The Doctor can't help but try to choke back (and fail) the pained yelp as his leg screams in protect. He grips the sides of the sled, white-knuckling it and trying to get his breathing under control even as his vision grays out and then comes back to normal in bits and pieces. The Master's enjoying this. In fact, he thinks he's enjoying the waiting game too: making him wonder what he has planned in the future that beats death by boredom slash exposure to the elements. By the time he's recovered enough to keep talking, the Master has the hoversled up and operational.
Odd, he hadn't thought there was enough horse left to make the sled actually hover. Clearly he misjudged the Master's jiggery-pokery abilities.
The Doctor tries to prop himself up, looking up into the Master's eyes. He sees that hint of madness there, remembers what it was like to have a peek into the man's head.
"I probably ought to be disappointed with anything less from you of all people," the Doctor grits out. He can't help but let the frustration and disappointment color his voice. They've had this conversation, in a way -- or rather, he already has. It's all wibbly on the Master's end. "At the rate you're going, I'm wondering if you even have a grand plan for my death worked out. Tricky things, death plans! Dull and final and not much fun, I'd say."
He offers the Master a tight, pained smile. Personally, he thinks if the Master ever did manage to get around to killing him, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Not if he can't be there to appreciate all the creative ways the Master can make him suffer.
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Odd, he hadn't thought there was enough horse left to make the sled actually hover. Clearly he misjudged the Master's jiggery-pokery abilities.
The Doctor tries to prop himself up, looking up into the Master's eyes. He sees that hint of madness there, remembers what it was like to have a peek into the man's head.
"I probably ought to be disappointed with anything less from you of all people," the Doctor grits out. He can't help but let the frustration and disappointment color his voice. They've had this conversation, in a way -- or rather, he already has. It's all wibbly on the Master's end. "At the rate you're going, I'm wondering if you even have a grand plan for my death worked out. Tricky things, death plans! Dull and final and not much fun, I'd say."
He offers the Master a tight, pained smile. Personally, he thinks if the Master ever did manage to get around to killing him, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Not if he can't be there to appreciate all the creative ways the Master can make him suffer.