standsonhigh | The super friends!

The Master wasn't overly sure which part of this he hated the most. The indignity of being handcuffed to one of the TARDIS rails, the fact that he was stuck here with a companion to see it or the fact that said companion had rather humiliatingly defeated him. Either way, he refused to let that ruin his mood. Oh yes, he was a great optimist!

When life gives you lemons, bite into them raw and spit the horrible bitter juice in the face of your enemies. That was his motto.

"So us three, all alone here, is your bright idea?" the Master criticised as the Doctor fiddled with the console because really, any sane man would have insisted their companion leave while babysitting a genocidal mass murderer. But that was the Doctor, he did love putting his earth girls in danger. Not that Martha had much cause to be worried, he did rather suspect she was probably the one in the best position right now. "Yes, I can't see how that would go badly at all. Foresight always was your best trait."

How much longer till he got to be free anyway? Even prisoners didn't stay handcuffed to posts all day.

Oh, Martha would be perfectly alright with having him handcuffed all day and night, though the withering glare she sent the Master said clearly that she truly wished him to suffer a worse fate.

If it had been her choice the Master wouldn't be alive anymore, or would be as dead as a Time Lord could be anyway. But no, the Doctor had to be kind and generous. Trust him to ruin all her best-laid plans even when she didn't mean to. She had been all determined to get out and move on with her life, until she realized that the Doctor was determined to keep the Master on board and... Well, she couldn't leave him at the Master's non-existent mercy.

"You could be a little more grateful for being alive," she pointed out resentfully before she went back to pretending to study a console. She had been very hard at work ignoring the Master. "Compared to what you put everyone through you're on a luxury cruise."

"Oh dear, do I not look grateful? Because I am. There's nothing I love more than being forced to be alive and the prisoner or a moron," the Master drawled idly as he tugged his wrist for effect. This was fast becoming a tedious adventure already and he really wanted to just get free and claim a nice room to waste some time in, plot his revenge and/or potential hijacking. Couldn't be too hard, surely. The Doctor was not really a man who bothered with security and safety features.

Hell, this thing was so out-dated, he could probably hotwire her faster than steal her.

"If this is a luxury cruise, I have some serious feedback about the service here. It's terrible. I still haven't gotten a drink, the accommodation is dank and the company is dull. Plus the handcuffing does detract from the luxury." All fair feedback, he liked to think.

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were counting on room service," Martha snapped. Her hands tightened around the edge of the console. "We're all out of French maids, you will have to make do with me."

She sent him another glare from the corner of her eyes.

Don't let him get to you, was all the only advice the Doctor had had, and even now he was completely ignoring their spat and the giant mass-murdering elephant in his control room. Lovely. Just perfect. Why had she decided to stay again?

"I'll be sure to bring your fruity cocktail with an umbrella any moment now." Yeah, right. More like, bring a gag. Now that was the kind of room service she could get behind.

"I bet the Doctor has a french maid outfit somewhere. You could just dress for the part," the Master smirked playfully, unable to help himself. Oh yes, he could totally bet the Doctor had one of those. Kinky bastard. All these young girls going in and out, he had to have dressed one of them up at some point. French maid was such a common kink.

Then, with an amused grin, he leaned forward a little with only the worst intentions. As ever.

"Oooh I do wonder how your cocktail skills on. I mean your family were pretty handy in the service industry, I'm curious if it's genetic," Oh yes, hitting where it hurt. But sometimes he had to swing low to get the Doctor's attention.

Martha's facial expression froze for a moment before the scowl slipped from her face, replaced by a very blank expression. She took a deep breath, her chin went up a bit higher. It was far too late to pretend that she wasn't affected, she decided, but she refused to get angry with him. He lived for angering people.

"Actually, if you must know, that's the cotton farming; the cocktails are an acquired skill," she said coolly, refusing to even look at him.

She wouldn't play this game, she told herself. She had learned better than to play tit for that, you learned that with difficult patients. But oh how she wanted to take a cocktail glass and shove it down his throat...

"A skill you should prove. Go on then, in the kitchen, make me a drink," the Master teased because he knew he was getting there, little by little, wriggling under her skin. He was curious how much longer he had to haul insults before she slapped him or tried to kill him herself -- probably would take more than words to achieve that, hmm? Given her loyalties to the Doctor. It was all saving, no killing. What a dull way to live.

It was quite amusing, really, to know he could so easily hit so many buttons with his words. He was never more proud than he was now. Entirely disarmed and still annoying.

"Your sister, what was her name again? Pretty girl. Made a great cocktail. Terrible at tea though. I don't know how many cups of tea she had to have throw at her before she learned the right milk ratio," the Master complained, knowing the more he hammered at the point, the more likely it was for Martha to get angry and the Doctor to join in. And that's all he truly wanted,

The super friends!

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