked a right state but the Master knew he deserved it. This was what men who tried to hurt him got and Barty would soon learn his lesson and be a good little follower. Holding a bottle of water in one hand, he came to a stop in front of the figure and unscrewed the cap.

"Want a drink yet?"

Random Christmas Interlude that can be set at any point down the line, really.

[liquidsky]

Being a wizard, Barty had lived for the first nineteen years barely ever hearing Christmas songs. Right now he'd arrived at the conclusion that - even with all else that was wrong with his life - this part he definitely had reason to be grateful for.

Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

However, he still wasn't feeling particularly grateful at the moment, for many reasons, one of them being the speakers near him that had been incessantly blaring Christmas songs for what seemed like hours.

Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

An even more convincing reason was that he couldn't move away from the speakers, because he could barely move at all. His hands were tied, literally, behind his back, tied to his ankles, in fact, with what he'd been told were Christmas lights. They weren't lit, but that didn't appear to make much of a difference anyway and it definitely didn't keep them from being a lot more sturdy than they had any right to be.

Don we now our gay apparel,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.

All he could do was squirm, which he did as inconspicuously as possible because he did have some pride after all. Especially given how ridiculous he felt wearing the suit and hardly matching shoes. Everything for the Master, although right now if he had a choice in what he had for the Master it would mostly have been a few choice words. That wasn't really happening either though, because after a few failed attempts with bows and the like, his mouth was now forced open with a bright red Christmas bauble kept in with tape and although he might have been able to work that out as well, it was far likely that it would just break and cut the inside of his mouth and that, he knew from experience, wasn't pleasant at all.

So he was resigned, for the moment, to glaring darkly at the Christmas tree next to him and listen to whatever song was playing at the moment.

Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Best Christmas gift ever

[standsonhigh]

"See the blazing Yule before us. Fa la la la la, la la la la," The Master sang out at the very top of his lungs as he burst in, joyous grin on his face. Oh Santa always knew just what he wanted and made it so possible for him to enjoy, hence why he was literally beaming at Barty like at kid at Christmas. He was wearing a bright flashing Santa's hat and had wrapped some tinsel around his neck like a casual scarf. The words 'happy holidays' beamed off the brim of the awful red and white hat, making the season even harder to ignore.

Most wizards found Christmas a baffling affair, especially with all the 'muggle' traditions. But the Master just found it sad how little they appreciated this kind of whimsy. And so they were all forced to educate themselves and celebrate this year under the Master's rule. Even Barty.

The reluctant little sod brought this on himself, he really did.

"Strike the harp and join the chorus. Fa la la la la, la la la la," the Master continued, following the music perfectly as he leapt onto the bed and jumped around on it, making Barty bounce about on the mattress helplessly, unable to escape the festive joy being forced upon him. Finally, in an effort to seem kind, he stopped bouncing and simply smirked, fall down into a sitting position. Victory was the sweetest thing, especially on this day. The holiest of days.

"I've been a very good boy this year, Barty. I've been told I get to open my gifts early and everything."

Yes, it wasn't even Christmas yet. They still had one very long night left to go before this madness could end and the Christmas songs could be turned off. He loved loud music, even nonsense like this. It drowned out the drumming and spread some christmas cheer at the same time, it was a dual purpose miracle.

[liquidsky]

Barty stared at the force field, well, not that it could really be seen, but he imagined he could feel it. Maybe some technology was closer to magic than he thought. He held his wand, ready just in case. One never knew. He didn't underestimate the Master the way some others, like the men within the circle did, but he still wanted to be able to defend himself and him, should he need to.

The most unsettling thing was being in such close proximity to the Dementors but barely being able to feel them.

"It's over soon," he mentioned, as fewer and fewer of the people inside still seemed to have life left in them.

[standsonhigh]

They thought they could overthrow him. Not only cute but very stupid, as they'd seen their last leader destroyed in front of them. There was no easier solution, really, than to gather all the traitors he knew and lock them in with these dementors. Arms crossed as he listened to the screams and cries of those around him, he didn't look happy nor worried, just bored. Dementors were a little boring, actually. They worked too fast. He liked a dragged out horrible fate, not a quick one.

"Barty?" the Master asked finally, turning his head to his loyalist follower. "Are you scared? You look scared."

He did, really, it was that unsettling unease he had on his face, perhaps without realising it. A tint of paleness that took over and left him looking very displeased. Fears were always so sickening. "You shouldn't be scared, you're with me. I'll keep you safe, won't I?"

Some time after they entered Whoverse.

[liquidsky]

It seemed like a very, very long time ago that Barty had been at Hogwarts, actually studying Astronomy. It had never been a field of particular interest to him, but he'd learned it all the same and spent the hours staring up at the sky, drawing star maps, all of it.

Maybe that was why it was coming back to him now as he looked at the sky and knew for a fact that those weren't the same stars he'd looked at back home. Even if they might behave exactly the same.

He leaned back on his elbows, tongue touching the corner of his mouth as he tried to track familiar constellations. This was so much more than he ever could have dreamed up.

