trans_9 | Shore Leave: Geartopia [Open to All]

Shore Leave: Geartopia [Open to All]

||Attention all crewmen, shore leave is now in progress, attention crewmen, shore leave is now in progress...||

Stacy's voiced called the entire crew, until all of them were gathered at the Obs Deck. Then, a dossier appeared on the screens, along with the image of a rotating planet.

Planet Designation: Geartopia
Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non-sentient life: Extensive flora and fauna.
Semi-Sentient Life: Yes.
Sentient Life: Homo Sapiens, Homo Animalia, Machina Erectus.
Water: 20.6% of the planet's surface.
Climate: Earth-like, Arid desert
Landscape: 70% Desert..
Air: Normoxic concentration.
Air Pressure: 101.3 kPa (kilopascals) = 14.7 psi (pounds per square inch)
Sky: Blue
Sun: A class G2V, yellow star.
Warnings: Wildlife, humanoids and plant-life can be hazardous.
Nomalanga has given us a map with which areas to avoid.
Mission: Shore leave, and preparing for an attack in a few days, planet's time. Nomalanga has promised food, clothing and animals in exchange for your cooperation in aiding her.

Once, long ago, Geartopia was built by aliens visiting the planet and granting intelligence to some native species. Of course you wouldn't know this apart from the giant black obsidian monoliths humming precariously outside of town. They are formed in a circle formation that might remind those who come from earth of Stonehenge, only built out of a much more study device. This is what Nomalanga used to contact you. The rocks cannot be moved and any attacks on them will be useless. The Wild Ones will come out of the forest at night, leaving a trace of plants as they go back and fro their own forest. The technology the elder aliens left them allows for contact with Stacy but otherwise there is nothing futuristic going on on the planet - the aliens wanted it this way and for the most part the population respects this.

All except Snidley and his goons, of course. Thankfully most of them have gone into hiding once their plot was found out. In fact, Nomalanga and those still loyal to her are busy working on making this planned attack, and getting the townspeople ready for it.

You can also find a few remains of their culture scattered around the land in the form of large stone carvings around the town, in between a wooden tavern bar or used as a sort of tribute, covered in dry plants. Most of the area is dry and arid, with very tiny grass and shrubs growing over the hill, and, strangely enough, an area from town that is densely populated by forest. Few dare go in, due to it being the territory of the Wild Ones.

As you walk around, you notice that the technology is steampunk with a cowboy flare; there is one train that comes from the towns every morning at 6am and leaves at 9pm. Horses can be rented for a price (some normal, some like this), chariot rides as well. Gears and dark clothing seem to be the norm, possibly due that their source of leather. The inhabitants are mostly humans, humanoid animals, alien natives and steampunk robots.

But enough of that, let's see what you can do here:

- Saloon and bars of all sizes, most comically named with an object, and a color. You can find all sorts of them across town, but those on the western side are more sympathetic towards Snidley and hate strangers with a passion. Do not go there unless you're ready to fight a few of them.

They do, however, have the best drinks, and card games.

There are hotels with gear pianos playing wistful tunes as you drink hard liquor made from cactus juice, honey and barley. The honey wine is especially prized and costly.

There is also a small carnival with steampunk and old west fair, sugar and cactus fruit pies, whole animals roasted over open pits, musicians, and a single wooden coaster. It's not much, but the food is excellent.

Be careful, however. The cactus fruit does cause stomach aches for most people not native to this world. Think of it much like lactos intolerance. It's a chance you take eating it. However if you do, it tastes much like an orange, strawberry and a banana were put together in a blender.

As thanks for helping her out, anyone stepping into the city is given by the mayoress as part of her exchange bartering price, one cowboy hat (all brown), one pair of steampunk goggles, a steampunk vest, and, most importantly, one part of leathersnake steampunk boots. This is a gift for anyone who is just visiting to blend with the locals and to prove she's honest about her dealings. As if it wasn't obvious after the first mission, in any case. She'll need your strange and powerful manpower in the upcoming days.

And hey, if you're up to it, you can help with a little cleanup. After all most people here don't know your skills. However, it's also calm and quiet in the farms. You want to do some honest work for a day, they'll give you some of their seeds in exchange. The system seems to be based more on services and barter than any money.

There is still currency and Stacy has given you a few golden coins, spend them wisely. A few farms are opened up to sleep for free, if you don't mind being with the animals.

The General store has steampunk items for sale, but most of them are much too expensive for anyone on the ship to by. You can try to barter.

