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

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psl: barty

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

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.

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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."

The way Barty grit his teeth pretty much confirmed the outcome of that bet. He snarled and ignored the bread roll, obviously in no mood for food, no matter what his body might think of the matter. "I'd rather starve."

Said darkly and without a doubt overly dramatically, but he was making a statement. He looked at the Master, mostly to check whether he was close enough to kick him and when he discovered he wasn't, he tried to focus his mind instead. Maybe he could manage some wandless magic. It would not get him out of here, but at least it would make a statement.

"Traitor." The word was hissed and he yanked at the cuffs, only to end up almost forcing his arm out of the socket, which made him abandon the movement.

"Traitor? Tell me, Barty, at what point did I ever claim loyalty to that man?" Never. Not once. Not even when speaking to Voldemort. Just because he said he'd help didn't mean he was on his side. Hell, his intentions were obvious just from his name. "And hell, I gave him what we agreed. He wanted immortality. Well, now he's running through a black hole by the cascade of kasterborous, he'll exist forever and never at the same time as he crosses through thousands of time streams at once. That's about as close as you can get to immortality."

With a wicked smile, he came closer but not close enough to touch. Cockily, he crouched down a nice distance away, and slowly slid the dog bowl closer. He didn't really want Barty to kill himself out of stubbornness, that was just rude.

"That man was a waste of the title lord. His only desire was to live forever and I gave to him. I hope he likes it. And while he enjoys that gift, how about we all just move on to a new way of thinking? Like, hmm, I know! Mine." the Master said the last words with a snarl to his tone, showing his displeasure openly now. He wasn't going to take much more of this sulking. "So here's how this little game will work. To leave this place and get uncuffed, you have to beg me. Really, properly, beg. And if I like it, I will. If you don't, you stay here."

"In your dreams." It wasn't a very mature or original response, but Barty was too angry and, beyond that, too confused to think of something good to say. So what he did say was childish and what he did do even more so. As soon as the bowl was close enough he kicked it, hard enough to knock it over and hopefully hard enough to splash the Master while he was at it. It might be pathetic, but it was all he could do.

He did feel betrayed, that was it at the core of it. He felt used, corrupted, having had a hand in his Lord's downfall. Meaning his whole life's aspiration had failed. He had failed. Oh, he'd not mind starving. He'd welcome death. At least that was easy to believe right now and so he told himself as much.

Some of the water splattered onto his shoes and the Master barely had to think before he was lashing out, striking the idiot across the face like he had in Azkaban. Ungrateful little shit. It felt so wonderfully satisfy that he let himself do it a few more times till his hand throbbed. He was lucky the Master didn't beat him to death with the damn bowl. He'd have to have a drink sooner or later, whether he did it by his own accord or the Master forced him.

"Don't test me, I have done unspeakable things that men like you can't even contemplate," With a nasty growl, he pulled himself onto his feet. "And before you even consider it, death is not an option here. You won't die, I won't ever let you. I mean, that's so easy. Why die when you can suffer for decades more?"

With a gleeful laugh, the Master retreated towards his work bench to look for the right tools. Maybe he could find a way to earn some obedience. Fear usually worked fine, he was sure he could break the man. He was a boy, really, nothing more. Easy to smash into little pieces.

Barty had expected to get hit for it, although the second slap took him off-guard at first. Then, however, he did what he could to brace himself for a beating and his heart was beating fast by the time the hitting stopped. He was still glaring, looking darkly up at the man threatening him with worse than death.

He knew, of course, that it was true. He had dealt out torture before and he wasn't an idiot. But right now his defiance was stronger than anything and there wasn't even a sign of fear. "Great. Just don't let me get bored again."

But his eyes were very alert while the Master was at the work bench and he tried to move his hands, tried to find a way out of the cuffs or at least into a more comfortable position.

The Master was less stalling over time and more arranging what he wanted to use by power and use. See, he didn't want to go too far this fast but he was willing to give a fun little idea of what he could do and where this would go. "You know what's amazing about men like you. How determined you are to remain loyal to a cause even though you probably couldn't give a damn about it. You're simply piggy backing on someone else's beliefs to be your own man. Which makes sense, considering your father."

It was a fair observation, wasn't it? The Master turned around, smiling in a brash manner. He came in closer, tapping four beats on his leg as he debated what to do. Torture was an art, there was no rushing it.