[standsonhigh]

He hadn't quite managed to get a TARDIS yet, that would take a very long trip to the end of the universe and he doubted he could find enough artron energy for that till he met the Doctor again. But luckily he had a laser screwdriver capable of being plugged into a haphazardly made little machine that sort of functioned like a TARDIS. Only not as good. He couldn't really sleep in it and he was still having to upgrade it every moment, he was worried that if the barrier failed Barty would just freeze to death as they floated together through space. Not very good, really.

Hence why he was currently lying under the console of the crappy machine, which was very open what with the lack of walls and everything, trying desperately to keep on top of it. Ironically, he was better off in the wizard world. He didn't really have a home here and he'd accidentally forgotten he was the most wanted man in Britain and America, so everyone knew his face. That's what he got for assassinating the president.

"Stay together, you piece of junk," the Maser growled at the control as he fiddled with two wires that were refusing to stay stuck, no matter how much crazy glue was applied. Well, you know, supplies were low these days. And he didn't have time to join Barty for leisurely star-gazing. "This thing is driving me mad! It needs more parts and Earth has nothing. I vote hotel tonight... unless you'd like to freeze to death and suffocates. That's all up to you. Personally, I've suffered worse."

[liquidsky]

"We should run," Barty told the Master, then didn't wait long for any question the man might ask before taking his hand and pulling him along.

He had no idea what planet they were on, but then, the Master didn't seem to actually have any clue whatsoever, either, not that he admitted as much. Barty just knew him well enough to tell, every now and then. Sending Barty into the opposite direction to 'explore' was another clear sign, Barty was betting he just wanted some minutes alone to figure things out so he'd not have to admit cluelessness.

But exploring had actually turned up with something, well, someones, and so Barty did think it best to run, given the master didn't like him using magic. He reckoned he could explain on the go.

[standsonhigh]

"What? Why?" the Master asked, though he did start running anyway because that seemed like a good idea. It wasn't like he had much of a say on what was going down, he'd spent the past hour trying to work out where they were to look like he knew what was happening but he really didn't. The universe was a big place, he couldn't know all of it! That would be insane. And besides, he could only do so much and there were too many to visit in one lifetime.

All he knew was this place was hot, uncomfortable and there were a lot of footsteps in the distance.

Good thing they started running early.

"Tell me you didn't piss them off? Have you seen them yet? I think they're not a sociable race."

Sometime in Whoverse, I guess

[liquidsky]

The sounds he made were small and desperate and utterly pathetic. However, at the moment Barty didn't even have it in him to be embarrassed, he was too busy panicking, as one tended to do when one couldn't breathe.

His hands were cuffed behind his back and although he tugged on them desperately, it didn't do any good and the cuffs cut into his skin. He was frantic, really, but there was very limited movement possible with the Master keeping his legs immobile and holding his shoulder with one hand. The other, of course, was clamping his nose shut, which was why he was panicking. The tape over his mouth wasn't budging and there definitely wasn't any air coming through.

Barty didn't actually believe that the Master wanted to kill him by suffocation. It didn't seem like near big enough a gesture, for one thing, way too casual. Besides, he also knew why this was happening. A simple reminder of who was in control, by poking on Barty's control issues. It tended to happen every now and then when the Master felt he was getting too cocky. Or when he just felt like it. However, while he knew all that on some level, right now all he knew was that he wanted air and that he wasn't getting any and so his eyes were wide and staring up at the Master with whatever pleading noise he could manage.

[standsonhigh]

Oh please, Barty hadn't started to turn blue yet, he could last longer than this. He came up with this fantastic game on the Valiant, he used to play it with the Doctor, the breathing game. Though he usually played that in the bathtub and he'd hold the Doctor's head under, waiting patiently till he started to trash and only letting him up when he started to get desperate. He never wanted to kill anyone during these days, just make them think he would.

He'd wrapped duct tape rather firmly around Barty's mouths so no air could escape and pinched tight, listening to the wonderful sounds that he made. Desperate little whimpers that made the Master feel better than he'd felt in a long time. He wished he could always keep Barty this desperate.

But eventually, he would actually need to breath. The Master timed it till Barty started become faint to let go of his nose, letting him get some air. It wasn't over, the game could keep on going, he just wanted the poor bastard not to die this early on. "Come on, Barty! You can do better than that. Now, take a deep breath, we'll try again."

And, with that, he pinched Barty's noise again, sitting comfortably on his chest and ignoring the way he trashed.

Quidditch, so back in Potterverse

[liquidsky]

"You'll hate it," Barty predicted, "It won't make sense to you, so it will annoy you and you'll hate it." He knew arguing was pointless, no matter what he said, so he might as well keep trying to dissuade the Master, even as they were already on the way.

He loved quidditch, always had, maybe especially because he had never been allowed to play like he wanted to as a child and that had made it seem like a wondrous temptation, but he still liked it now and he really regretted ever even mentioning it to the Master. Because, as he had said, he was sure he'd hate it. Also make him keep explaining everything and probably have him miss half the game in the process.

