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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By the time it was over, Barty was also almost passing out. Not that watching the Master watch Teletubbies wasn't actually quite entertaining, but his body wasn't really up for much of anything and his mind wasn't doing that much better.

However, he started when the Master talked to him, especially once he used his name. He gave a nod and tried not to be bothered by being naked in front of a house elf. There was something deeply humiliating about that bit, admittedly, especially given the meaning the elves had attached to clothing.

But he was hungry, very hungry, and so he did get up, only slightly wobbly, and got the plate. He didn't even bother going all the way back and he didn't bother waiting or asking for permission, either, because that could have meant it being denied and the thought of sitting close to a full plate of food without being allowed to eat for even a minute seemed like torture right now and he had quite enough of that.

He drank first, dehydrated as he was, then reached for whatever looked as if it didn't require much chewing. Table manners could wait for better times.

Well, there was nothing quite like a grubby naked man attacking a plate of food with little manners. It was such a sight, he couldn't help but watch this instead of his cartoons. Rolling onto his stomach, he lay on the opposite end of the bed so he could lie near Barty, reaching out to steal a bread roll. He hadn't eaten today either, the drums tended to make him feel sick. And it wasn't like Barty would be lacking.

He did steal another roll too, throwing it to the elf for his trouble. They were such beautiful little slaves, they did everything he asked. It was amazing, why didn't his universe have house elves? Still, while he was generous with the, he didn't quite manage manners, he simply gave it a harsh look and waved his hand. "Get out."

Attention back onto Barty, he snorted in amusement as he took a bite of his own snack, unable not to find his sight funny. "You definitely need a shower after this, you really do reek. And besides, it'd be nice to see that face under all the grime."

It was a good face, after all.

Barty didn't even care that he had apparently turned into the evening's entertainment. For one thing, what else was new and for another, he got to eat. Right now that seemed to be all that really mattered. He did slow down eventually though, mostly because his brain kicked him to remind him that he didn't want to end up throwing it all up again. Especially since he had no idea how long it might be until his next meal.

"I'd like a shower." Last time he'd felt this filthy had been in Azkaban and that was definitely not a happy memory. His face. Likely the thing that had kept him alive. Barty wasn't quite sure whether he should be grateful for that. "Although the face is bruised, too." Yes, that was some attempted manipulation again.

The Master finished his bread roll, stealing his glass of water to wash it down. He drank every last drop, not caring if Barty wanted more. Too late, he should of drank it faster. He was lucky the Master let him have either of those things in the first place, after trying to rush the stage during his grand finale to kill him. Had he gotten in the way, he might of actually saved Voldemort. That damn face is the only thing keeping him alive.

"You can have a shower," the Master said simply, rolling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling with a bright amused smile. "But the bruises can stay. I like them, they're pretty. Makes you quiet and pained."

Well, fuck you too. Barty wisely refrained from saying as much, although the thought showed on said bruised face very clearly while he finally sat back, finally feeling somewhat full. Not enough to drink, but, well. Showers had water, traditionally.

"Should I just..." He trailed off, because, yes, this did keep him quiet and vague hand gestures in the direction of the bathroom would do their job in this case as well. He had no idea what he was allowed to do, his role was suddenly not that clearly defined anymore. Prisoner down in the basement, the lines had been very clear. Not that he was complaining.

Oh that bitter look on his face, it was worth the annoyance of not being able to hate proper banter. He'd have to get his face fixed but he was hardly ever going to tell him that, he wanted Barty to stew a little, to realise he couldn't even suggest what the Master should do, let alone ask. He was still a prisoner, no matter what.

"Go shower, there's two towels in there. The blue one is mine, you can have the red."

If he so much as get the blue one damp, he will trash Barty. That was for sure. He always got upset over the smallest little imperfections. A damp towel, a moved cup, a wrongly cooked breakfast. He could let some things slide but others just irked him far too much. He was a funny soul but all Time Lords were a little off.

All of this was ridiculous and unexpected, but Barty was learning that he should just roll with the punches best as he could. The Master had changed his whole world, so casually, and even if it was just because of his face, he still had to live with it. So he was going to take a shower in the bathroom of the man who'd been torturing him and might again any moment.

He got up slowly, fighting the dizziness. "Excellent. Red goes better with my eyes right now."

Talking right now was largely motivated by stubbornness. He'd just not let the pain keep him quiet anymore, simply out of protest. Still, no other word before he went into the bathroom and when he reemerged some time later, he was clean, even if his jaw, as predicted, still shimmered in more colours than was natural, and wrapped into the red towel. He didn't hover this time, just walked back into the room and sat down as he had before.

"...what now?" Not being in control of what was happening to him really wasn't pleasant in the least.

The Master was sitting up right now, on his bed, a neat stack of clothes folded on the edge of the bed for someone to take if he wanted. It was nothing fancy, just a shirt, trousers and socks. The Master didn't acknowledge them himself, he was more invested in looking over his wand. He and Barty had gotten it together but he'd entirely forgotten whatever it was made of and he was stilling struggling to grasp magic.

It was entirely embarrassing but he tried not to bring it up. He didn't really want anyone to know how frustrated he was.

"I've been practising a few spells. Mostly curses," the Master confessed as he gestured out to the clothes he was offering Barty. "Put them on when you like. I need you up and dressed tomorrow, I need someone to show me how to get ingredients for a few spells. Can't make sense of the shops at all."

He wanted to use the magic to bind some technology he was working on but he still didn't know how to go about making this work but he would. Casually, he threw his a pillow onto the floor from behind him, making it clear where Barty was sleeping tonight.

