Is there life on Mars?

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► Disclaimer

This rp blog might indulge in adult themes. Posts will be tagged accordingly to mark NSFW content and trigger warnings. Any explicit content will be put under a read more break. If you’re

► Muse

I write Sam Tyler from the BBC series Life on Mars mainly as a fobwatched version of the Master; although other verses are available, including a canon Life On Mars verse.

► Roleplaying

More than happy to roleplay with anybody. Same fandom, different fandom, OCs, established characters. If you’re interrested, leave me a message, I’ll answer everyone. Although it might take a while - fair warning.

I track the tag: masterlysamtyler

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doesn't contain Doctor Who or Life on Mars, but for anyone craving a villain, a detective or simply John Simm's face, I've got you covered.

“Who are you calling?” Luke’s voice cracked as a tear rolled down his cheek.

He looked at his teddy, finding comfort in having it right next to him. Weird how an object can do that, he thought. He wanted to pull it close. The light sheen of sweat on his body made him think twice, however. It would become dirty. So, he left it where it was.

“…Yeah. A cuppa would be good,” he added, later than he had intended.

"Your headmaster and my... the guv. I’m not going to work and leave you alone.” That being decided, Sam, being a workaholic, would probably suggest sending him some files so he could work from home instead. But whatever the outcome, he was certain of one thing: he would not leave Luke alone.

Not for long at least. Both calls were done in the span of ten minutes after which he returned with a Manchester United print mug of tea and a damp cloth.

Jenny looked at him and raised an eyebrow and contemplated what he said to her .and thought how best to describe the situation . She was surprised he remained calm . She was not one for lying so told the truth with the questions he asked .

“ ok so my name is Jenny , I have no official second name , and I don’t stay here and don’t have anyway for you to contact me after this ” she said honestly “ my father was known by The Doctor ” she said simply . “That’s all I ever knew him as ”

Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance. She didn’t even try to cooperate and it was grating on his nerves. Were the case less ambiguous, he’d been lecturing her by now about how gruesome crimes were no laughing matter. How the victims deserved respect, a swift clearing up and a fair administration of justice. The latter two ‘Jenny’ was impeding by not cooperating.

“The kind that’s trying to keep the patients in when they don’t want to be there” he says frowning as he looks over at the other. “It… it was an asylum… but i’m not crazy, not anymore.” he says shaking his head 

“What they did to me…. it cured me…. they didn’t mean it to but it did and afterwards they didn’t want to let me go…. they were torturing me in there. I know I sound crazy saying that but look at me, they didn’t feed me, they burned me” he says showing cigarette markings on his forearms., beat me…. please you can’t let them find me” he sas curling up as Sam started to drive. 

Koschei is relieved when they pull up in front of an appartment building and not a hospital or cop station. 

“I uh…. you look a lot like me…. “ he says “me when I was a healthy weight at least” he says

Not crazy anymore? Sam would’ve given his everything to know how that felt like. He had yet to figure out whether he was mad, in a coma or back in time. On an especially bad day he was convinced it was all three. But his personal decent into madness aside, he wasn’t too sure about ‘craziness’ being something curable. Science suggested otherwise. Well, maybe not in the 70s, but then again the other was wearing a very anachronistic hospital gown.

“I look quite fit for someone in a coma,” Sam retorted, his cynicism getting the better of him. As weird as his statement might have been, he did nothing to clarify or explain it further, instead he got out of the car to open the door for the other.

“It’s small, and you can’t stay for long,” that being said, he led Koschei into the terraced house and up the steep and narrow staircase to the first floor where Sam’s flat was located. Oh... this was a bad idea. He unlocked the door and bid the other to follow him into his tiny studio flat; kitchen unit, tv, table and two chairs, and a neatly folded away murphy bed made up the entirety of the flat, behind a closed door must’ve been the adjacent bathroom. Potentially equally tiny and depressingly 70s. It was only temporary, Sam told himself, why bother get something nicer.

One thing Luke couldn’t decide on was whether he should speak ‘to her’. On one hand, her body was below his feet…On the other, he didn’t believe in an afterlife, and neither did she. Well, neither of them believed in an almighty power. In his mind, you couldn’t have one without the other.

