“Mardi Gras”
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. I’m not making any money from this.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Don’t ask me why the Master and the fifth Doctor are working together in this fic — it’s meant to be short and sweet, and I didn’t feel like writing a back story. Feel free to invent one if it makes you feel better.
Struggling violently against the ropes that tied her to the chair, the Rani looked up at her captors with contempt.
“Poorly-woven misfit!” she spat at the man in black velvet, and then turned her dark gaze on the blond man who stood over her, his arms folded across his chest. “And you… you half-witted half-breed!”
“Charming as always, isn’t she Doctor?” the Master asked.
“Oh yes, she’s always had quite a way with words, hasn’t she?” the Doctor agreed.
“What shall we do with her?”
“Take her back to Gallifrey, of course,” the Doctor replied.
“You’re a well-matched pair of chromosomal disasters!” the Rani told them viciously. The two Time Lords exchanged a look.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather let her go?” the Master asked.
“Let her go?” The Doctor’s eyebrows went up. The Master gave him an evil grin.
“I have an idea.” He leaned close to the Rani. “I am the Master,” he said softly in a velvety voice. “You will obey only my commands…”
The Rani staggered back into her TARDIS and hit the door switch, sinking down on the floor near the control console with a groan. Her head felt like an army of Cybermen had marched through it while periodically using the inside of her skull for target practice. Her long dark hair hung down in disarray around her face, and it smelled like the inside of a bar. Her mouth tasted like last night’s alcohol and greasy powdered pastry. The zipper of her silver jumpsuit was parked down between her breasts. She realized that she could recall only bits and pieces of the previous evening. With a frown, she pulled herself to her feet and checked her location (New Orleans) and the local date (February 25, 2004). With a frown, she opened the viewscreen to see what was outside. “Bourbon Street”, the street sign read. She shook her head.
“I don’t understand it,” she muttered, looking down at her chest. “How in Rassilon’s name did I get all these beaded necklaces?”
FINIS.
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC. I’m not making any money from this.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Don’t ask me why the Master and the fifth Doctor are working together in this fic — it’s meant to be short and sweet, and I didn’t feel like writing a back story. Feel free to invent one if it makes you feel better.
Struggling violently against the ropes that tied her to the chair, the Rani looked up at her captors with contempt.
“Poorly-woven misfit!” she spat at the man in black velvet, and then turned her dark gaze on the blond man who stood over her, his arms folded across his chest. “And you… you half-witted half-breed!”
“Charming as always, isn’t she Doctor?” the Master asked.
“Oh yes, she’s always had quite a way with words, hasn’t she?” the Doctor agreed.
“What shall we do with her?”
“Take her back to Gallifrey, of course,” the Doctor replied.
“You’re a well-matched pair of chromosomal disasters!” the Rani told them viciously. The two Time Lords exchanged a look.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather let her go?” the Master asked.
“Let her go?” The Doctor’s eyebrows went up. The Master gave him an evil grin.
“I have an idea.” He leaned close to the Rani. “I am the Master,” he said softly in a velvety voice. “You will obey only my commands…”
The Rani staggered back into her TARDIS and hit the door switch, sinking down on the floor near the control console with a groan. Her head felt like an army of Cybermen had marched through it while periodically using the inside of her skull for target practice. Her long dark hair hung down in disarray around her face, and it smelled like the inside of a bar. Her mouth tasted like last night’s alcohol and greasy powdered pastry. The zipper of her silver jumpsuit was parked down between her breasts. She realized that she could recall only bits and pieces of the previous evening. With a frown, she pulled herself to her feet and checked her location (New Orleans) and the local date (February 25, 2004). With a frown, she opened the viewscreen to see what was outside. “Bourbon Street”, the street sign read. She shook her head.
“I don’t understand it,” she muttered, looking down at her chest. “How in Rassilon’s name did I get all these beaded necklaces?”
FINIS.