This was really not going well. Ancient Rome was just fine, he liked ancient Rome! In small doses, anyway. Visiting some friends, staying clear of people being fed to lions, lavish banquets, it could all be a grand old time.
This wasn't quite his idea of that. There were entirely too many chains involved. More importantly, his plan for getting to the Master's fobwatch really hadn't actually included getting caught. It also really hadn't involved being accused of thievery and no possible scenario ever included all of his talking just leading to being brought in front of the Master and ordered to kneel by a really unfriendly guard.
"I will not." That was said with a lot of pride, but it also led to getting pushed to the ground and held there, which didn't make it one of his more triumphant displays of defiance. If only he could get to the sonic screwdriver, but with his hands chained that was rather out of question at the moment. So he just focused on the Master, tilting his head a little. "Hey you."
This man was mad. Totally and utterly mad. What kind of foolish ingrate tried to steal from him of all people? And those clothes, how strange they were. Where did a slave ever get themselves such fancy garments? Not like they had the money for it. The whole thing struck him as strange and while the guards had been very insistent that this one had to be one of his, he didn't remember him being here.
But, well, he did remember him somewhat. Kind of. He knew that face. So maybe he was and he'd just missed him. Couldn't know everyone.
"You dare try to speak to me?" he asked in disbelief, part of him almost in awe over how defiant this one was. Slaves rarely raised their head to look at him and this one? He had the audacity to greet him? One of the guards rather promptly and viciously hit the Doctor around the head as a stern reminder of who's presence he was in. "You have committed a great offence, you're not doing yourself any favours."
"Very rarely do myself any favours, really. Doesn't pay off. I'm an ungrateful bastard." The Doctor rested on one leg so he could raise the other and rub his knee reassuringly. "Sure, they look nice, but I'm not quite sold on marble floors as far as comfort's concerned."
He did try to go for his pocket and get the screwdriver, but the guards caught his arms and forced them back down. This was going to get old really fast.
"Well. This is nice and all and I'd love to stay and chat, but I feel like we have to clear up some misunderstandings first. What do you call yourself again?"
There was a very firm and unimpressed look as he leaned forward, watching the slave with a mix of fury and a strange level of awe. What guts this man had. "Gauis Marcus Augustus. And it's not a name that I should ever hear come from a slave."
Maybe this one wasn't his. Maybe he was a stray slave who had run off or someone who had worked on his senate and he'd merely forgotten the name. It was the only way to explain the strangeness of the situation. Perhaps this one was indeed a free man. Once. It wasn't much like anyone could stop him if he just so happened to want to keep this one. And he rather did, actually.
He was very amusing. Why, he even managed to coax a small smile from Marcus. "Don't you know, my foolish friend. You should call me your Master."
"So, your name can never come from a slave? Don't you reckon that could get confusing? I mean, just imagine two slaves running into each other at the market, exchanging recipes, best aftercare treatment for whipping, the usual, than asking each other who they work for and they all just go 'my master'? They'll end up going to the wrong household half the time, terribly inconsistent."
Master. Of course. Terribly unoriginal, but that was hardly surprising. The Doctor smiled at him and held out a hand. Well, both hands, given that they were chained together and he also made the guards yank him back again, but the gesture was made. "I'm the Doctor, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"You speak too much," Marcus insisted as he pulled a face of dismay, this man may have been strange and amusing but he didn't have time for endless rambling. He didn't much care for chatty people. And this man was like a walking mouth. He very much doubted he was a slave, most slaves had it beaten into them never to act like this. And that title? The Doctor. Was he a physician? He could use his own private doctor actually.
The last one he had was useless, he had to execute him. And the one before. And the one before that. What kind of doctor couldn't help his headaches? Only useless ones. Useless ones had to die.
"Have we not met before? I've been rather reliably informed we have. You're my property, if I recall. My property isn't allowed to just go and give themselves such showy titles," He did, however, move off his the chair he had been sitting on, moving down the steps to get a better look. The guards rather helpfully yanked the Doctor's head back so he could look properly at Marcus. "Are you actually a doctor or are you lying to me? I don't care for liars."