[standsonhigh]

The Master was being nice. For once, he felt like it. He wanted to be nice and share this moment with Barty, enjoy something he liked for once. He'd accidentally missed the lad's birthday so he may as well do something. And apparently tying Barty to a bed and fucking him several times was not enough, it seemed a little impersonal.

Hence why he was sitting here, with very badly dressed wizards, watching a bunch of people warm up on broomsticks. Rassilon, he already hated it. "I said I'd do this and I'm doing it. So shut up and enjoy. If it gets boring, I brought a book."

A sensual guide to erotic magic... it had taken him a lot of time to find a book as depraved as this but hey, he was sitting near kids and teens, it was just hilarious to flaunt it around. Plus it gave him loads of ideas.

[liquidsky]

"So that's the Doctor." Just a statement, because obviously making it a question would be rather moot at this point. The man looked just like him, after all, especially like him on days he wore exactly what the Master told him to.

Barty stood behind the Master, watching the feed from the security cameras same as him. He was getting used to technology. He was getting used to a lot of things. Hands on his Master's shoulders he couldn't help feeling a certain unease at seeing this other him run across the screen for the tenth time.

[standsonhigh]

"Clearly," Was the snappy response he got in return, the Master leaning forward with his eyes on the screen, watching every second. Because even after all this time, the Doctor still fascinated him, he was still insane compelled by the way he moved and the way he acted. He could watch him all day if he had to. Maybe that was a little weird but he didn't care.

"What's he doing? He must know I'm here, he must of sensed me. What is his game?" Why wasn't he rushing around to find him? He was just going in loops like he was lost. That was beyond unfair. He wanted a confrontation already, he'd waited long enough. "We'll have to attract his attention."

[liquidsky]

It wasn't really surprising that the Doctor would be kept here, but there was still something deeply unsettling about walking down those stairs. Barty had spent more time here than he cared to recount. Weeks. Months, even.

He didn't really let that lingering resentment, trauma, whatever it was impact him too much, though, instead just looking at the man wearing his face and sitting on the ground because the chain of the cuffs was too short to get up. He knew all about that, too.

There was a camera and he knew the Master would be watching them. He halfway expected the Master to actually give orders even while he was down here. With magic and technology, there were more than enough ways. But Barty never hesitated about torturing someone. However, this would be the first time said someone had his face and all of the Master's obsession, so at first, he actually just looked at him.

[perfectten]

On hindsight, perhaps reasoning with a psychopathic genocidal Time Lord with serious ego issues just wasn't something that should be done. And asking to 'fix him' was clearly the wrong road to go down. The Doctor wanted to help, he'd always wanted to help, he just didn't get how. How did one cure an imaginary noise in someone's head? -- Or, better yet, convince someone it wasn't real when they were that obsessed with it? He already tried today and it had ended with a fist in the face.

At least he thought it was today, time was not really easy to track here. The rules were wrong and everything was off.

He was in the middle of trying to work out the best way to free himself (he was pretty sure the Master had taken his screwdriver) when he heard the door open, expecting someone entirely different. And honestly, there was something so jarring about looking at his face. Well, kind of. Not his face but definitely his face. Somehow. His own face on someone else. Someone who looked so much more tired, so much more unsettled and human. Broken. It was like Lucy all over again.

What did the Master call this one? Barty? His Barty. About right, such an egotist, he just had to own everyone and everything. Even these humans.

"You're Barty, aren't you?" the Doctor asked, wasting no time and he forced himself to lean forward so he could be at a better angle, despite the pain it shot through his arm. "I bet you are, face like that. It's a good face, very good, I like it anyway. Got some good mileage out of it to. I'm the Doctor, by the way! I'm betting you've heard of me. I'd shake your hand but -- well, you know."

[liquidsky]

It didn't exactly come out of nowhere, but Barty still couldn't have predicted when exactly the Master would see it fit to try and remove the Dark Mark. There were a lot of reasons he didn't actually want it to happen, for one thing, obviously, he was sure it would hurt a lot.

For another, he wasn't even entirely sure how it would work, given the magical properties of the Mark. And lastly... It symbolized a lot, it meant a lot, even if it was all in the past. It had been his decision to take it and it had been an honour to receive it and part of him took offense to the removal.

So he didn't look very happy as he stared at the Master, suppressing the urge to clutch his arm against his stomach as if that would do any good.

[standsonhigh]

"I have to remove it, it's wrong," the Master reasoned bluntly, he was doing this whole dance the nice way because hey, he was in a good mood and Barty was such a good boy these days. He didn't feel the need to make it spiteful. He could of but he didn't... of course if Barty kept holding his arm like that, he might have to get a little more rough than was needed.

He pulled out the screwdriver he'd put together not long ago, displaying it to Barty so he knew exactly what was going to happen.

"Lie on the bed, hold your arm in front and don't scream in my ear," the order was simple and personally, he was curious if Barty would actually resist this change. He shouldn't worry much, the Master had practised on lots of death eaters by now.

That was kinder, really. The first guy lost his arm so Barty was very lucky the Master had become almost artful at this now.