"Why, Doctor," the Master purrs, "I'm disappointed in you. I expected a bit more gratitude than that." But secretly he's pleased-- not surprised, mind-- that the Doctor's figured it out.
He notes the Doctor's discomfort, muted by pure force of will, and grins. Seeing him in pain never really grows old either. The Master nods to one of the guards, steps back slightly to allow it to unlock the door, slips himself in. The Doctor won't run. The Doctor probably can't run, not judging by the effort it takes him to merely sit up.
Which means the Master can do whatever he wants with him.
"Goodness, but you don't seem all that comfortable. Anything I can do?" Despite the mock servility, he leans himself against the wall of the cell, nonchalant if not for those avid eyes, tirelessly drinking in every little detail.
Re: Eleven and the Master
He notes the Doctor's discomfort, muted by pure force of will, and grins. Seeing him in pain never really grows old either. The Master nods to one of the guards, steps back slightly to allow it to unlock the door, slips himself in. The Doctor won't run. The Doctor probably can't run, not judging by the effort it takes him to merely sit up.
Which means the Master can do whatever he wants with him.
"Goodness, but you don't seem all that comfortable. Anything I can do?" Despite the mock servility, he leans himself against the wall of the cell, nonchalant if not for those avid eyes, tirelessly drinking in every little detail.