"Oi! Will you leave my hair alone? That hurts." Spoken to the guards before he addressed the Master, whatever he was called again, Marcus Blabla. "Sensitive scalp." He bit down on his lower lip thoughtfully as he tried to think of how best to answer the question. "I am actually a doctor. And I try to be a good one." Most of the time at least, even if in recent time the success rate had dropped considerably. "I try to help people." Like the Master, although right at the moment he seemed to be doing damnably fine. Messing about with history.
"You know, I was going to have you beheaded and display it as a warning to never touch my property ever again but I think I might just change my mind," why waste a perfectly good doctor? If he could help, let him help. That was exceptionally important. But he couldn't just let such a crime to without punishment. That part was already set in stone, this doctor would been to be punished but the severity would depend on just how useful he could prove to be. Marcus crouched down so he could see the Doctor better, curiosity obvious on his face.
"If you're such a good doctor and you're successful at your job, why did you try to steal from me? Surely you don't need the money," And if he did, why not seek employment? Why throw his life away to piss off Marcus of all men? "If you're lying or do lie to me, be assured that I can make you long for an execution."
"I wasn't trying to steal from you." This conversation couldn't go well, he knew that. He desperately wished that they could be alone for it. "I came to remind you of some things." Sometimes certain words could trigger memories, but how was he to know which ones? He wet his lips as he thoughts, taking a deep breath. Something the Master couldn't have forgotten, something that would give him some credibility, however flimsy.
"Remind me? What madness are you babbling about. You were doing no such thing. You were caught breaking into my properly, stealing my watch. Such an item can only be glimpsed at by men of my stature. Not by roaming physicians," Marcus insisted with annoyance, unable to believe how this moron was trying to talk himself out of the problem. Couldn't he just confess and accept his punishment like a man? Surely he could if he wanted too.
At the mention of the drums, Marcus stopped, his eyes wide as he stared at the Doctor for a long time. No, he didn't like this. How did this man know about his problem? Was he a spy? He could be! He seemed to be a fine liar. And if he wasn't, then what? A mind read, a witch of some kind? Sneering, Marcus was soon on his feet again, moving away. "I'm tried of this conversation! You're no doctor, you're a liar and a con man."
"A watch? Why the hell do you even know what a watch is? You're Roman! You people don't have watches! You have sun dials! Water... thingies that tell the time somehow! Ingenious, I'll give you that, but my point is, Master, that you shouldn't even know the word watch, much less have one! Doesn't that ever make you think?" What made the Doctor think was that his increase in volume got him knocked to the ground by the guards, because that hurt and he'd much rather avoid pain.
Alright, alright. Different tactic. "I'm not a con man." He'd hate himself for this. "I am not. I just know you. Master, please, don't you know me?"
Why was this strange man saying such things to him? The drums flared up in his head and he had to cover his ears for the moment. What was a watch anyway? He didn't know. Someone had given it to him and told him it was a watch! It was a new invention, a marvellous one at that. Or so he was told, he'd never looked inside. He could just hear the ticking sometimes. He just didn't understand this, why was the Doctor trying to make his head hurt? What kind of terrible doctor sought to hurt?
"I said I don't want to talk about this!" Marcus roared at the top of his voice, turning around with a look of pain and anger on his face. The Doctor was saying such horrible things, how was he to think straight? "Get him away from me! Put him in the cells and make sure he can't escape, I'll deal with him later. Just remove him."
"No! Come on, I can explain it all to you, I can!" But he was already getting dragged away and when he tried calling out again someone simply clamped his mouth shut, so that was the last of that.
Damn, why couldn't it have been someone more like Professor Yana? Now that had been a fine bloke, he was sure they could have had a nice chat without any of this getting chained to a wall business. No food, no comfort and his screwdriver still infuriatingly impossible to reach. This whole plan could have gone a lot better.
