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

Entry tags:

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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!"

Being called a rat wasn't generally a good thing within their circles, but Barty was a bit too caught off-guard to do anything but stare at first. It wasn't as if the man was attacking him outright, just... touching his face. Weird, unsettling, but probably not enough of an excuse to curse his Lord's esteemed guest, no matter how rude he had just been.

"What do you want?" Barty did reach up to grab the Master's wrists in an attempt to get his hands off of him. He'd rather not have his face get molested, really. "I didn't follow you. I don't even know who you are."

The Master barely noticed how hard he was gripping onto the man he'd assumed was the Doctor, he was just too focused on the idea of being caught. Again. He would not be the Doctor pet, not here and not now. He was so close to something promising. It was only when the man spoke that something hit him. He didn't sound... right? And the face? It was -- young?

Staring, the Master took a full moment to take this in before he jerked away, glaring venomously at the younger man. He was definitely not the Doctor but this? This was insane. He looked exactly the same. "Your name. What is it?"

No matter how much the Master's focus was on him, Barty's eyes flickered to his Lord, waiting for him to give a slight nod before replying. Everyone was staring at them now, but Barty was mostly aware of having his Lord's attention and for once not entirely sure whether that would be a good thing by the end of this. He had no idea what was going on.

"Bartemius Crouch." He paused for a moment, then added the hateful, "Junior." The only distinction he had from his father. One day he might manage to rid himself of the name altogether.

So he had a name. A name and a face that just didn't go together yet he didn't even seem to blink an eye at the Master. His only logical conclusion would be that this was an alternate universe fluke he'd accidentally stumbled into it. With a groan, the Master moved away from Barty and turned to the crowd around him. They were all staring but he didn't care.

"My mistake. Let's all try not to dwell or I'm beyond done here."

With a sigh, he tried not to focus on the boy who wore his enemies face and pushed his way through the sea of people. Voldemort hardly seemed please but if he wanted to be immortal and live forever, he'd have to listen to his master. Whether he wanted to or not.

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.

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."

His eyes were unfocused at first, a far away, haunted look of pain in them, as if he didn't even notice the Master's presence. But there was warmth coming from him and slowly the words came through his mind, clouded and darkened as it was and he lifted his head enough to actually look at him.

"Master." Just the one word, name, title, whatever, as he recognized him. There hadn't been much contact between them, even if he was ever so aware of the Master watching him, or his face or whatever the meaning behind all this was. It was enough to have him be very aware of the Master in turn and it was almost no surprise that he'd see him here, when he had no hopes of anyone else coming to see him.

"Oh, good answer," the Master responded with an amused expression, reaching out to ruffle Barty's hair in a condescending manner. Probably the first touch he'd had in a very long time. It was obvious he'd literally just been left here to rot away into nothingness. He looked a horrible state, pale and deathly, and he didn't exactly smell like roses either. There was a sort of rasp to his voice, he must of been screaming rather desperately at some point. This world was so needlessly cruel, it was hilarious.

"You know, you poor bastard, I've been thinking about you," the Master started, remaining crouched, talking to the man as if he was some lost little infant. "And you're just being wasted here, aren't you? One bout of torture gone wrong and suddenly it's all over? Oh no, simply madness. Can't have you rotting in prison when we have things to do and places to be."

With an amused smirk, he leaned in closer. Oh the power he had over this one, it felt wonderful. "Ask me nicely and we can be home in time for tea."

Barty's eyes closed at the touch, a shuddering breath leaving him. He leaned into the Master's hand, but there was a part of him that steered with defiance. He'd never taken to condescending behavior, being looked down upon and ordered around the way his father did. Right now however it rose his spirit and that at least he wasn't complaining about.

He let out a cough, trying to clear his throat of the pain of screaming. Naturally he wasn't very successful. He opened his eyes again to look at the Master, the dull shine to them having faded in favor of a certain glint, despair aside. Oh, he did long for freedom, but being here was the price he had to pay for his loyalty.

"You're not my master."

