Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2007-07-12 08:36 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2007-07-12 08:36 am
Entry tags:
The Joys of Insanity.
Hello, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wanttobeatree! I've written your Sam-is-the-Master prompt!
This is, er, my first real Life on Mars fic, so I'm in a sort of finding-my-fandom-feet stage. Sorry if the characterisation is wonky or the writing is overly odd.
"I hear voices, Annie," he says. "In my head. The people from my home, calling me back." He pauses. "I don't know how to go back."
Annie is staring at him. He can't read the expression on her face. He's never been good at deciphering human signals, even though the understanding seems to come so naturally to everyone else.
He brings his hand down to the desk, tapping out an all-too-familiar rhythm with his fingers.
"I hear drumming."
-
There is a watch chained to the frame of the bed in his flat. He didn't notice it until he had been in this madness-inducing dream for almost three weeks (although who can tell how quickly time is passing in the real world?). It is an old-fashioned pocket watch with an intricate cover design, and sometimes he will catch sight of the chain glinting out of the corner of his eye and be suddenly reminded of handcuffs, of humiliation.
He often wonders what it looks like inside.
He has never opened it. He can't explain to himself why.
-
The drumming is louder with every passing day, with every passing hour. He thinks he might have heard it all his life. Maybe it's normal?
One day, he hunts himself down. He corners his four-year-old self down an alleyway and says, "Sam Tyler." His voice is sterner than he meant it to be; he's never been good at talking to children. "Do you hear drumming?"
"You're not supposed to be here," says the boy. He is shifting from foot to foot, twisting his hands around each other, avoiding eye contact.
Sam laughs. "I know," he says, and he cannot understand why he finds it quite as amusing as he does. "But I'm not really here."
"You're not real," says the boy, looking up into his eyes.
Sam stares at him. The boy stares back, his expression determined, and Sam is seized suddenly by a powerful, inexplicable anger.
"I am real!" he shouts, furious. "I'm the only real person here!"
The boy flees.
-
There is a graveyard not too far away, and when Sam manages to track down his four-year-old self he finds him there, sitting in front of a gravestone bearing his name. He stands there in silence for a moment, watching, before approaching him.
"I'm sorry," he says, sitting down next to him. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."
The boy doesn't answer; keeps staring at the grave. "There are two of us," he says, after a pause.
"Three," Sam says, with a slight smile. "My name's Sam Tyler, too." He lets his eyes stray over the nearby gravestones, and his breath catches. His parents' names are there, clear as the sky.
It has to be a coincidence. He's already met his parents in this time.
"No," the boy says, startling Sam out of his thoughts. "You haven't got a name."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, half-laughing. "Of course I've got a name."
The boy turns to regard him, very gravely. "You shouldn't be here," he says. "You'll cause a paradox."
Is this normal? Sam wonders. He hasn't spoken to many four-year-olds.
"You're not real, and I'm not real," the boy says, turning back to look at the grave. "It's not the same sort of not-real, though. He might have been real, but he's dead, so he can't help us."
It all seems very odd, Sam thinks. But this is a dream-world, after all. Why shouldn't a four-year-old philosophise?
-
One day, when Gene hits him, Sam snaps and throws him to the floor and kicks him until he is bleeding and barely conscious.
Sam spends the night throwing up.
Gene is out of commission for two days. When he returns, he congratulates Sam on finally having found a pair, then socks him in the gut.
The drums are louder than ever.
-
Three days later, Sam makes some unconvincing excuse in the middle of a murder investigation and goes straight back to the flat. He spends almost two hours fiddling uneasily with the chain of the watch. There is a voice in his head, speaking softly to him, but it's not like the echos of 2006. It is strangely familiar, but he cannot place it. It whispers things to him about time and power and somebody called the Doctor.
It says that it can take him to whatever time he wants, and he almost breaks the watch in his eagerness to open it.
The day after that, he pays a visit to the Tylers' house and finds it empty.
That night, the entire street is destroyed in a terrible fire.
-
"I want you to be my companion," he says, leaning against the frame of the door.
"Your what?" Gene demands. "Where'd you pick up that poncey accent from?"
"Haven't you ever wanted to rule the world?" he asks, casually.
Gene looks incredulously at him, then laughs. "I've got enough on my plate trying to keep this place in order, thanks."
"No?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. "You're not tempted by the prospect of travelling in time and space? What a pity."