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This wasn't quite his idea of that. There were entirely too many chains involved. More importantly, his plan for getting to the Master's fobwatch really hadn't actually included getting caught. It also really hadn't involved being accused of thievery and no possible scenario ever included all of his talking just leading to being brought in front of the Master and ordered to kneel by a really unfriendly guard.
"I will not." That was said with a lot of pride, but it also led to getting pushed to the ground and held there, which didn't make it one of his more triumphant displays of defiance. If only he could get to the sonic screwdriver, but with his hands chained that was rather out of question at the moment. So he just focused on the Master, tilting his head a little. "Hey you."
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But, well, he did remember him somewhat. Kind of. He knew that face. So maybe he was and he'd just missed him. Couldn't know everyone.
"You dare try to speak to me?" he asked in disbelief, part of him almost in awe over how defiant this one was. Slaves rarely raised their head to look at him and this one? He had the audacity to greet him? One of the guards rather promptly and viciously hit the Doctor around the head as a stern reminder of who's presence he was in. "You have committed a great offence, you're not doing yourself any favours."
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He did try to go for his pocket and get the screwdriver, but the guards caught his arms and forced them back down. This was going to get old really fast.
"Well. This is nice and all and I'd love to stay and chat, but I feel like we have to clear up some misunderstandings first. What do you call yourself again?"
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Maybe this one wasn't his. Maybe he was a stray slave who had run off or someone who had worked on his senate and he'd merely forgotten the name. It was the only way to explain the strangeness of the situation. Perhaps this one was indeed a free man. Once. It wasn't much like anyone could stop him if he just so happened to want to keep this one. And he rather did, actually.
He was very amusing. Why, he even managed to coax a small smile from Marcus. "Don't you know, my foolish friend. You should call me your Master."
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Master. Of course. Terribly unoriginal, but that was hardly surprising. The Doctor smiled at him and held out a hand. Well, both hands, given that they were chained together and he also made the guards yank him back again, but the gesture was made. "I'm the Doctor, by the way. Nice to meet you."
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The last one he had was useless, he had to execute him. And the one before. And the one before that. What kind of doctor couldn't help his headaches? Only useless ones. Useless ones had to die.
"Have we not met before? I've been rather reliably informed we have. You're my property, if I recall. My property isn't allowed to just go and give themselves such showy titles," He did, however, move off his the chair he had been sitting on, moving down the steps to get a better look. The guards rather helpfully yanked the Doctor's head back so he could look properly at Marcus. "Are you actually a doctor or are you lying to me? I don't care for liars."
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"If you're such a good doctor and you're successful at your job, why did you try to steal from me? Surely you don't need the money," And if he did, why not seek employment? Why throw his life away to piss off Marcus of all men? "If you're lying or do lie to me, be assured that I can make you long for an execution."
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"Do you still hear the drums, Master?"
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At the mention of the drums, Marcus stopped, his eyes wide as he stared at the Doctor for a long time. No, he didn't like this. How did this man know about his problem? Was he a spy? He could be! He seemed to be a fine liar. And if he wasn't, then what? A mind read, a witch of some kind? Sneering, Marcus was soon on his feet again, moving away. "I'm tried of this conversation! You're no doctor, you're a liar and a con man."
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Alright, alright. Different tactic. "I'm not a con man." He'd hate himself for this. "I am not. I just know you. Master, please, don't you know me?"
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"I said I don't want to talk about this!" Marcus roared at the top of his voice, turning around with a look of pain and anger on his face. The Doctor was saying such horrible things, how was he to think straight? "Get him away from me! Put him in the cells and make sure he can't escape, I'll deal with him later. Just remove him."
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Damn, why couldn't it have been someone more like Professor Yana? Now that had been a fine bloke, he was sure they could have had a nice chat without any of this getting chained to a wall business. No food, no comfort and his screwdriver still infuriatingly impossible to reach. This whole plan could have gone a lot better.