standsonhigh | Open Post for S&M!verse

It was funny how Regulus Black had always known that you didn't get out alive once you took the Dark Mark, but had never expected that he would live to see the Dark Lord die instead. Not that the change in leadership had changed very much for a simple Death Eater like him. He played the same role, to a different leader now, but that was how it went in an organization where you couldn't simply hand in your notice. In the end, for all his magical prowess Voldemort had proven himself to be weak and easily defeated by something as simple as technology. It had shaken his faith and his understanding of the world, but it hadn't changed the fact that he served.

Nor had it changed the fact that he would experience a healthy amount of wariness when approached by his Dark Lord while he was just passing through a hallway, minding his own business. Caution was a lesson well learned at the end of Voldemort's wand.

He bowed his head respectfully. "Master," he said quietly, all the while frantically trying to figure out if he had done anything to garner special attention of the negative kind. He couldn't remember uttering a single disrespectful word since he had switched loyalties, but... Well, sometimes it didn't take more than existing.

Death Eaters were such pleasant creatures. Dumb name, ridiculous and vague plans but very loyal. Especially when scared into worship or manipulated rather skilfully. Most switched sides a little too easily, a characteristic that could one day backfire, but he didn't plan to stick around long enough to be betrayed by some apes.

For now, they were just useful people who'd help him navigate this world till he could just leave it and happily get home. He had no attachment and no level of rank yet. Hence why he was very happy to flag down the nearest one and pull them aside. This one happened to be some young man he didn't catch the name of but, well, who cared? He was hardly looking for a deeper relationship here. He just needed some basic skills.

And he loved anyone that called him Master.

"Do you have a wand?" the Master asked. That may of seemed like a dumb question but aliens didn't usually use wands. He had a screwdriver, sort of similar maybe? Worked the same. "Because I need a healing spell. Nothing fancy, just enough to bring someone back from the brink of death."

Make no mistake, he was properly terrified of the man who had taken down the Dark Lord without breaking a sweat. He was terrified. Utterly terrified. Yet when the man actually asked him if he had a wand, it was all Regulus could do not to blurt out something that would have been bound to get him killed on the spot. There was no possible way he could have kept himself from gaping at the Master.

He snapped his mouth shut, swallowed hard and opened it again. The man looked serious enough, but that had to simply mean it was a test. What wizard wouldn't carry his wand? "Of course," he replied, quite proud of himself for managing to keep the implied 'you buffoon' out of his voice. He sounded respectful enough, though still terribly confused. It would have to do. He gulped again. Another lesson the Dark Lord had taught him was that a lack of enthusiasm wasn't appreciated. No, he didn't fancy being the next one on the brink of death. "I took some classes on basic healing in Hogwarts... my Lord."

"What is a portkey?" Was the last thing the Doctor recalled asking when the next thing he knew there was something tugging at his stomach, like a hook, and pulling him backwards and seemingly stretching him thin before everything became all clear and he came down on a hard landing on his bottom in the middle of a field.

There's a soft groan as he opened his eyes one at a time to realize the TARDIS was no longer in sight and... Well, this time decade smelled greatly different from the one he was just in. He had been transferred to somewhere else entirely.

Quickly scrambling to his feet, he looked around him for a familiar face. The Master had tricked him again, and his frustration was on high as a result.

Well, wasn't this a Christmas to remember. One moment he was explaining to the Death Eaters how their plans were going to very radically change and that they should all just scurry away and leave him be, the next there was a Doctor flying into the same empty hall he'd landed in. Funny, really, this place had to be some sort of hotspot.

He stared in shock for a moment, unsure just what to do. He had no idea if this was a trick, some sort of trap Barty was making. He wouldn't be shocked, actually. He was a loyal pet but a bit of a trickster.

"Doctor?" he asked, finally, looking at him with a strange mix of hope and disbelief.

Regulus was lucky that he knew how to shut up when needed, the Master barely hesitated to take down any Death Eater who so much as sneered at him. The last one to make a snide remark about his lack of magic got liquefied by his latest invention. Honestly, the technology here was rubbish but if he could make a ship out of food and paperclips, he could make weapons out of muggle electronics. The crueller, the better.