He reached his foot out and set it on Barty's chest, pushing him as far back into the wall as he could and putting plenty of pressure of those poor breakable ribs of his. "Beg me for forgiveness, it's so easy."

As the seconds ticked away, the pressure the Master was putting on got stronger and stronger. He was fighting himself not to kick him while he was down, that was so petty. He could do better.

"Bringing up my father a minute into this? Classy." Barty refused to rise to the bait, instead just staring up at the Master, unhappy enough that he was forced to look up if he wanted to keep an eye on him, and feeling a lot more helpless than he cared for.

"You should be the one begging for my forgiveness." It was the last thing he said before his breathing was starting to be constricted severely. It didn't help that his arms were twisted even further, a sharp stab of pain coming from his left shoulder. He bit down on his lips, but he didn't make a sound, although he had no doubt that the Master would have him scream before long. He could practically feel his ribs cracking.

"More, Master. You're not even trying." His voice was strained, he was struggling to even breathe, but he was also smiling.

The Master had to smile. The poor bastard thought this was the first time he'd been goaded like this? He tortured Jack and every day that man asked for more, just to be a prick. And the Master gave it. Again and again. Because, in the end, he wasn't the one hurting here. Humans broke easily, especially ones as mentally unstable as Barty.

He tilted his heel up and used the tip of his foot to really grind into Barty's ribs, tilting the pressure so his bad arm was pulled back in at the wrong angle and the dark mark was almost out of view. Despite it being covered, he didn't want it near him. Eventually he'd pop that arm out of place, he just needed to keep the pressure up.

"What way would you rather I did it?" the Master asked, his hand sliding into his inside pocket. He carefully slid out the wand Barty had helped him find, holding it up almost as a taunt. Once it was out, his foot was removed and he stood a graceful step back to prevent him getting it. "This way? Your way? Let's have a look, shall we? I've never used magic like this before."

He gestured with the wand, sincerely hoping this worked. "Crucio."

Actually, Barty thought no such thing, but he had too much pride not to put on some kind of front and right now brattiness seemed to be all he had. He wasn't surprised by how the Barty reacted, sure that his ribs were cracking already, desperately trying to shift his arms a little to keep the right one from being dislocated. He could already imagine that if that happened, the Master wouldn't fix it and that would mean a lot of permanent pain. Permanent damage. Oh.

Part of him was still thinking of a future. Perhaps already thinking of giving in? He pushed the thoughts aside, looking up at the Master's wand. He braced himself, as best as he could, and took a deep breath since the pressure of the foot was gone. And then his eyes widened.

Nothing happened. In the ensuing silence, Barty struggled to keep a straight face, even in spite of the pain he was in. Dark magic was no easy feat, it took time and discipline. "...that's alright. I hear lot of older men struggle with that."

shit. No. It didn't work. The Master stared at the wand then back at Barty, eyes wide in horror. No, no, no, no. That wasn't fair. With a growl of anger, he resisted snapping the wand in half and simply threw it over his shoulder in disinterest. "Magic is rubbish anyway, it doesn't leave marks. I love to see my handiwork"

And, with that, he kicked Barty in the jaw, aiming to hurt it as much as possible. To make talking a chore so he'd have to shut up, he didn't need to hear him yammering on. Then, finally, he applied enough force that the arm that he was sure he must of pulled it entirely out of place by now.

"Don't even think you can mock me, Junior."

With a growl of annoyance, he turned around and grabbed the wand off the floor, heading towards the stairs. Flicking off the light as he passed it, he swiftly made his exit out the door and slammed it shut behind him. Let the bastard seethe in the dark for a while, he had to learn that bloody curse. Now.

The horror in the Master's eyes was well worth the pain, Barty decided, laughing even after his face was kicked, although the sound came out wrong and strangled with his whole world suddenly exploding in different kind of hurt. He did scream, clear and loud, when his arm was dislocated, tears coming to his eyes, but it didn't keep him from chuckling still, just as his throbbing jaw and bleeding lip didn't keep him from smiling.

He made sure to be laughing still until after he had heard the Master go up the stairs and then he quieted down, lowering his head and closing his eyes and feeling how his cheeks became wet from tears.

It wasn't fear, it wasn't even the pain. It was how lost he felt, with his direction taken from him so suddenly. Lonely and miserable and he wanted to die.

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

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