"You know, I reckon Crane was right about you," Gene says, squinting suspiciously at him. "You really are a looney."
"You're a creation of my mind," he says. "I should be able to make you do whatever I like." He is tapping out a four-beat rhythm on the doorframe, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Gene.
Gene stares at him, barely aware of the fact that he has started to echo the rhythm against his leg.
"Get on your knees," the man with Sam's face says, moving closer. "There's something I want you to do for me."
wanttobeatree! I've written your Sam-is-the-Master prompt!This is, er, my first real Life on Mars fic, so I'm in a sort of finding-my-fandom-feet stage. Sorry if the characterisation is wonky or the writing is overly odd.
"I hear voices, Annie," he says. "In my head. The people from my home, calling me back." He pauses. "I don't know how to go back."
Annie is staring at him. He can't read the expression on her face. He's never been good at deciphering human signals, even though the understanding seems to come so naturally to everyone else.
He brings his hand down to the desk, tapping out an all-too-familiar rhythm with his fingers.
"I hear drumming."
There is a watch chained to the frame of the bed in his flat. He didn't notice it until he had been in this madness-inducing dream for almost three weeks (although who can tell how quickly time is passing in the real world?). It is an old-fashioned pocket watch with an intricate cover design, and sometimes he will catch sight of the chain glinting out of the corner of his eye and be suddenly reminded of handcuffs, of humiliation.
He often wonders what it looks like inside.
He has never opened it. He can't explain to himself why.
The drumming is louder with every passing day, with every passing hour. He thinks he might have heard it all his life. Maybe it's normal?
One day, he hunts himself down. He corners his four-year-old self down an alleyway and says, "Sam Tyler." His voice is sterner than he meant it to be; he's never been good at talking to children. "Do you hear drumming?"
"You're not supposed to be here," says the boy. He is shifting from foot to foot, twisting his hands around each other, avoiding eye contact.
Sam laughs. "I know," he says, and he cannot understand why he finds it quite as amusing as he does. "But I'm not really here."
"You're not real," says the boy, looking up into his eyes.
Sam stares at him. The boy stares back, his expression determined, and Sam is seized suddenly by a powerful, inexplicable anger.
"I am real!" he shouts, furious. "I'm the only real person here!"
The boy flees.
There is a graveyard not too far away, and when Sam manages to track down his four-year-old self he finds him there, sitting in front of a gravestone bearing his name. He stands there in silence for a moment, watching, before approaching him.
"I'm sorry," he says, sitting down next to him. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."
The boy doesn't answer; keeps staring at the grave. "There are two of us," he says, after a pause.
"Three," Sam says, with a slight smile. "My name's Sam Tyler, too." He lets his eyes stray over the nearby gravestones, and his breath catches. His parents' names are there, clear as the sky.
It has to be a coincidence. He's already met his parents in this time.
"No," the boy says, startling Sam out of his thoughts. "You haven't got a name."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asks, half-laughing. "Of course I've got a name."
The boy turns to regard him, very gravely. "You shouldn't be here," he says. "You'll cause a paradox."
Is this normal? Sam wonders. He hasn't spoken to many four-year-olds.
"You're not real, and I'm not real," the boy says, turning back to look at the grave. "It's not the same sort of not-real, though. He might have been real, but he's dead, so he can't help us."
It all seems very odd, Sam thinks. But this is a dream-world, after all. Why shouldn't a four-year-old philosophise?
One day, when Gene hits him, Sam snaps and throws him to the floor and kicks him until he is bleeding and barely conscious.
Sam spends the night throwing up.
Gene is out of commission for two days. When he returns, he congratulates Sam on finally having found a pair, then socks him in the gut.
The drums are louder than ever.
Three days later, Sam makes some unconvincing excuse in the middle of a murder investigation and goes straight back to the flat. He spends almost two hours fiddling uneasily with the chain of the watch. There is a voice in his head, speaking softly to him, but it's not like the echos of 2006. It is strangely familiar, but he cannot place it. It whispers things to him about time and power and somebody called the Doctor.
It says that it can take him to whatever time he wants, and he almost breaks the watch in his eagerness to open it.
The day after that, he pays a visit to the Tylers' house and finds it empty.
That night, the entire street is destroyed in a terrible fire.
"I want you to be my companion," he says, leaning against the frame of the door.
"Your what?" Gene demands. "Where'd you pick up that poncey accent from?"