"Good enough," the Master said, waving his hand in dismissal to show he didn't need any more information than that and he wasn't very invested in this discussion. Magic was boring and stupid, he had very little intrigue unless it was a forbidden spell or something nice and deadly. "Down in the basement is one of my more rebellious followers and I've been teaching him a lesson in loyalty. One that perhaps went further than I had originally intended. Regardless, I just need a very swift patch up to keep him alive and awake."

Talking to an injured feverish Barty was getting a little old, he barely kept focus. "Don't do a great job, just do it enough that he won't die. You humans are so breakable."

There was nothing quite as inspiring in making a man learn to shut up than the threat of a very violent and gory death. It was a lesson Regulus had learned surprisingly quickly for one as naturally haughty as him, though most of that credit went to his previous lord. You didn't survive in the Death Eaters if you didn't know how to keep your mouth shut.

On the other hand, keeping his expression wholly in check was a skill he hadn't quite mastered yet. When the new Dark Lord spoke so casually of them as if they were mere puppets easily broken and discarded, he couldn't help the slight stiffening of his shoulders, nor the pinched look around his mouth.

You humans... He would never get used to this. For all that Regulus held out hopes that this new ruler would finally be the man he had sought to serve, Voldemort had been easier to understand.

"I see," was all he permitted himself to say, for he had no desire of joining the poor fellow. Poor fool. "I can certainly achieve mediocre results," he affirmed, unable to keep the wryness wholly out of his voice.

It was a castle of some sort, wasn't it? The Doctor hadn't taken much time trying to place it, date it, or consider its history.

"Master." The Doctor returned the greeting, in a less surprised or pleased tone. "Where are we?" Because this must have been his doing, he determined. It was him that mentioned some nonsense about magic and a showing him a wand, rambling about Rassilon knows what. It was like being a child again at the academy.

"You better."

The Master could sense the displeasure, he could practically see it on this one, and he didn't like. Time Lords could always sense a little off people, it was a natural skill they had. And humans read like an open book when compared to Time Lords. And this one wasn't one seemed a little too snide. But right now, he wasn't overly on the attack, not yet, anyway. He was just making a mental list of those who needed to be taught a lesson about how they looked at their Master and treated him. With a slight raise of his eyebrow, he stared for a moment, as if trying to gauge this man.

Then, finally, he asked. "Your name, what is it?"

He needed it for his list. He'd ask Barty later, when he was more coherent, if he knew this one. Trying to keep control of all these new people was a challenge enough, he really needed to thin the herd and work out who was worth keeping.

"Don't ask me," the Master said casually, though a smile soon came to his face as he clambered down the stairs he was up, coming towards the Doctor with his arms out stretched. "But I'm already king. Or on some level, at least, isn't that fun? I've taken quite the liking."

Straight to bragging after a few minutes, very impressive. He barely took a moment to start. "Oh and everyone uses magic."

With that seemingly harmless question outright alarm replaced wariness and Regulus felt an icy weight settle in his stomach. The fear showed in his eyes for a moment before he quickly lowered his gaze. He had been accused of many unflattering vices in his young life, but no one had ever accused him of possessing an abundance of optimism.

He had made a mistake... and he would pay for it. Maybe not today or tomorrow but unwarranted attention was never a good sign. At least with Voldemort the standing of the Black family had provided some measure of protection. Now... He felt lost again, lost and terribly in what should have been a den of snakes, yet had been turned into something he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Regulus forced himself to raise his head again. Not to meet the Master's eyes, that would have been too daring, but there was pride in his name and noble lineage. Even now. Someone had to remember. "Regulus Arcturus Black, my Lord. I served the Dark... I took the Mark nearly a year ago."

"Regulus?" the Master asked with a faint look of disbelief. So far he'd been here nearly a year and everyone just seemed to have the weirdest names. Whatever happened to humans that called their kids names likes like Ted or Bert or Harry? Some people had weird naming tastes. With a roll of his eyes, he tried not to make any further comment and merely nodded with acceptance of the given information.

