Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum


“Good Lord, one more day of you and even I would swear off sex. That’s disgusting, what you’ve been doing with his sweets like that. He’ll have to regenerate later just to wash the taste out.”

The Valeyard draws a blanket up over River and smiles at the Master’s grossed out leer. “Oh Koschei, get your mind out of the gutter. He hates the flavor of pear. I don’t. In fact, I actually prefer the pear-flavoured jelly babies. Get over yourself. Food has been used in pursuit of adult pleasure for such a long time, it scarcely bears mentioning, this issue of yours. Besides…” he crooks a squarish finger across a narrow channel of rock leading into a ravine, “…isn’t it about time we enter the Cloud proper? I know a short-cuuuuuttt…”

The Master smirks, then has to stick his tongue like a fu dog as the man’s hand plops down on his head and affects a slight rumpling of the hair there. He mutters, “I wasn’t talking about the candy. Why am I not surprised you’ve been leading us in circles? Idiot. You couldn’t plot your way out of a paper bag.” He palms his forehead in surprise. “Oh god, why and when did I start sounding like him? And why do I want to know why?” the Master groans to himself, scratching his tee-shirted chest. “Let me guess, you want to scout ahead, with me. How thrilling. Let’s go, at least then I can keep an eye on you, you pervert. At least you were decent enough to give me new clothes. Those blue knee pants were ridiculous.”

As they both leave the last view of the camping area they’ll get for a while, watching behind them for any sign of wakefulness on the part of the other two members of their party, they follow the stone dust-strewn path down through some bluish-silver brush with round copper leaves, their fingers close to the cool rock walls on either side.

“The way in from here is pretty straight forward, Master,” the Valeyard says, his chest heaving slightly as he stops to lean on one of the long natural walls, “… in fact, I believe there is a clearing ahead where we can see the affected area quite clearly. It isn’t far… this stupid malfunctioning Flesh, I’m going to decommission this thing when we get back- throw it in the pit, where the Pythia can have it.”

“What is that, then? That underpowered Flesh having a bit of trouble with the altitude, you prepackaged git? This is better than Gamestation telly! You should pay attention- things have changed since you’ve been gone.” the Master sighs in content, happy now that the Valeyard is showing signs of wear again. The Doctor’s plan must be working. It -will- work.

“At least I’m not the one who likes bubble wrap. Pot, kettle, much?” the Valeyard quips, his mouth half open with the effort of breathing.

As the Master watches, the Valeyard’s chest rises higher and higher with each breath, as though trumpeting for air.

Suddenly the man falls forward in a heap of tweed and rabbit hair, flopping onto the Master like a limp fish.

“Ew, get off me you moron!” the Master squeaks, trying to disentangle himself from the mess of arms and pockets.

Then the Valeyard lifts his head up, only to land it again on the Master’s shoulder. The eyes gleam like an ocean of precious stones… but which ship is sailing that sea of flesh now?

“God damn it I said get off me!” the Master quails, scrubbing himself.

“It’s… all right, ‘Kos,” the Doctor’s Flesh says, rolling his shoulders and stretching as he picks up the Master’s adolescent arm from his own adult one and dusts off. “It’s just little old me. I’ve got him under for now. Let’s go to the Cloud.” He claps the Master on the back.

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