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Long blond curls, reaching halfway through his back. Broad shoulders, big hands with elegant fingers, and, as he contemplates himself in a tiny pocket mirror he keeps with him, a noble brow. He already knows that this body is strong, full of energy and can’t stay still for long. Not that the previous bodies – with maybe one exception – had been really good at that either, but this one in particular has a great thirst for adventure. The very idea of stillness is enough to make this body recoil in abhorrence, and the same happens when it thinks of mediocrity and tameness. All things that his previous body had been, at least on the surface, very good at. Very good at being nice.
Nice.
As if that had ever done anything for anyone.
He had tried to be less alien, scary and loud. Less strange. But people had still run away in horror when they discovered how quick and good he had used to be at using weapons. And how cold he had used to be in their use, too.
This body doesn’t have the same fondness towards guns. It’s more of an indifference. Weapons are just a tool that feels a little bit like cheating. This body definitely doesn’t like cheating, come to think of it. It loves grand gestures and solving problems with one hand tied behind its back, it adores the idea of swooping in at the last minute and doing something great. No, not great. Something exceptional. August, even.
Yes. Yes, he really likes to use big and fancy words. They just felt right, in this body.
However, he thinks, as he looks around, what use are big words and big actions if there’s no one there to witness them?
What purpose does art have if there’s no one to appreciate it?
Art, words and overall communication, can’t exist in a void. They need an audience.
- Ah! - he exclaims, putting his hands on his hips. - That’s what I need! An audience! Wouldn’t you agree, Peri?
He lowers his gaze and frowns when he sees her. She looks very small in her little blue shirt and green skirt. She’s still and cold, her head slightly tilted to the side. Pale as a ghost. Purple marks on her neck.
The world spins.
He brings a hand to his head. What happened…? He remembers… dying. They had been poisoned, both of them. There had been only one dose of the cure, and he had given the antidote to her. Then, why wasn’t she…?
He swallows. His head is really starting to hurt. He hadn’t meant to do this. He’s… he doesn’t do this, does he? He doesn’t kill those who travel with him, unless they’re being too much of a nuisance. He doesn’t like to be alone. That was true in his previous body, and it’s still true now. What he does, he does out of love.
He remembers smashing Torvic’s head in with a rock, as a kid. To protect Koschei.
Do you see the things I’d do for you?
He remembers killing that man, back when he had just arrived on Earth, and the judgmental – and horrified – gaze of Ian.
It was the logical thing to do, Chesterfern. Don’t look at me like that.
He had to look out for Susan. He had to protect the ones who were close to him, or who else was going to do it? If they had to hate him for it, so be it. Sometimes to be good you had to be the bad guy.
Do you see the things I’d do for you?
He remembers about that time he had almost killed the Doctor, when he had tried to use that silly machine. One of the Doctor’s hearts had stopped, and he had just– panicked. The Doctor wasn’t supposed to die. The Doctor couldn’t die, the Master wouldn’t let him, not ever. If the Doctor died, he was going to follow soon after anyways. But, even at that time, he had acted purely out of love. If only the Doctor could have seen his true intentions for one moment, he would have understood.
Do you see?
The Doctor would have understood and given in. There was no need for him to be in pain, really. The Master didn’t enjoy pain, when it wasn’t necessary. And he didn’t enjoy death when it wasn’t necessary, either.
So, what happened to Peri?
He doesn’t remember. He has an excellent, fully functional Time Lord brain, and yet he doesn’t remember.
The Master gives her one long, silent look. He had died for her.
The things I’d do for you.
But she can’t see anymore, and he is alone. Alone with no one in the world to see the great things he’s going to do.
What’s the point in having the universe at your feet, if you can’t show it to one little finite being and bask in their wide-eyed surprise?
A Time Lord’s life is cold and long and dreadfully lonely.
He needs to find someone else.
He doesn’t want to be alone.
But first–
He takes off the coat of his old self –– of that dull, meaningless white. He had liked white a lot, back then. It seems like ages ago already. White and soft jumpers and angelic smiles.
Well, not anymore.
He had loved to look like a daisy, a harmless flower that you put behind the ear of a friend. Kind, simple, even. Now, he wants people to know exactly what to expect from him. He is a spiky, dangerous flower with a delicious and intoxicating smell that you don’t touch barehanded, unless you want to get stung by its thorns.
He wants his outer appearance to be reflective of his dangerous nature, in the same way poisonous animals use aposematic signals to threaten the world. He doesn’t want… he doesn’t want someone to join him just to end like poor Peri. They need to know he’s a bonfire and, when getting too close, they’ll inevitably be burned.
But for those who will play with the fire and not run away, for those he’ll be kind. This won’t happen again, in this body. Ever.
He gently covers Peri with his old coat – with his old self, who died for her, so uselessly.
Then, he takes a deep breath in, and he gets up.
- Take her away, - he says to the TARDIS.
He doesn’t want to look at her for one second longer. The very sight of her shakes him to the core.
The TARDIS he’s using now, a rebellious little thing, takes its time before absorbing Peri’s body into the floor. A couple of moments later she’s gone, like she’s never existed.
He lets himself mourn for a moment. Then, he decides he can still mourn while taking himself out of the hideous clothes he has on, and he walks towards the dress-room of the TARDIS.
He will do better next.
He just needs to find a new audience, someone who will appreciate him for who he is. Of something he’s sure, he’s not easy to appreciate. But he also knows there’s someone out there who will finally see him for who he is.