The way he said the name spoke volumes, as if he thought the Master could recognise it or see it as important for some reason. Sadly, he didn't care much either way. A name was a name and that's all it was in the end.

"Call me Master, not Lord. Though I am your Lord, just for the record," the Master corrected swiftly, moving into the man's personal space with a grin on his face, looking rather amused by that little vouching of loyalty at the end. "I don't care about your mark. If I could, I'd remove them all. They look ridiculous. Rassilon's sake, you're an evil cult, not a motorbike gang."

"You would," The Doctor muttered under his breath as he approached closer to the Master; however, his gaze was else were, looking around his surroundings waiting for something to jump out.

But then the remembrance of the curse the Master had lodged at him came surging back, and the Doctor froze in his tracks. "What is this all about? Why'd you bring me here?"

Because there always had to be an ulterior motive, and yet some of the Doctor's memories of their previous interaction felt like they were slipping away. It wasn't something unheard of, but it made the Doctor wonder what he had gotten himself into this time.

Yes, on some level he had expected the Master to recognize the name, foolish though it was. He was simply so used to his last name opening closed doors in their circles that it had become second nature to take such respect for granted. Never mind that he genuinely believed that he was entitled to such respect for his heritage. He stifled a disgruntled sigh. Yes, the world was changing around him and far too quickly for his liking... he had signed up for the exact reason to stop and reverse such changes, after all.

Regulus forced himself to shove such thoughts aside, that was bitterness for later. It wasn't hard to focus wholly on the here and now, and the Master, when the man got far too close for comfort. Far too amused, too, like a Kneazle toying with a rat. Regulus' lips thinned to a pale, tense line. He had never been fond of cats. "Of course you are my Dark Lord, Master," he affirmed. "As for the Mark..." Oh, there were a lot of things he could have said to the Master about the Mark, but most of them were bound to get him tortured to death and the rest merely quickly killed. "If you wish to have it removed, that is your choice, Master. You took the Dark Lord's place, it is yours now."

The order was clear enough and so Barty followed it to the letter. Knocking Regulus out and taking him to the basement, letting him sit on the floor and chaining him to the pipes, much the way he had been not all that long ago. He also provided the chair the Master had asked for and ordered the house elf to bring the tea, like a good host.

He wasn't sitting himself, though. He just stood, waiting, watching Regulus and counting the minutes until he woke up. Couldn't be much longer now.

The first thing Regulus became aware of was the pounding pain in his head. A little bit like a terrible hangover, but the pain was sharper and felt wrong... and he didn't ever drink enough to pass out. A tongue loosened by alcohol was far too dangerous for a man in his position.

He groaned and moved his arms trying to rub his face. The movement was cut off by a weight around his wrists, accompanied by a metallic clinking sound.

Regulus was instantly awake and alert. His eyes flew open, taking in his all too familiar surroundings, the feel of metal around his wrists, the...

His eyes narrowed at Barty. "A stunning spell would have sufficed."

"Because I can't get to you, I'm bring you to me. I assume you'll eventually find a way off too so it's more a bonus to have you here than a hindrance," And besides, he needed some Time Lord company. Being alone was getting very old and while he liked Barty's company, he just wasn't the Doctor. Having his best enemy here? Oh, it was making him grin so bright.

"I've been stuck for months and without a descend anchor, I'll never leave. But that's where you come in," Grinning, he moved in closer, holding his arms out as if beholding the Doctor's amazing abilities to fluke his way out of danger. "You're going to help me leave."

"Oh, who uses spells these days? So last year," the Master called out in complaint. He had only recently come down to take a seat, sipping the tea he'd been made. It tasted awful, someone in the kitchen didn't get the right balance of milk in tea. Too much and it was basically hot milk. How was that hard to understand?

With an annoyed sigh, he set his tea aside and turned to Barty, gesturing to the tea. "Get a new elf in the kitchen, I don't like the one we have."

