OH NOES DETENTION! - RP for Baron Harkonnen and the Master

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

The Master had been in many prisons in his lives, of varying security and comfort. They tended to be more temporary arrangements than his would-be captors anticipated. The idea of a 'detention' therefore seemed more like an entertaining novelty than an ominous prospect.

The house elf that had apparently been sent to fetch him seemed a bit anxious, which was promising; he wasn't especially kind to house elves (at least, when the Doctor wasn't around to see) so whoever 'Baron Vladimir Harkonnen' was, the house elves were more scared of his wrath than being a test subject for a newly-learned hex or the latest setting on the Master's electrostatic manipulator.

He largely ignored the creature this time, however, following it with a carefully studied air of ennui as he took mental note of the particular corridors they traveled to reach the Muggle Studies office.

"I suppose you'd better announce me," he told the house elf with a malicious grin.

Comments

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

"Oh, the beautiful part is as much of a problem as it is a bonus," The Master mused, feeling a wave of nostalgia. "He was going around looking like an eminently debauchable schoolboy for a while, but of all the people he's been..." He didn't care that the Baron wouldn't be able to follow his train of thought. The pressures and occasional drastic revelations brought about by regeneration were only relevant if a Time Lord were involved. "Intelligent is much better. If someone's going to be foiling my plans it should at least be a delight to see what sort of things they can come up with, after all. And the Doctor's scheming can be glorious... it's even better when we work together." Ah, now that reminded him of old times indeed, when he and the Doctor both looked older than they did now to the human eye, but had been so much younger and less scarred. "He'd feel rather compelled to disapprove of you, I'm sure. He certainly disapproves of slave races, and not just because they're impractical in the long run."

[i-am-harkonnen.livejournal.com]

Vladimir didn't really need to follow the Master's train of thought, as stitching together the scraps into something good enough to suffice wasn't all that hard. Obviously this 'Doctor' changed appearances. Possibly even identities, what with 'people he's been'. How hardly seemed to matter, not when Hogwarts had proven that different universes meant different rules. The possible identity shifting was a bit odd- Vladimir had yet to meet a shapeshifter whose ego was affected by the process to the point of actually being an entirely different person- but, it didn't seem impossible. Nothing seemed impossible at Hogwarts.

"A debauchable schoolboy, eh? He should stick with that one, if he's here. But an intelligent adversary is far more interesting than a stupid one, that's true. There are few things more irritating than stupidity." He smirked as he magically refilled his glass, sending the bottle over to hover beside the Master to top off his own glass. "Not that this will be much of a problem in the Imperium." Technically, the Baron's Imperium did appear to exist in some version of this universe's future. "I'm pretty sure that most of the Houses have weeded out as much stupidity as possible." Even his nephew Rabban wasn't stupid. Just exceedingly blunt, and, possessed of a singular method of problem-solving. A tank-brain, but, one that had its uses.

"Says him," the Baron replied, occasionally given to bluntness himself, although mainly in conversation. When it came to schemes, he preferred the intricate. "Perhaps it's no good for whatever system he hails from, but, slavery's been proven practical in the Imperium. I could care less about approval- but practicality varies based upon circumstance. Not all Houses utilize it for industry, but, it's their own bank accounts that suffer. We don't use robots, you see- no 'thinking machines' of any sort, unless you count our human alternatives." The Baron had long been intrigued by the old thinking machines, but, of all the Imperium's laws, the Butlerian Jihad ones were perhaps the most deeply embedded in the culture. "So, slavery's pretty much required to milk maximum profit from any industrial ventures." Slavery had embedded itself pretty deep as well, and the reality of slavery in the Imperium was something quite complex- work and pleasure slaves were purchased, but, mentats were also purchased. So were Bene Gesserit concubines, and Suk doctors. They may not have called themselves 'slaves', but purchased was purchased. Even a House who didn't use slave workers had likely purchased an individual at some point, and some of these purchased individuals would end up holding important positions within a household.

