Liz risked opening one eye and then wished she hadn’t. “What?” she croaked.
“I believe that would be the effect of the rum,” said someone else, his voice much too near and much too loud.
Liz gave up and closed her eyes again.
“My dear Miss Shaw,” said the voice, as someone passed her a beaker of something that smelled even viler than the rum she’d drunk last night, “I think you will find this will help.”
Liz hesitated, but then decided that few things could be worse, even poison, so she sipped at it. Moments later, she felt much better. Advanced alien hangover cures, miracles guaranteed, she supposed and wondered if she could manage to keep some in a flask somewhere for proper analysis later. She could make a fortune and fund her own research. When she wasn’t trapped in the seventeenth century with the Doctor’s arch enemy aboard a pirate ship, that was.
“You seemed to be getting into the piratical life,” said the Master. “My congratulations. I had no idea you were so adept at wielding a cutlass.”
There hadn’t seemed to be much point in doing anything other than making the most of it last night, she remembered now. What exactly a respected Cambridge physicist was going to do as a lawless pirate queen had been a question she’d preferred to duck in favour of playing up to the cliché. There might also have been too much bad rum.
“Anyway, I have been deciphering the Arkxedii document – not precisely a treasure map, as the crew thought, but not so far off – and I believe that if you can continue to keep control of the ship, we can make our way to their hiding place.”
Liz glared. “And why would I want to do that, given that this is all your fault in the first place?”
“Miss Shaw, once I salvage some of the Arkxedii technology, I can fix the fault in my TARDIS and have you back to Cambridge before anyone notices you’re missing. Bringing you here was a miscalculation – not my plan at all.”
“And why should I trust you? You’ll probably kill me the moment you’ve got your hands on the stuff, or leave me stranded here.”
The Master gave a cough. “Do remember that, as I said, I have seen the way you handle a cutlass. Most enlightening, Miss Shaw. I don’t think it would be wise to cross you while you’re armed. Besides, I might even have a proposition for you later. I feel we could be useful to one another.”
Whatever it is, thought Liz, the answer is no. But even she had enough self-preservation to save saying that to his face until after she was safely back in the twentieth century again.
Liz Shaw / Delgado!Master - swashbuckler & Hangover, g, 462 words
“I believe that would be the effect of the rum,” said someone else, his voice much too near and much too loud.
Liz gave up and closed her eyes again.
“My dear Miss Shaw,” said the voice, as someone passed her a beaker of something that smelled even viler than the rum she’d drunk last night, “I think you will find this will help.”
Liz hesitated, but then decided that few things could be worse, even poison, so she sipped at it. Moments later, she felt much better. Advanced alien hangover cures, miracles guaranteed, she supposed and wondered if she could manage to keep some in a flask somewhere for proper analysis later. She could make a fortune and fund her own research. When she wasn’t trapped in the seventeenth century with the Doctor’s arch enemy aboard a pirate ship, that was.
“You seemed to be getting into the piratical life,” said the Master. “My congratulations. I had no idea you were so adept at wielding a cutlass.”
There hadn’t seemed to be much point in doing anything other than making the most of it last night, she remembered now. What exactly a respected Cambridge physicist was going to do as a lawless pirate queen had been a question she’d preferred to duck in favour of playing up to the cliché. There might also have been too much bad rum.
“Anyway, I have been deciphering the Arkxedii document – not precisely a treasure map, as the crew thought, but not so far off – and I believe that if you can continue to keep control of the ship, we can make our way to their hiding place.”
Liz glared. “And why would I want to do that, given that this is all your fault in the first place?”
“Miss Shaw, once I salvage some of the Arkxedii technology, I can fix the fault in my TARDIS and have you back to Cambridge before anyone notices you’re missing. Bringing you here was a miscalculation – not my plan at all.”
“And why should I trust you? You’ll probably kill me the moment you’ve got your hands on the stuff, or leave me stranded here.”
The Master gave a cough. “Do remember that, as I said, I have seen the way you handle a cutlass. Most enlightening, Miss Shaw. I don’t think it would be wise to cross you while you’re armed. Besides, I might even have a proposition for you later. I feel we could be useful to one another.”
Whatever it is, thought Liz, the answer is no. But even she had enough self-preservation to save saying that to his face until after she was safely back in the twentieth century again.