Or, you know, better yet. Maybe train a wizard. Maybe Mister Regulus 'I have a fantastic name everyone should love' Black would be able to make some tea? It's more worth while that taking nonsense about magic or whatever it was they'd done before Voldemort had been killed.

"Oh, where are my manners?" the Master laughed brightly, turning to their captive and holding up his cup. "Fancy some tea, Regulus?

"Sufficed, sure. But this way was much more satisfying." There was something to be said for a hands on approach. He folded his arms and turned to the Master, nodding at his instruction. "I'll do that."

House elves weren't exactly difficult to come by when one was in the Master's position of power. He arched an eyebrow at the offer of tea and then, wisely, took a step out of the way. Just in case.

The Master. Here. Merlin. Regulus' heart plummeted, he had been so caught up with his own situation that he hadn't noticed him right away. He blinked several times in an attempt to clear both his gaze and his mind, but the pounding remained, making it so terribly hard to think straight.

Was the Master actually having tea all nice and proper like an English gentleman, right here in the dungeon? It ought to have been a hallucination, but he had learned already that nothing was impossible with the Master.

He shook his head, a gesture he instantly regretted when bile rose up in his throat. "Tea?" he asked blankly.

No. No. This had to be a joke. Some horrible nightmare. He hadn't done anything to warrant this, had he? Regulus tried to run through the events of previous days to discover his misstep, but his mind still wouldn't work properly. All he knew for sure was that he was doomed. The Master had spared Barty's life for some reason, but he wasn't his favorite pet. No, he would be lucky if he didn't end up liquified. Or maybe he would be lucky if he were. There were many worse deaths to be suffered.

He sighed. "What am I to die for?"

"Die?" the Master asked with a dark smile. "It's just tea."

Talk about an over-reaction. Though he had good reason to be scared, this was not a good sign. People who came here usually came here to be tortured to insanity, very few got the luxury of death. That was always too merciful for his little band of evil wizards. They had to be taught that death was not something to be so dismissive of.

"No one dies here, we just take those who could require a little helping hand in understand their Master better. I feel like communication is faulty and so I do my best to make myself more clear to people," the Master reasoned with an entirely calm tone. "That's what I did with Barty and it worked great. Didn't it?"

"Worked excellently, Master." Barty actually did mean it, even if the wording made it sound sarcastic. He was quite happy with his current role. He was also quite happy to be in the position to see Regulus slowly panicking. It was quite entertaining. There weren't many things he enjoyed as much as suddenly being in a favoured position above all the others, even though his family was nowhere near as important, even though his father had been the enemy.

The Master had brought on some good chances, ultimately. Barty, for one, appreciated them. "Try and stay polite, Regulus. Don't make me hit you again."

Have the same done to him that had been done to Barty? He would rather die. That, Regulus surmised bitterly, was the point. He couldn't help his gaze wandering back to Crouch. He had always been unhinged, but to see him so eager to serve someone who wasn't even a proper pureblood wizard... No, he didn't want it to "work" like it had worked with Barty Crouch.

"I have no intention of being impolite, Crouch," he ground out, the 'unlike you' unsaid but easy to read between the lines. "I have been told my manners are excellent."

Pick a fight with your torturers? Probably not the smartest idea he'd ever had, he realized. A bit too late, of course, that realization, and that nearly had him laughing hysterically, which wasn't the smartest of ideas, either.

"It hardly matters what I say, does it." Head bowed, he peered at the Master. "It won't make a difference." He had seen the results of his handiwork more than once. If only he could figure out what he had done wrong, then there might be a chance of pleading for forgiveness or framing someone else.

"He's such a defeatest," the Master pointed out with a grim expression. He didn't like that, all those assumptions and swift judgements. He had given up before anyone had even hit him. With a loud and annoyed noise, he gestured at Barty to pretty much do whatever he wanted, his hand waving him towards Regulus.

"Someone clearly won't be happy till he's been proved right. So go on then, do whatever you like. Really, whatever. And then we'll see how long it takes for him to have a more sunny positive outlook."