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

"Oh, he wore it well. Old-fashioned, too. You could easily imagine stripes from a strict caning under that cricket getup he affected at the time." It really had been fun to upset him in those days, and the Master himself had been newly-rebodied by less orthodox means himself. "And pragmatic enough to watch me burn alive. No, I'm rather taken with the huge dark expressive eyes for now. Expressive face in general, and nicely limber..." And still maddening, of course, but that went with the territory.

"Was your Imperium short on metals? Once you've reached a certain level of technology it's just cheaper to built robots than feed slaves. And drugs instead of stardrives... must be hell getting anything accomplished where you're from."

[i-am-harkonnen.livejournal.com]

"So which one is he at Hogwarts? The debauchable schoolboy, or the one with the pretty eyes- or someone else?" Now that he'd met the Master, keeping an eye out for this Doctor seemed a good idea. Knowing the individuals involved in the reality-dramas of Hogwarts made the soap opera all the more interesting. As the Master had suggested that this Doctor wouldn't approve of him, meeting him was practically a necessity. Vladimir relished disapproval, especially the disapproval of the mainstream, and back in the Imperium he'd always found a great deal of pleasure in flaunting his debauchery and non-conformity. At Hogwarts, people in general seemed somewhat more open minded, so, a quality source of actual disapproval sounded like a delightful thing to have around. "I think I'd like to meet this Doctor. I've never cared much about approval."

"Short on metals?" A snort of laughter. "Hardly. I could make a pretty good dent in the supply if I chose to cease production on Giedi Prime, but that would be both stupid and temporary. CHOAM would just send some more cooperative House to strip some other planet, and, that's hardly a way to get a directorship, is it? We've got plenty of machines. But they don't run themselves. It's the 'thinking' component that's key- someone's got to operate the damn things. That's where the slaves come in. Everything gets done just fine. Show me how to use that device, and I'll show you." Vladimir took another drink of his wine as the music shifted once again, drifting into a somewhat darker, bass-heavy piece by Moby (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EURL-Sc0s4w). This called for another line, and the Baron paused to indulge in this before explaining, "We had robots, some ten thousand years before my day. They nearly destroyed humanity during the Butlerian Jihad. "Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind." That was the result. Those words stuck- culture and technology grew in a different direction from that point. We made men into thinking machines, instead."

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

"Oh, he's made quite a mark on this place," the Master said with a chuckle. "The debauchable schoolboy, the rough trade in the leather jacket, the one with the enormous scarf, the one without eyebrows... as for the one with the pretty eyes, I'll thank you not to interfere. Although you might make me look good by comparison."

He ran a fingertip around the rim of the wineglass. "A powerful and trained mind is always going to have an advantage over any but the most advanced of computers, but letting religious zealots cripple an entire government and tie up brainpower that could be put to much more useful ends? Oh, if I was a do-gooder like the Doctor," (or, he thought to himself, actually interested in longterm conquest on a vast scale instead of the cosmic equivalent of poking things with sticks) "I'd import gravitic hyperdrives, industrial robots, and schematics from a dozen galaxies."

He tapped a few of the icons on the display of the memory device, then slid it towards the Baron. "If you tap the icon two rows down and third from the right and look directly at the display, you can conciously send memories for it to show."

[i-am-harkonnen.livejournal.com]

"I wonder how I've missed him. . . perhaps it's time to have a Muggle Studies class. It's possible I've been a bit too reclusive lately. I've been, ahhhh, distracted." A brief glance at the wizarding portrait of Valentine, who was appearing rather nebulous at the moment. "Oh, I won't interfere- I get the sense that this little drama is nicely arranged already." Vladimir gave the master another of his incongruent smiles, in acceptance of the compliment- as of course he read the Master's words as such. "If I somehow end up with your pretty-eyes Doctor, I'll be sure to let you know, rather than personally interfering. Now this debauchable schoolboy version. . ." A chuckle. He couldn't very well make any promises there, not without knowing exactly what he might be passing up.