"Haven't you ever wanted to rule the world?" he asks, casually.
Gene looks incredulously at him, then laughs. "I've got enough on my plate trying to keep this place in order, thanks."
"No?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow. "You're not tempted by the prospect of travelling in time and space? What a pity."
"You know, I reckon Crane was right about you," Gene says, squinting suspiciously at him. "You really are a looney."
"You're a creation of my mind," he says. "I should be able to make you do whatever I like." He is tapping out a four-beat rhythm on the doorframe, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Gene.
Gene stares at him, barely aware of the fact that he has started to echo the rhythm against his leg.
"Get on your knees," the man with Sam's face says, moving closer. "There's something I want you to do for me."
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The thought of it actually scares me though, since I can't actually think of the Master and Sam as the same people. I know they're both, essentially, John Simm, but the characters are so different that I can't actually imagine them meeting. That was a ramble and a half, wasn't it?
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I can't really think of them as being the same, either. When John Simm started playing the Master, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to look at him without thinking 'SAM SAM SAM', but they are such completely different characters (and played so differently) that it wasn't a problem at all.
Which, I suppose, goes to show how awesome Simm is.
Still, the 'the watch creates a new personality' thing makes it much easier for them to potentially actually be the same character.
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OMG SAM/GENE IN MY BRAIN. Srsly, that translated to 'Sam feels guilty because he sekritly loves Gene'.
Gene is out of commission for two days. When he returns, he congratulates Sam on finally having found a pair, then socks him in the gut.
Ahahahahahahahahaha.
I LOVE THIS DEARLY. GENE IS TAPPING TOO!
Low-level hypnotic field!
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Coherency later, ooohs now.
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*HYPERVENTILATES*
THAT IS AWESOME
this whole fic is so, so terrifying, in the BEST WAY EVER, and I love it. The violence! The last line, omg. The accent reappearing, which really got me. It gets creepier and creepier and reaches, oh, a CRESCENDO.
(am using ukulele orchestra icon on the basis that, er, Jonty kind of looks like John Simm? *fail*)
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...if you wanted to write a longer Sam-is-the-Master fic, though...
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(Also, I seem to have turned Rose into a Time Lord and savaged Gallifrey even more than it initially was. And made 9th Doctor even darker. And adopted a brain-eating sort-of-AU Help?)
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The fire, and the gut-socking, and the companion-ing, and the something wanting to be done-d, and, er, Gene being all rhythm tapping, and LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO MY GRAMMAR WITH YOUR BRILLIANCE.
sdbjdfbadajbjb, idk, far too good.
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YOU > n
*mems*
*too tired for further squee/praise/adoration/first born sons*
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There's also the thing of how much is Sam and how much is influence from the Master...
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Oh.
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....nrg. Evil!Sam is amazing. Creepy as HELL but amazing.
You are terrifying me, but in a good way :)
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*gives you as much sugar and zombie porn as you could ever desire*
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That was... surprising. I kinda loved it.
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This is a thing of majesty. I- yes. You've stolen anything remotely coherent that I was planning to say, thank you very much. Just... Wow.
Not that I was sitting around waiting for someone to write a Master/Gene fic or anything. Of course not. *shifty eyes*
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I can't be the only person who's written one! That's appalling! THERE NEEDS TO BE MORE MASTER/GENE.
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(Anonymous) 2007-07-13 12:11 pm (UTC)(link)And I am terribly sorry about being rubbish at reviews at the moment.
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Mind you, now have visions of Gene as a companion. One can only imagine his reactons to the rest of the universe. And then we need to team him up with Jack Harkness. And Martha. NOTHING IN THE UNIVERSE COULD STOP THEM.
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Write more! Anything! Soon!
And that is all I have to say
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Bravo.
x
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Sam spends the night throwing up.
Gene is out of commission for two days. When he returns, he congratulates Sam on finally having found a pair, then socks him in the gut.
The drums are louder than ever.
PURE. EFFING. SEX. You're a goddamn genius.
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*but quite likes this, too* ^_^
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...♥
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Wow, this is FANTASTIC. Sinister and strange and totally convincing. The bits with young Sammy and Gene are amazing (Gene's voice in particular is perfect). And the exchange with Gene at the end: funny and horrifying at the same time. Not to mention tantalising: I'd love to know what happens next!
Thank you ♥ *runs off to mem*
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