Who knows, he might beg for difference soon enough? For change and freedom

Barty shrugged and knelt down next to Regulus, one hand against the wall on either side of his face as he caught his eyes, his voice low. Low enough to be intimate, but not low enough to not be heard by the Master.

"It will be bad, Regulus. But trust me, it can always, always get worse." He lowered one hand, all of a sudden pressing it down between Regulus' legs. Leaning forward he whispered into his ear, their cheeks brushing against each other. "In ways you can't even imagine."

Sunny positive outlook. Yes, that was what had him give a high-pitched shriek the moment Barty's hand so unexpectedly ended up between his legs. "Merlin!" he yelled and wrapped his hands around the chains to give himself some leverage to scramble backwards. He barely managed a few inches before his back hit the stone wall.

He had been determined to suffer the inevitable with dignity, but he had been prepared for pain. He shook his head rapidly, never mind the nausea.

His eyes, wide and frantic, searched out the Master. "Master! This is not... Please, this is hardly..." What had he said? Give him what he had been expecting? "This isn't what I expected and I'm not," he swallowed hard, "I'm not defeatist, just..." Please call the lunatic lapdog off. Please. "I never disobeyed you!"

Huh, that was fast. Barty was such a good boy, he knew how to scare the hell out of all these Death Eaters. With a grin on his face, he set his tea aside and climbed out of his chair, moving closer to Barty so he could get a good look at their latest victim. "You think I'm not a very good leader, don't you? That my cause is spotty and conflicting with yours and that I'm bad at magic. Not really leader material, is it?"

He didn't know that this was exactly what Regulus thought but most thought it so he naturally assumed. Because he'd seen it, in the hallway, that look in his eyes. The pinched look. He didn't want the Master. And that was going to have to be changed.

"You almost very nearly sneered at me when I asked you if you had a wand. And it only got worse from there," the Master remarked, having clearly taken note of a lot of the little things. He'd spend thousands of years reading people, he could see dismay when it was there. "I thought that was very rude. But don't worry, Barty was rude once and I made him better. He knows exactly how to fix others."

Barty moved to the side, sitting down next to Regulus and casually patting his thigh, but no longer between him and the Master. He knew the Master liked to talk, so it was a good thing he'd gotten Regulus to seem more receptive.

"You know, Master, Regulus comes from a very old, very rich family. Sole heir, these days." He shrugged. "No one told him yet that blood doesn't matter anymore, unless you're bleeding out."

He curled his fingers in, mostly just to make sure Regulus couldn't forget the presence of his hand, and fell back into silence. This was fun to watch.

He grit his teeth and the muscles in his leg twitched. If only he could slap away the offensive hand. Break it, maybe. Yes, breaking it sounded good. He had never developed a taste for torture, no matter how hard he tried, but Barty might yet change his mind.

"Blood matters, you..." He cut himself off just before he could call him a blood traitor. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to inhale. Exhale. Store the panic at the back of his mind so he could think again, for as little time he had left with his wits about him. Which would be worse? To be reduced to a blubbering fool or a blood traitor?

It was Barty who didn't matter. A mere slave, just as they all were slaves, but that didn't mean you have to rejoice in it. There was such a thing as pride. He tilted his head back, only feeling a mere twinge of resentment that he had to look up at the Master towering over him. There was no challenge in his grey eyes, but pride oh yes, pride there was, mixed and diluted by fear but impossible to miss. "I don't think you're a bad leader," he said frankly, "you are great, powerful... and cruel." His lips twitched into a bitter smile at that. "But blood doesn't matter to you. I debased myself to serve a goal greater than me or my family. Now I remain a slave, but for no greater goal." His fingers curled around the chains once more as his body tensed in preparation for the punishment that was bound to follow. He clenched his teeth to hold back the pleas threatening to bubble up in him. He had never been good at heroic defiance. "And yet I serve. I serve you." Why was it never enough?