The defiance was cute, it really was. Why was nothing ever simple with this one? The Master reached out and gripped Barty's hair painfully tight, yanking it back so he could get a good look. And then he backhanded him, just to make a point. "You're such a disappointment. All you had to do was say please. And I'm afraid I only ever ask once. So when you're sitting here alone, lost in agony and unable to be out there helping as your master's kingdom falls around him, just remember I offered."

And with that, he let go and shoved his hands into his pockets. In his hand, he grasped several little hairs he'd managed to yank. Just what he needed if he was going to pull this off. He'd asked for an hour at the most and he was very capable of pulling off what he needed to pull off.

Humans, they were so easy to brainwash. All it took was four beats and they'd dance along with him. With a mocking sigh, he moved to the door and pulled it open. "I'm going to destroy him. I just thought you'd like to cling to that when everything goes to shit."

Walking out the door, he slammed it shut behind him. He'd be back, of course he would, he's just giving him a little scare.

In the end, Barty hadn't expected anything else. But even being slapped was better than that belittling talk. Even the threats and the doom predictions he could take better than that attitude. And so he just smiled, as foreign as that expression seemed on his face these days, and straightened his hair after the Master let go, as if that made any difference in his current state.

"Have a nice day."

He even waved and, to his credit, held out for a long time after that before the screams and sobs started again.

The plan was easy enough. Get the polyjuice potion together, add the last ingredient needed and then offer it to one of the guards as something entirely different. All he had to do was look into the man's eyes and draw him in, soon he was willing to play along and downed the whole thing. Then, naturally, smashed his head into the wall a few times till he was blissfully unconscious. While waiting for him to take new form, the Master stood outside Barty's cell.

See, now, why couldn't the Doctor scream like that for him? It was like music. He may have stayed there longer than was needed but he did have a whole hour to kill.

Eventually, the Master returned, false body being dragged along with him. Heavy bastard, he really didn't appreciate this manual labour he was doing just to get an ungrateful little bastard out. "Get up and give me a hand."

The sooner they planted this idiot, the quicker they could leave. "And people say I don't understand potions."

Barty needed quite a while to reach enough calmness and presence of mind to even halfway figure out what was going on. He got up, at least, although he also stayed against the wall at first, one arm in front of his chest, staring at the Master as if he might grow a second head any moment now. Disturbed rather than scared, but still.

"What do you want?"

"To get out of this awful place, it's a dump."

Well, Barty did ask. The Master finally managed to get the guard onto the floor inside, sprawled out and unconscious, blood dripping from the side of his head. Perhaps he'd hit harder than needed but hey, he was looking for something to do. Turning to Barty, he pulled a face at him before producing another potion. Revolting stuff but affective. "Come on, drink it down. It'll be hard to get out with that face on, you'll have to borrow his."

Barty stared at the Master for another few seconds before finally shaking his head and dropping to his knees instead. He reached for the unconscious man and started to search him until he produced the stranger's man. The stranger currently wearing his face. Well, whatever.

Rolling with the punches, at the moment that was very much what he was doing, focusing on things one at a time. He stripped off his shirt, throwing it in a corner before taking the shirt off the man, not too mindful of his injured state. It was strange to see his body in front of him, half-naked and bleeding, but it was endlessly preferable to having no hope of escape. He moved on to taking the man's pants off, which was finally when even through the focus of his currently very damaged mind the suggestiveness of the situation occurred to him and he glanced at the Master again.

"You really like my face, hm?"

"No, I violently hate it."

Which was true, actually. In a way, at least, he had very conflicted feelings. He loved, loathed and feared it because of what it represented, which was the only other man of his kind. The Doctor. A man who he wanted to see suffer and who could make himself suffer. And explaining his feelings on it was far too complicated to be something that he actually wanted to do. So, instead, he stood to the side and waited, watching every step of the way. He may as well get a show out of this.

"I said I would be done about 3 minutes ago so get a move on, would you? They'll start to get worried," He played the role of look out, tilting his head to the side to make sure no one else was coming. "Don't say a single thing as we leave, walk behind me and don't act weird. You'll give us away."

"I'm stripping as fast as I can." There was the slightest hint of humour to his voice, even under the circumstances, even in this place, but he did indeed strip off everything but his underwear fast and then put the other man's clothes on. They were too big on him, naturally, but that problem would take care of itself. He got up and took the offered potion, making a face before downing it in one go.