Oh and news travels fast. Cause problems, and Nomalanga won't be too happy about it.

[OKAY ALL DONE GO FOR IT. You are also free to create additional places, to post your own private logs involving the town! Contact me if you need extra information about Geartopia either via PM to things_go_boom's account or by AIM, I'll be happy to answer. NPC goons if you want to do a bunch of bar fights, just think typical cowboy stuff. Shore leave will last until the 31st and players can go to and from the ship to the city each day, so you can have your characters stay for a day or two and then come back.

People in the miniplots, the mini plots will start up in a few days! There will also be a general fight for anyone who wants to join in on the 29th. Thank you and enjoy yourselves!]

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The Doctor doesn’t like the sound of that giggle.

The attack surprises him. It shouldn’t, but it does, the Doctor trying to leap backward which is fine and all when you have both legs functioning. Instead he manages an awkward flop back against the wreckage of his horse, not getting very far before the Master is on him like a wild thing. He knew where to strike the Master where it hurt. What with centuries between them and all those faces; how could he not? He tries to push the Master back, briefly having time to wonder in the back of his mind if the man intends to kill him. Or maybe he doesn’t intend to, but he’ll do it anyway.

He has to say, this isn’t quite the way he pictured dying (again). Rolling around in the dirt with the Master on top of him.

He manages to flail out, trying for where he thought the Master was bleeding.

The longer they grapple, the more clear it may become that the Master's main aim seems to be less about a brutish, unfocused assault, and more about emptying the Doctor's pockets. He's sure the Doctor must have appropriated his screwdriver by now, somehow-- it's just the sort of irritating, presumptive move he'd make. As if everything the Master may find remotely useful is automatically his property.

He expects the Doctor to put up a fight, if a weak one, and fends him off fairly easily at first, rifling through his pockets in as efficient a manner as he can manage. But when the Doctor's pathetic flailing manages to connect with his apparent head wound, the Master freezes, sucking in a breath and seeing white for just a fraction of a moment.

It's probably just long enough for the Doctor to gain some sort of upper hand.

The Doctor gives as final sort of heave, pushing the Master off him as he checks for all his limbs and right, yes, all four and while he wouldn't have minded five, four is still a perfectly good number. Odd, he'd expected the Master to accomplish more than rumpled clothes and a few bruises.

Maybe he isn't very good at this physical thing. Like he said: it isn't the Master's style.

The Doctor flops back, bracing himself against the wreckage of his horse and debating the merits in using it as a horsey shield in case the Master decided he wanted another go. He found himself still breathing hard, his hearts thudding in his chest like double-time as he decides even tumbling down a ravine and having a horse fall on him that he'd really rather not die here. Especially not like...this. Still, it doesn't surprise him that the Master loses control when he's compared to a human. It isn't as if humans can't be creatively dreadful at the time. Obviously the other Time Lord doesn't quite see it that way.

He catches his breath, glancing over as if waiting to see if the Master will work in more practice or if he's ready to be rational now.

There's no threat of retaliation at the moment. The Master goes sprawling in a heap of dust and cloth when the Doctor pushes him off. But even worse than that, a great deal of the contents of his pockets follow suit. When the Doctor looks over at him, he's already scrambling in the dirt, busy gathering up countless hypospray vials as quickly as he can.

One of the hypospray vials rolls to a stop against the Doctor's hand. He picks it up, glancing at it and then watching the Master fumbling to collect them. This is all rather excessive for the man who thinks he's practically invincible, the Doctor raising an eyebrow, the attack almost forgotten.

Keyword is almost.

"Missing something?" the Doctor asks archly. He holds up the vial and sniffs it. The Master's scent is all over it. Lovely. Judging by the way he's scrabbling around as if he's a human with gold, it's clearly valuable to him.

The Master freezes again, eyes darting to the spare vial in the Doctor's hand. His impulse is to demand it back... but that sort of desperation is exactly the reaction the Doctor is likely looking for. So instead, he grits his teeth and continues scooping the rest of the hyposprays back into his pockets.

Once he's finished, he gets to his feet, still gripping one of the vials in his own hand. He's itching to use it-- and not just for his foot, but the pressure in his head verging on nearly unbearable-- but he can't. Not in front of him.

"Well, well," he murmurs, oh so quietly, brushing off his clothing with his free hand. "What am I going to do with you?"

Ah, so the Master wants to pretend that he can't pick up what this is all about. The Doctor takes the time to glance back a the hypospray vial, almost lazily, his head tilted. He almost doesn't catch what the Master says.