The Doctor's eyes locked with the Master's and he held the gaze for a moment before sputtering out in laughter, "Oh that's good. That's really good." He nods his head as if agreeing, "Wanting me here to help you. Oh, that is brilliant; lovely even!"

The Doctor leaned forward, affectionately ruffling the Master's hair, "Having me come here to save you. You really think I believe you're king if you're stuck here?"

He pulls away, and walks away completely, "Take me home."

The Master couldn't help it, he didn't mean to be cruel-- well, no, he really did, but it wasn't always intentional. And the rather mocking laughter that burst out wasn't his fault, Regulus just shouldn't of said such stupid things. Clearly some humans just didn't grasp how little their blood matters. Or their name or their title or whatever else they clung to. The only thing that mattered was their cause and who they were serving. And if they didn't like either, they had to have the balls to say it. And if they died, oh well, that's what pride did.

The Master had died for his causes more than once.

The laughter calmed down and the Master shook his head in disbelief, moving in closer to crouch down in front of this silly little human. Time for a little story. "Did you know, in the 45th century, that blood is a high trading product. People who feed off blood or just happen to find it a turn on will go around blackmarket space stations and buy it. The highest priced blood are for those who was considered pure and the lowest is for common or 'dirty' blood. Guess where humans always fall? Because, lets be honest here, years of evolution and fucking each other and everything else that moves like rampant animals mean that no one is pure these days, especially not you."

Humans were diluted and wrong, they were basically just mutant apes. Mutant apes with so many diseases and cancers. Not like Time Lords, who were basically made out of a perfect system so no one was born sick, ill or weak. Looming was genetic perfection really.

"Blood doesn't matter unless you're drinking it or fucking in it like a strange pervert," Which was actually a big thing in the 47th century... lesson learmned there, never agree to a blood orgy. It was quite the sight. "And yours doesn't matter. The fact that you think your blood holds any sway is why you're here. You could be as loyal as Barty but I just hate delusion. It's embarrassing to watch! You wizards and your flawed prejudices need crushing."

Okay, the laughing was bad but that hair ruffle? Finale straw. All chances gone. With an angry snarl, the Master shoved the Doctor aware and pulled out his wand. Yes, he had a wand. And don't think he's that skilled, he isn't. But he has a Barty at hand to fight his battles for him so it was okay to still be on the beginner spell book.

"No, I won't. But you know what you can do? Apologise."

He wanted to hear the Doctor say sorry for being such a dick just now. Because he knew he never would and that would give him license to attack. To show off just what magic could do after all.

The Doctor quirks an eyebrow in the Master's direction, looking at his wand.

"Funny, when I've asked you to apologize, I never got one." He crosses his arms, acting like a defiant child, "What makes you think I'm going to give you one? Your toy there doesn't frighten me as much as you think."

There was a faint memory of excruciating pain that overcame his body as a result of seeing one of those wands before, but it wasn't strong enough to stop him testing the waters between his oldest friend and enemy.

The Master didn't hesitate, he didn't want to play this game and let the Doctor run him around till he was tangled in knots. For once, he wanted to be on top and not just because he had taken over, just because he was more powerful. Smarter, deadlier and far more cunning than this little idiot.

He aimed his wand as he'd been taught, made a slight gesture and said the magic words. "Crucio!"

The nanosecond that curse passed the master's lips, the Doctor recognized it from before. His eyes were wide in realization, but it was too late. He could never be fast enough to dodge it, and his legs buckled at the knees, causing him to drop down on the ground.

His mouth opened in a silent scream as it felt like every millimeter of his body was on fire, overacting and sending signals to every pain receptor in his body. Every organ in his body felt like it was failing and he wanted to claw at his own skin to stop everything.

Tears streaked out of the corners of his eyes, unable to do anything about it. Only wait for it to stop.

Open Post for S&M!verse

After Voldemort's demise, Wizarding World

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Wizarding World; era unknown (pick one, I don't care) OTA

Lets say a while after the Master conquered the death eaters

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I'm going ahead and saying the short dear_mun thread goes with this too

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Some time after Christmas, Potter-verse

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I'm good with that

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