The transformation was far from pleasant, but at least it happened fast. He shook himself and touched the strange face that was currently his, wet his lips, so different from usual. Finally he inclined his head.

"After you."

With the dread the place instilled in him dying down, he was starting to get excited.

Their way out was met with little resistance. In fact, the Master explained away the guard being with him as them being 'old friends' and rather generously tipped every man involved. Not because he felt like being friendly, just because if this did come back on him, they would be taken down with him. Always ensure there's doubt on everyone's role in a crime.

Once they were outside, the Master rolled his neck to work away the kinks and exhaled slowly, looking at Barty with a frown. He wasn't entirely sure where to go from here but he felt like his job was done, Barty was out.

"Fair warning, I didn't brew it very long so it'll only last around another 10 minutes," the Master confessed. He'd been in a rush and he never did lack patiences when he seriously wanted something done swiftly. "You're definitely going to need better clothes."

"M-hm," Barty made by way of agreeing, although he also lifted his shoulders, "I'm fairly sure my father cut me off, so between that and being an escaped convict, getting new clothes might be a challenge."

To be honest he had no idea how anything would go from here. What plan did the master have, what was the purpose of freeing him? But nothing seemed to matter as much as that he was free. He frowned and licked the strange lips once more. "I suppose I could get some clothes from my parents' place, if I broke in." He hoped his father would catch him. Oh, yes, he hoped that very much.

"But what is it I need better clothes for?" There had to be a reason behind all this.

"The grand finale," the Master said simply, a cunning smile on his face. He had waited this long to free Barty for a reason and that reason was that he wanted a better excuse than the one he knew he had deep down. And he thought the timing was right, Voldemort was about to come into some very new and very important 'power'. "No spoilers but I do think I have the perfect way to make your master invincible and immortal."

And surely Barty would want a front row seat for that one. To happily watch when the Master finally does his stuff. But, of course, he wasn't even going to hint at his plans. Because Barty would tell, he'd always tell. So he decided not to so much as look amused but more vaguely annoyed and disinterested.

"How far is it? Your house, I mean. Could we walk?"

The grand finale. Now, that was something he did want to witness.

"Yes, precisely. My father, who you must know by now, decided to choose residence near Azkaban, probably to enjoy the screams of the people he put there." Barty sneered and shook his head, unable to see much humour in most things surrounding his father. "London, of course. Close to the Ministry. Like your residence, I'd suspect."

He took a step closer, vaguely recalling what his Lord had said about the Master before. A different world, different power, complex... "We could apparate." He smiled, while he felt how his body was starting to change again. "I'll even take you by the hand."

"Crouch Sr? We've gotten to know each other fairly well. Isn't he just a very pompous bastard? Can't say I'm fond," the Master remarked playfully as he came to a halt, raising an eyebrow at Barty. He didn't actually know how to apparate himself but he knew what it was and the side effects. They didn't sound fun but he once travelled through a black hole into oblivion so complaining about travel sickness seemed so pointless.

With a nod, he turned to Barty, watching in amusement as his face started to change, his body slowly sinking in and his skin almost buzzing and morphing. It was entirely fascinating. The things humans do to themselves.

"Well, don't leave a man waiting," the Master teased, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers. "The quicker the better."

"Mostly, yes." But of course, unfortunately, his father was far more to him. So much more. He shook his head of the idea and reached for the Master's hand, looking down at it as he threaded their fingers together. It had been a while since he'd touched someone, quite a while. It felt longer still.

He shook his head of that notion and without another word, they apparated, the world vanishing around them and the familiar feeling still enough to make him feel sick, empty stomach and all that. It was his room they appeared in and it had obviously been searched, which wasn't surprising. It still made his skin crawl to see the open drawers, the books pulled from the shelves and ripped. Invasive, that's how it felt, which didn't help with the sickness.

He withdrew his hand from the Master and pressed his lips together, stepping closer to his wardrobe. At least his clothes were still there.

"What do you expect me to do? Hide until it's time?"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 14

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject