[A storm brews over London. Thunder cracks at Piccadilly Circle and bolts of lightning pop at Big Ben as a swell of heavy rain come down with the ferocity and sound of a stampede of horses. While everyone with a lick of sense and sanity are busy running and ducking from the rain, the Master has neither of those things. Putting on a thick, wool trench coat to keep warm, he also brings along an umbrella, just in case the lightning should die down.
He slips out of his high-rise flat in upper London, determined on finding a proverbial glass to knock down. The trivial, almost monotonous affair of human business and politics bores him to tears. He needs something to keep his mind occupied and head mostly down until his dear friend shows his face again.
Ah, the darling Doctor. You'd think that, with the way the Master's been acting lately, that he's gotten over his little war with him; that perhaps he really has turned over a new leaf because of the events of Christmas of 2009. You're wrong, you're stupid, bye-bye now. Anyways, the Master is walking through the rain now, unaffected by the rain droplets slapping across his sharp cheeks. He merely raises the collar of the coat, looking all mysterious beneath a halo of a street lap before he turns the corner down an alleyway. He's unconcerned about the lurking criminals in the darkness -- if there should be any --; he's got bigger fish to fry.]
i am so hard on you ;;
He slips out of his high-rise flat in upper London, determined on finding a proverbial glass to knock down. The trivial, almost monotonous affair of human business and politics bores him to tears. He needs something to keep his mind occupied and head mostly down until his dear friend shows his face again.
Ah, the darling Doctor. You'd think that, with the way the Master's been acting lately, that he's gotten over his little war with him; that perhaps he really has turned over a new leaf because of the events of Christmas of 2009. You're wrong, you're stupid, bye-bye now. Anyways, the Master is walking through the rain now, unaffected by the rain droplets slapping across his sharp cheeks. He merely raises the collar of the coat, looking all mysterious beneath a halo of a street lap before he turns the corner down an alleyway. He's unconcerned about the lurking criminals in the darkness -- if there should be any --; he's got bigger fish to fry.]