standsonhigh | 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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"Not long now," the Master confessed as he shoved Barty off him and once more, they lay there, in a state of strange peace. Lying clothed in the bath, bubbles fading and the water going luke warm. He squeaked the duck again and sank back, eyes closed, the drums were so quiet. So pleased.

"Dunk your head and hold it under. Don't come out for as long as you can and I'll call it a day if I think you've tried. If I don't, we'll have to try again with some assistance," the Master said, explaining the rules as he started to ruffle and wash his own hair with the bath water.

Barty made a face, but only for a moment. He didn't want this to keep on going, he didn't want to move past this training session to actual punishment and he'd have to wait until he could talk to the Master normally again. They were never quite on equal footing, but right now his footing was especially loose.

"As you wish, Master." He did use that phrase, a little bit fueled by the thought that the Doctor likely never said anything like that. After breathing in, he did as he'd been told. Under water until he ran out of air. Slowly he released the bubbles, wondering in the serene silence how much would be enough, if anything. It was a stupid decision, ultimately, probably aided by his brain still reeling from the after-effects of the breath play, but he decided to breathe in, underwater, and allow it to get into his lungs.

If he did it to himself, the Master couldn't do it, after all.

Barty was soon yanked out of the tub by the Master, hands knotted in the man's wet hair to hold him up. That had been a fantastic display, really had been, but he knew that most humans had a limit as to how long they could play this game. He slapped Barty on the back a few times to held him try and cough up any water he might of swallowed. He didn't need his second in command sick.

"Deep breath, Barty, take it slow. You don't want to destroy those lungs of yours."

That was the Master's job, after all, he took a great level of pride in it too. Slowly, as Barty seemed to catch a bit of his breath, the Master lay back in the tub once more, listening to the wet horrible breathing that Barty was doing. Sounded awful, actually.

But he didn't care much himself, he didn't really seem to be with it today. Usually he'd of ended the game about half an hour ago but the drums did things to him, caused him to lash out and really make people hurt.

No, he didn't want to destroy his lungs. The Master on the other hand, Barty was less sure about that. He might have expressed those doubts if he hadn't been busy coughing up water and trying to clear his airways, face red instead of blue at least.

Finally he managed to normalize his breathing enough to look over at the Master, shaking and hoping it was over. Some days he really couldn't stand the drums.

"It's getting cold." Hopefully that observation wouldn't come across as too cocky, too. One never knew.

It was pretty cold now, the water was barely warm and all the bubbles had gone. Half the tub was on the floor, soaking everything that happened to be there, even his jacket. Pointless to take it off, actually. The Master leaned out of the wet tub and grabbed his jacket, freeing the screwdriver. Dropping back into the cold bath, he undid Barty's cuffs and waited till the man's hands were in front.

Then he threw him the screwdriver. It wasn't like Barty could use it but the Master didn't want it getting any wetter.

"Get out. Now. Take a towel and go into the other room, just get out and leave me," the Master insisted, closing his eyes and remaining in the bath. This was the cool down now, when he forced himself to relax and take control again. A cold bath seemed like a good way to keep himself in check.

He didn't want to break Barty, not yet, he actually wanted to keep him.

Barty caught the screwdriver and didn't waste any time in following the order and getting out of the tub. He reached for a towel, still holding the screwdriver and looking at the Master with an actually worried expression. He wanted to help him, he really did, but it seemed as if he was out of means for the day.

Still, after hovering for a few seconds longer he nodded and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. He put the screwdriver down on the bed and wondered if the Master had meant for him to leave this room, too. Not clear enough, though, so in the end he just stripped of his wet clothes and wrapped himself into the towel, shivering from cold now, at least, rather than from lack of oxygen.

It was a few minutes before the Master left the cold bath, dripping wet and not looking any happier. Time Lords didn't feel the temperature like humans did, hence why he seemed entirely fine, though he could hardly lie and say it felt pleasant. Wordlessly, he pulled off his wet shirt and dropped it into a wet heap beside Barty's clothes.

"You're freezing," he observed carefully, stalking in like a predator did with it's prey. This wasn't really a day he should of been around anyone, he was too dangerous and he knew it. If he wanted to he could break Barty beyond repair and leave him a gibbering moron. Hell, it was a fight not to do it some days. Not because he didn't like Barty, he did, it was just in his nature to ruin. "Ask nicely and I'll warm you up."

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

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