He glances up to see the Master fussing with his clothes, as if he hadn't lost control like a human and attacked him. "Rather limited choices," the Doctor says, making another effort to try to get to his feet on his own. He makes it to a wobble before his injured leg folds and he's grabbing at the rock wall of the ravine for any support whatsoever.

He has a niggle as to what the Master is doing with all the vials. Despite whatever he thinks about himself, he knows the man and he has plenty of his own weaknesses. It's almost gratifying in a petty way to find there's another one. Gratifying and also...well, sad. Like finding out your best friend turned best enemy was even more vulnerable than you thought despite all the centuries.

He doesn't like that look the Doctor's giving the hypospray vial, or him. The Master watches him struggle pitifully against the rock, wanting to laugh but strangely unable to. He sets his mouth in a thin line, pressing his own hypospray deliberately against his neck and depressing it, staring at the Doctor the whole time with a matter-of-fact expression. Daring him to say anything else about it. The drums subside, just barely.

"You can keep the other one," he tells him curtly, before turning on his heel and limping back to his own wrecked horse.

The Doctor returns the stare. He's not sure when or why he's started taking this stuff, but given his history, he can at least make some very good educated guesses. Does he still hear those drums? Considering the hair and the fact he hasn't even died yet in that body, the Doctor thinks he probably does...and okay, so he could tell him the truth about those except it's one of those complicated timey-wimey things. After all, he considers the Master infinitely more complex temporally than River or Jamie, their time travel or their paradoxes aside. It would only take two minutes -- maybe one -- to tell the Master the truth about the end of the Time War. Do the right thing for all the wrong reasons. The petty part of him thinks it'd be worth it to let the man stew in that one.

Instead the Doctor bites it back.

"Generous one, you!" the Doctor says. He tilts his head and watches the Master, not quite sure what he plans to do with that horse of his. It's not in much better shape than his. "I take it this is new. Very new as in Stacy new. Does it help?"

"Enjoy it while you can, Doctor," the Master calls back, outright refusing to answer the rest. "It's the last one you'll get." He's reached the wreckage by now, his limp gradually evening out, and he crouches down with barely a wince. Now relatively free of the drums, his mind is clear enough that he is able to focus even with the pleasant buzz of Anetrizine hovering in the periphery of his brain.

He spares the Doctor an impatient glance. "You know, this would go faster if I had something to work with," he snaps, holding out one hand.

The Doctor frowns. "Work with?" He echoes.

He might be considered one of the most brilliant(ish) lifeforms out there but sometimes even he has those thick moments, the Doctor frowning at the other man and trying to figure out just what he means to do with the downed horse. Or why he thinks he's in any position to help him. Considering the Master had just attacked him like a human only minutes before and basically pushed the both of them off a cliff (well, a small cliff. Rubbish for a normal sized cliff) before that, the Doctor can safely say that he's having one of those moments where he doesn't quite have it all together.

It hardly looks like the Master has enough horse left to make a death trap, not even a little one.

The Master rolls his neck in his characteristic gesture of frustration. The Doctor seems duller than ever-- why doesn't he just take the Anetrizine? Though the Master has suspected his own response to the drug, something he apparently can't control as well as he used to, may be more due to the terms of his resurrection than anything else.

"The screwdriver," he hisses. "My screwdriver. I know you have it. Where is it?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Ah. That," he says, as if the Master's laser screwdriver is only worthy of a That. "Safely tucked away. Rather nasty little thing you made there, actually!"

His disdain for the laser screwdriver practically drips from his voice as he tries to balance himself into something that's less flopping against the ground and more upright. Mostly upright. If his pockets were bigger, he could truthfully say it was hidden away, but with his pockets the way they are now, it wouldn't take that long to search them.

Nasty little useful thing, really. The Master lets out another hissing breath through his teeth, and then springs to his feet with renewed vigor-- driven partially by Anetrizine and partially by pure spite. The way he's stalking back to the Doctor, driven, purposeful, should look familiar to him. It means the Master is very likely to get whatever he wants, by whatever means necessary.

If the Doctor wanted assistance propping himself up, well, he's got his wish. Sort of. The Master grabs him by his lapels roughly, dragging him into a seated position (and perhaps slamming him back against the rock just a bit too hard).

In the next moment he's searching the Doctor's pockets again, fending off hands and feet as if he just doesn't feel them-- and finally, pulling back with the screwdriver held up triumphantly in his hand. He gives the Doctor a crazed, appropriative sort of grin before striding back to the wreckage.

