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best_enemies2010-04-06 12:25 pm
dangerprawn.livejournal.com) wrote in best_enemies2010-04-06 12:25 pm
Entry tags:
Positive or Not - Beta Search
Hello, all! I am searching for a beta. I'm attempting to write an epic Simm!Master/Ten time-loop!adventure. I've become fond of attempting to express as much as possible in as few words as I can manage. So, epic for me is probably not anymore than 50 pages. But, It will be full of angst and fluff and strangeness. Please find a little bit more about the story in general and a rough sketch (which needs a lot of work! >_<;) of the first chapter under the cut. Be warned -- there are spoilers for The End of Time.
Alright, the story addresses these things:
- What would happen to time and space if Ten found a loophole to cheat death and screw with his own timeline?
- Who is the Master without the sound of the drums? Is he to be trusted?
Union Square, New York City, March 22nd 2008: the clock struck three and the carnage began. It was sheer panic. Feathers flew every which way and so did people. Strange, the activities that humans came up with to entertain themselves on this bland planet. They sure were fond of their childish games. Hundreds of them gathered all at once in something called a flash-mob pillow fight. He could hardly hear himself think over their gleeful shouts of laughter.
Nonetheless, he had had the feeling that he would be there and he was right. Through it all he could smell him. After all this time, after all this waiting, he was there. All these years he had been like a ghost to him. He had expected to see him each time he turned a corner, each time he opened a door, each time he woke from sleep. Finally, their paths had crossed he was sure he was there. He was there now, somewhere in this park. He has sure of it and he was not about to allow a small riot to stop him. He fought his way through the crowd.
He knew he was close before he actually caught sight of him. He could feel his consciousness as it ticked away as insistently as a well oiled watch. As usual he was always one brilliant burst ahead, one violent flourish away from solving some puzzle. This is who he was, the man who applied remedies. It was what he lived for, the hope that what is what was and what shall be – all of the chaos of time and space – was just a leap away from coming together, falling into place, making sense. But he knew, perhaps better than anyone ever had in all of existence, that sometimes even with the guidance of a practiced hand the universe was not obediently ordered.
He turned once, twice, three times before he saw the unmistakable flash of a grin and dark, mischievous eyes. He reached out and grabbed him by the collar. The smile wavered then melted off the other man's face and was replaced with a scowl of annoyance.
He took a slow breath to steady himself so he could savor the words he'd been practicing for what seemed like an eternity, “I am going end you.”
“Well, one little pillow isn't going to...” he threw him to the ground and raised the pillow over his head. The Doctor fell gracelessly onto his ass. He protested, crossing his arms to defend himself, “No need for violence!”
He proceeded to beat him about the face and neck with all the might of a vengeful god, “You deserve it. You deserve every bit of it. Say it! Say you deserve it, you sorry bastard.”
“No!” he could barley hear him through the din of the crowd, “I won't because I don't. I don't know what I've done to you. Now, let me alone.”
“Say it!” he hissed.
“I,” he admitted, “probably deserve it.”
“Almost. 'I deserve it... what?'”
Now he looked positively bewildered, “What? I don't have time for-”
“Don't be so dull,” he would show the Doctor everything. He wondered what would happen when he did. If he split open his mind and poured everything he knew into him – from his undone run as Prime Minister to the second coming of Gallifrey – would the Doctor break or would he understand? “I'll give you a hint.”
He took his face in his hands. The Doctor struggled, but it was too late. They came unfurled. Time slowed, sped, stood still, folded in on itself. All went dark and silent. He felt the Doctor, felt that he had no words, that he had dissolved. He was were faint, without substance, without borders. He was at once impossibly small and stretched across the whole of the universe. In the darkness and he was the starlight with which he was perforated. He was four palpitations. Four heartbeats that wheeled with the heavens and broke free into the void.
He came back to himself to see the Doctor clinging to the earth, staring into the middle distance and gasping for air. That redhead he had taken to was trying to pull them apart, shouting far too loudly:
“You're hurting him!”
“Master?” the Doctor choked. “I don't believe. How–”
He could not keep himself from snarling. That was not the answer he had been looking for, "You tell me."
Alright, the story addresses these things:
- What would happen to time and space if Ten found a loophole to cheat death and screw with his own timeline?
- Who is the Master without the sound of the drums? Is he to be trusted?
Union Square, New York City, March 22nd 2008: the clock struck three and the carnage began. It was sheer panic. Feathers flew every which way and so did people. Strange, the activities that humans came up with to entertain themselves on this bland planet. They sure were fond of their childish games. Hundreds of them gathered all at once in something called a flash-mob pillow fight. He could hardly hear himself think over their gleeful shouts of laughter.
Nonetheless, he had had the feeling that he would be there and he was right. Through it all he could smell him. After all this time, after all this waiting, he was there. All these years he had been like a ghost to him. He had expected to see him each time he turned a corner, each time he opened a door, each time he woke from sleep. Finally, their paths had crossed he was sure he was there. He was there now, somewhere in this park. He has sure of it and he was not about to allow a small riot to stop him. He fought his way through the crowd.
He knew he was close before he actually caught sight of him. He could feel his consciousness as it ticked away as insistently as a well oiled watch. As usual he was always one brilliant burst ahead, one violent flourish away from solving some puzzle. This is who he was, the man who applied remedies. It was what he lived for, the hope that what is what was and what shall be – all of the chaos of time and space – was just a leap away from coming together, falling into place, making sense. But he knew, perhaps better than anyone ever had in all of existence, that sometimes even with the guidance of a practiced hand the universe was not obediently ordered.
He turned once, twice, three times before he saw the unmistakable flash of a grin and dark, mischievous eyes. He reached out and grabbed him by the collar. The smile wavered then melted off the other man's face and was replaced with a scowl of annoyance.
He took a slow breath to steady himself so he could savor the words he'd been practicing for what seemed like an eternity, “I am going end you.”
“Well, one little pillow isn't going to...” he threw him to the ground and raised the pillow over his head. The Doctor fell gracelessly onto his ass. He protested, crossing his arms to defend himself, “No need for violence!”
He proceeded to beat him about the face and neck with all the might of a vengeful god, “You deserve it. You deserve every bit of it. Say it! Say you deserve it, you sorry bastard.”
“No!” he could barley hear him through the din of the crowd, “I won't because I don't. I don't know what I've done to you. Now, let me alone.”
“Say it!” he hissed.
“I,” he admitted, “probably deserve it.”
“Almost. 'I deserve it... what?'”
Now he looked positively bewildered, “What? I don't have time for-”
“Don't be so dull,” he would show the Doctor everything. He wondered what would happen when he did. If he split open his mind and poured everything he knew into him – from his undone run as Prime Minister to the second coming of Gallifrey – would the Doctor break or would he understand? “I'll give you a hint.”
He took his face in his hands. The Doctor struggled, but it was too late. They came unfurled. Time slowed, sped, stood still, folded in on itself. All went dark and silent. He felt the Doctor, felt that he had no words, that he had dissolved. He was were faint, without substance, without borders. He was at once impossibly small and stretched across the whole of the universe. In the darkness and he was the starlight with which he was perforated. He was four palpitations. Four heartbeats that wheeled with the heavens and broke free into the void.
He came back to himself to see the Doctor clinging to the earth, staring into the middle distance and gasping for air. That redhead he had taken to was trying to pull them apart, shouting far too loudly:
“You're hurting him!”
“Master?” the Doctor choked. “I don't believe. How–”
He could not keep himself from snarling. That was not the answer he had been looking for, "You tell me."