“No, I appreciate the company.” He finally glanced at him.

Then he lowered himself to the ground, sitting and staring at the grave marker.

Sam nodded, when Luke briefly turned to face him. Words failed him at the moment, so he pressed his lips together before he said something stupid instead. This was about Luke and his mum, not about him, so he would stay in the background and be there when he was needed.

Hilda took a deep breath, then yelled right the fuck along with the guy:

“LIFE’S NOT FAIR! AAAAA!”

She continued the last yell until she couldn’t tell anymore. There was a pause taken for breath, then she stepped out of her hiding place.

“I, uh,” the teen said, then paused for a sip of water from the reusable one she carried with her in her bag everywhere— mulberry, made of some kind of plastic or silicone or both more than likely, “didn’t expect anybody to be here. Yelling really helps my nerves, and I heard you doing it, so I thought, hey, what the fuck, why not? What’s it you’re yelling about being unfair?”

Quirking an eyebrow at the young human’s reasoning the Master listened in polite silence with what could be interpreted as interest. He nodded in a way to show appreciation yet did nothing to provide her with the truth about his own frustration.

He had been holding the entire world in his grasp. He would’ve conquered so much more. Time itself even, if it hadn’t been for the Doctor’s or Rassilon’s meddling. Though worse than forfeiting rulership was only the fact that after he’d learned who was responsible for his life long torment, he was denied adequate vengeance.

Jenny nodded “ yeah a witness ” she said as she looked at the other . How would she explain what she saw, what she knew without sounding insane , without being admitted in to a mental hospital . She looked at the other and she felt something . A confusing felling , like she should know him … Well not know him but …. She just got a feeling of familiarity. She shook it off.

She glanced behind him at the other cops and she shook her head and sighed .

“ I do actually ” she said admittedly “cause you would lock me up if I said what I saw ” she said simply . “Well officer , my name is Jenny , I have never really had a second name , my dad never used one either , but then he just went by his title ”

“Don’t play games with me.” Sam had a zero bullshit tolerance when it came to his job, which given the gruesome nature of most of his cases wasn’t exactly surprising. But he was willing to give anyone and everyone the benefit of the doubt. So aside from his serious remark, he took no further actions. Instead he took a deep breath and encouraged the young woman to be honest with him:

She hated this.

Tracey hated Christmas. Well, no, she didn’t really care. She wouldn’t have cared at all if it weren’t such a thing to everyone around her. Most holidays were easy enough. You politely declined joining in with celebrations, said “it’s not my thing,” and people left you alone. But NO, you couldn’t do that with this holiday, especially not when everyone who knew you knew that you didn’t have family and were living a whole ocean away from your hometown.

So she told everyone she had plans. Sorry, she couldn’t go to your weird little family get-together with the paper crowns, she had plans. And to be fair, Tracey did have plans. That those plans mostly included locking herself in her flat and binge-watching the old Scifi Channel’s Dune series, well, that was nobody’s business but hers.

Excuse me? Do you know where the next station is?

Tracey paused mid-step and blinked at the owner of the voice. She adjusted her backpack slightly. It was full of supplies for her plans: nacho fixings, microwave popcorn, and a bottle of tequila. She wasn’t exactly expecting trouble, but she knew that such things often happened when you weren’t expecting them and a heavy bag often made for a good defense.

“You looking for a subway or a bus?” she drawled back. Then she smirked playfully at him. “Nice hoodie, by the way.” And it was. It matched her own, plain black and probably warm as hell.

The Master snorted a chuckle at the stranger’s remark at his outfit. Stolen. Not his first choice, but the best he could do to keep a low profile and blend in. And blending in he did. Judging by how the young woman wore a similar style hoodie and was also commenting on it. Good. At least something was going according to plan.

The corner of his mouth was tugged back into a semblance of a smile and he nodded appreciatively. “Railway station,” he explained himself. After his failed resurrection, the subsequent explosion and the fine streak of murders, he needed a strategic retreat if he didn’t want Torchwood or UNIT ruining his party.