"You've gotten quite good with the Cruciatus curse," Barty said casually, as if they weren't discussing the spell used to torture him close to oblivion. Just a compliment on the side.

He got dressed quickly, because if all he was getting was a pillow he was bound to get cold, but he was digesting the Master's words, trying to make sense of them. So he wanted him to show him. It was easy enough to guess that he didn't want to confess his ignorance to anyone else. Barty had the face and, of course, already knew. He'd helped him out before, after all.

"As you wish, Master." The phrasing had some sarcasm built in, but he reckoned the use of his name, title, whatever, would always balance that out. "I can show you."

The Master started unbuttoning his shirt, slowly pulling it off and dropping it onto the floor in a heap along with his tie. Then followed his trousers, boxers and socks. He sat there, naked, on the bed, idly toying with the wand he was holding once more. "I like the dark curses, they're fun. People make the sweetest sounds when under them."

Lying back on the bed, he flipped the TV onto the news and lay back, naked and without much shame. Time Lords didn't really make nudity into an issue, it was just a thing to worry over. One he didn't think much on when their true bare being was in their mind. Besides, he wasn't a pyjama man, anyway. They were never comfy enough.

"Good boy," he remarked mockingly, a simple response to the hint of sarcasm he picked up on. "Do you think I could get this wand to impact technology? Like switching channels with a wand? Because I can do that with my screwdriver but this wand has some very limited."

Aka once again, magic fails against technology. Because it had such limited uses.

"Give me a wand and I can test it," Barty suggested dryly. He was a lot more aware of the Master's nudity, because he couldn't remember ever having been in the company of someone without clothes on unless it was for sex. Hell, even during sex fully undressing didn't always happen. British wizard society wasn't exactly liberal in any way. But he obviously didn't remark on it and didn't pay it overly much attention, either, at least not outright.

"I don't know though. I can feel magic. Anyone capable of it can, though some are more sensitive to it. And it does draw on your essence, some spells more than others. Dark magic most of all." He shrugged. "I don't know much about technology, but it's not directly influenced by... conscience, whatever to call it, is it? At least not this type."

He looked at the television for a few seconds, then stretched his hand out. "However, since magic can influence physical matter, I suppose, if you understand how the technology works..." He closed his eyes, focused, which hurt his head. Wandless magic was no easy feat, but he could do it. However, right now his mind wasn't in the best condition, either. But he blinked and, yes. He'd pushed the right button to turn the television off. "Like this."

"I'm never giving you my wand," the Master said bluntly as he lay back lazily on the bed, holding the wand to his chest with a sneer is dismay. He was getting ready for bed and he wasn't going to have his sleep ruined by a crazed wizard after his powers back. If Barty ever even so much as touched his wand, he would summon dementors. No chances, no reasoning, he'd summon them. Because he knew how.

He sat back and waited as Barty focused, curious to see what happened and if Barty could do anything. Then the TV turned right off just like that and the Master simply stared, unable to know what to say next. Did -- Did Barty just do that? The Master was torn between a sort of strange fear or being worried or perhaps unsettled.

But all that came out was a very manic happy bout of laughter. Because it was insane, it was all so insane and he'd had such a horrible day that for whatever reason, this was now funny. All the logic he'd been forced to learn day after day on Gallifrey was being shattered here. And he loved it. The final stab to the gut for Gallifrey, the uptight moronic fools deserved it.

"That was amazing," the Master said, grinning from ear to ear. "Turn it back on!"

At the laughter, crazed as it sounded, Barty let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He knew this had been a gamble, this was a gamble still, but it was going in a good direction. For now. Barty nodded and turned back to the television. It was easier this time, pushing the right button. He wished he knew more about how the thing worked, was put together, maybe he'd be able to do something better then. With time. With a wand perhaps, one day. Here was hoping.

"It's not that difficult. A wand just helps focus the magic. Direct it."

Turning to face the Master he was careful to keep his face empty. "It's a matter of concentration."

"You have to show me, one day," the Master said bluntly as he yawned, knowing he was going to have to sleep sooner or later. He opened his bedside draw and shut the wand in, not mentioning or making it obvious that it was deadlock sealed and unable to be opened without his screwdriver. Which had isomorphic controls as it was. He was curious if Barty had the balls to try and take it.

Finally, he clambered into bed, turning to his new pet with a dark little smile. "You have to earn your keep and be valuable to survive here. Otherwise, I'll just get bored and do away with you."

And that didn't mean death, he'd already made his lack of interest in death clear. No, he always liked the longest amount of suffering possible, those instances were always better.

"It's shut in like the handcuffs were," Barty said by ways of observation instead of actually answering the Master. "Not magic, but something that I can't affect with it. Very frustrating, that." He turned from the drawer to the Master and met his gaze, although he didn't return his smile. His jaw hurt, he didn't feel like smiling.

"I've no interest in being done away with." Not again. He didn't want to be reduced this much ever again. "Good night, Master."

"Clever boy," Was all the Master offered, eyes already closed, knowing that Barty was smart enough to catch on, he was pretty sure for a human, this guy was a genius. And he could appreciate that, he loved intelligence. Especially when done well. "I'm starting to like you more and more every day. Don't make me regret that choice."

And, with an amused little noise, he decided to return the pleasantries. "Good night, Barty."

Barty didn't say anything else. He just laid back on his pillow and tried to feel calm enough to sleep. His heart was beating hard and fast, as if he'd just run a marathon, but this had gone well, he decided. Or as well as could be expected.

In the end, it didn't take him long to pass out. He was exhausted.

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

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