dear_mun | (no subject)

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Mundane. [Koschei tilts his head and almost smiles.] So, here we are again. I won’t trouble you with some long-winded threat. Tedious. Unnecessary--we’ve done this before, danced this dance in other homes for how long, now? Two years? Two and a half?

[Actually, it’s only one and a half.]

That brief? Hm. Irrelevant, anyway. Just remember that this is, as you say, a new start. The background and key points in my life that you’ve fleshed out, implemented from the start. I am not kind. I am not good. I am an agent of the Celestial Intervention Agency and, despite your frequent--and wholly annoying--second-guesses, I will be the Master one day.

Whether you like it or not.

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Things change, people change. A lot more than you would originally imagine.

I am very aware.

You're cheery.

And yet so cemented in the conjecture that you won't?

Of course. It's been a nice week.

[Beat.]

Oh. Sarcasm.

I have changed already, and will again. But not in the same way they my...[He waves a hand.] alternate website copy has.

Don't tell me you're losing the ability to hear sarcasm.

Each regeneration has its drawbacks, Theta.

[ Makes a face. ]

Of all the things to lose.

How old are you now, then?

Four hundred thirteen, when I last cared to count.

Wow. You're getting on a bit.

How loud are your drums?

Really? you're the Master? But you're such a baby! Look at you, gosh.

Is it because I don't have a bloody goatee?

And I am not the Master. I will be him. Future tense, do keep up.

No. [said very plainly, with a little headtilt as she takes in the unfamiliar face] I don't think it'd suit this face; you're just-- I mean, you look like you could be my age! I know you're not, of course, but the Master I'm used to looks about fifty; all sort of distinguished, you know, grey at the temples and all that.

[And she dismisses the clarification with a little wave of her hand.] Well, but you're still the same man. What's your name, then?

[She'd never thought about the Master having an actual name; suddenly she's rather curious.]

[Whether or not the Master is in the habit of looking backwards on his life honestly depends on the subject. He is not, however, generally in the habit of considering himself in retrospect. He has rather more time to do so now than he has had in previous lives, but it still feels rather a distasteful exercise to him. So it's something of a surprise to see this young version of himself here.]

[The body is not one he recognises-- it's a peculiarity of the multiple universes that meet here that one encounters potential, alternate regenerations-- but he could hardly fail to know himself.]

Well, of course you're not kind, you're CIA. I always imagined that any CIA agents who so much as exhibited a hint of the stuff were force-regenerated in hopes that their next body would be more sensible.

[He just rolls his eyes. Koschei doesn't care about his alternative versions, to be perfectly honest. They live his lives, just a touch different. Or drastically different. He's in his timeline, within his universe, and that's it.

But yes. He'd look rubbish with a goatee.]

Koschei. And you are?

Mm. Ritualistic suicide, I've heard. Forces a new perspective along with a new gender.

[He may or may not be joking. There's something familiar about this fellow--the look in his eyes, the countenance, the way his hands are clasped behind his back, it screams another version of Koschei. And, judging from the dark shades and cut of his suit and the facial hair, this one goes by a particular sobriquet.

Koschei leans forward. Tilts his head to the side--and then actually recoils. An android?]

What the shit.

Second life. If you care.

[And have a deep eyeroll for that, Koschei.]

Yes, the body's mechanical. Are you going to require more background, or will you be satisfied with that?

Jo. Jo Grant.

[She earnestly proffers a hand, before giving him a suspicious look.]

If I shake your hand, will you try and hypnotise me or break my neck or something?

[He sniffs, haughty and more than a little offended.]

Please. I am perfectly capable of exhibiting rehearsed social norms. I'm not a monster by nature, merely profession. [Though he is startlingly good at it.

Koschei takes Jo's hand–his grip is firm, cool–and raises it to brush her knuckles with his lips. Take that, polite society.]

[Of all the things he was expecting, that was really not one of them. He draws back--even robots need personal space--and thinks.]

And just how bored were we to create a duplicate? And had we drunk so much to forget our Asimov?

[Because honestly, who else would have created such a splendid crime against sentient life?]

[Privately, she's rather pleased by that reaction. The Master she knows might have played at being offended, but just as likely he would have laughed whilst he assured her that of course he wouldn't, Miss Grant, or made some sly comment to the effect that, well, she would have to see for herself. She is also, perhaps, a bit charmed by the kiss to her hand.]

Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Koschei. What's this Celestial Intervention Agency, then?

[Rather archly, because he anticipates your judgement, Koschei, and seriously does not have time for it.]

It isn't a duplicate. Well. Not as such.

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