That's the problem with terrible pockets -- it doesn't take the Master long at all to finally get what he wants, despite the Doctor trying to push the man off him. The Doctor tries to smooth his ruffled clothes and hair back in order as he watches the Master turn to twiddle around with downed horse. Broken gears squeak, grinding against each other as the Doctor frowns at the back of the other Time Lord's back, trying to see what he's doing and not having a very good vantage point.

"What are you up to?" the Doctor can't resist asking. There hardly looks like there's enough for the Master to create a weapon...

The Master wipes a bit of bloody sweat from his brow before it can make its way into his eyes, and glances behind him.

"What do you think?" he snaps, irritated less because the Doctor has interrupted him and more because the Doctor has reminded him what he is doing. Namely, helping the idiot.

"You may be interested in working on your tan, Doctor, but some of us have more important things to get on to." You arrogant, lazy git, he adds silently.

Don't you know the Doctor doesn't tan (at least in this regeneration -- unless you want to see a beet-red Time Lord). It's probably one of those mildly terrifying sights, like the Doctor without his shirt, perhaps a little blinding and hypnotic. Worried less about shirts and sunburns, the Doctor squints at the Master's back, watching as he works with the wreckage of that horse and quite certain he has to be seeing this wrong. Maybe his eyes are going in his old age. Of course that's highly unlikely, what with his brand new body, but it's one of the few explanations that makes sense -- much more sense, in fact, than the most obvious one.

The Master looks like he's constructing some sort of sled, man-sized.

"You can walk," the Doctor points out. Why yes, he does sometimes moonlight as Captain Obvious. His voice is quiet as he studies the Master's back. "So why are you doing this?" In other words, why is he suddenly trying to save him? It looks suspiciously like the Master means to do just that.

"Shut up," the Master mutters, gritting his teeth against the renewed pounding in his head. Isn't it just like the Doctor to cut right through even an Anetrizine high!

The sledge is as ready as it will ever be. The Master drags it over viciously, his mouth set in a thin, curt line, and plops it next to the Doctor. Or, partially on the Doctor, if one is to be entirely accurate. Oopsie.

"It's as you said, Doctor. Why let the elements have all the fun? Now," and he gives him a hard kick to punctuate. "Get on."

When has telling him to shut up ever worked? The Doctor opens his mouth to prove just how wrong the Master is when he's suddenly getting kicked in the side.

Okay, so maybe that worked.

The Doctor flinches away, wheezing because that's what you did when you got kicked, and ended up half-crawling, half-pulling himself to the sled's side and leaving a glistening trail of blood from his leg in the dirt. He falls more than pulls himself into the sled, managing to recover to give the Master a dirty look. Ah. So he sees how this is. It's his own personal way of doing the right thing, only it's not the right thing when it's for all the wrong reasons. In the part of his mind that isn't fogged by pain, the Doctor has the time to think that he's still right again about all of this. He could still read the Master, no matter how brilliant the other man was.

"One of these days you really should to decide if you're going to kill me," the Doctor can't resist chiming up. His voice rasps as he tries to regain his breath. "We've been at this for centuries."

Rassilon, but he does love seeing the Doctor crawl. The Master grins horribly.

"Everything in good time, Doctor." He makes it a point to adjust the Doctor's weight evenly onto the sled, which may or may not require grabbing that bad leg and giving it a wrenching pull. "Where's the fun in making it quick?"

The Master fiddles with the sled to make a few final adjustments, and then stands, the sled rising with him to hover just a few centimeters above the rocky ground.

"There are worse things than death, after all. There's all that time leading up to the main event. There's all that suffering to enjoy." His eyes gleam wickedly down at the Doctor.

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.

"In that case, I hope you don't mind if we play it by ear," the Master purrs, his voice soft and dangerous. He leans over the sled and pats the Doctor on the shoulder, hard enough to be the exact opposite of reassuring.

"Don't worry, Doctor. When the moment comes, I promise you it'll be glorious." The Master smiles a bit to himself, thinking of River, by the lake, with the space suit. He can cook up something much more creative than that.

And then they're off, the Master walking just a bit ahead of the sled. Though it does hover, the rocky terrain means it isn't as smooth a ride as the Doctor might have hoped. Probably could have benefited from recalibration to be just a bit higher off the ground. Ah well. Live and learn.

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Shore Leave: Geartopia [Open to All]

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Hope this is ok, let me know if I should change anything

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