"I'd be the last person in the Imperium to complain about some interdimensional do-gooder arriving to wipe out the Sisterhood of Whores- these would be our religious zealots, although they call themselves by a prettier name. The witches are irritating. I keep them out of my House." Although he called them 'irritating', the bitterness in the Baron's voice when he spat out the word coloured it with the abiding hatred he had for the Bene Gesserit. "But, we really don't need the hyperdrives, however, and we have the industrial machines. I doubt anyone would see the need to reinvent a wheel. It's rarely efficient."

The Baron looked over the device closely, before going ahead and tapping at the indicated icon. The first memories he sent were short and simple, consisting of a series of planets- one was dark, possessing little in the way of oceans, and much in the way of volcanism. Areas of the world were covered in the tight splatters of light indicating massive human settlements. Another world, of pure desert. Another, of oceans and ice. Following these scenes was a chaotic stream which focused upon cities and technology. Strange cities of angular metal splattered with light were primary in these vision, stretching for miles on end and rising countless stories in height- it seemed as if whoever dwelt upon the lower levels was doomed to life in some dark industrial box, while the impressive structures atop the city-structures were open to the red-stained skies. Various pieces of tech- vehicles, ornithopters, various frigates intended for surface-to-orbit transport, Guild highliners- these were insanely massive, capable of carrying numerous transport vessels with plenty of room to spare.

After the highliners, the Baron's memories shifted towards the desert planet- here, there were no insane industrial cities. The city his memory focused upon contained an enormous brassy-looking palace, lording over structures that meshed far better with the interminable desert surroundings. The focus was upon these next, as seen from above, in some sort of transport. Far below, a huge industrial machine rested upon the sand. The speck-like figures of men scurrying around it were barely visible. In the distance, a disturbance in the sand was visible, closing in upon the transport with remarkable speed. Within moments, the disturbance was directly beneath the machine, which was now attached to some other machine, which appeared to be attempting to lift it into the air- attempting, because immediately after liftoff, a unfathomably immense mouth broke the surface of the sand, swallowing the machines and their crews entire.

Another abrupt shift in memory returned to the volcanic world, and one of the cities there. This memory was somewhat more drawn out than the rest, and focused upon some young men in an arena (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfoQtWTR9b8), rather than any specific technologies. It was focused upon one of these in particular, a beautiful dark-haired boy, clad in some red satin futuristic variant on hakama. After this memory went on for a time, the Baron noticed that he'd become distracted by his own memories- perhaps the trance function was effective. He glanced up from the screen and pushed it back towards the Master. "As you can see for yourself, we do fine with our own technologies. And isn't my Feyd a lovely boy?"

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

The Master idly wondered what was fueling that virulent hatred for the Sisterhood in question, since the Baron didn't seem to find the restrictions his civilization had placed on technology too chafing. Groups calling themselves 'Sisterhoods' tended to be uniformly aggravating in his experience, however, so he didn't bother to pursue it for now.

His Imperium did seem to have compensated nicely for its limitations, at least. The Master watched the scene in the arena with a bit of an inward twinge - something of the decor put him in mind of Gallifrey - but he smiled, chuckling softly. "Is there no escaping gladatorial combat? Even my own people, in the more barbarous points in their history, would make lesser races battle for their amusement."

[i-am-harkonnen.livejournal.com]

The Baron wouldn't have admitted anything regarding the key source of his very personal spite toward the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood- he'd have just gone with the umbrella explanation of 'meddling whores', which sufficed to cover all his issues with them well enough, both general and personal. Gladiators, however, were a topic which he was quite pleased to focus upon. Especially ones who looked like his own stable of champions, chosen as much for appearance as ability- and not all were slaves.

"Why escape it? There is glory to be won in the arena- I do not make my nephew fight. I believe not to fight would be as unnatural to him as ceasing to breathe. My House's champions choose to fight, and, my people are entertained by the spectacle. Many come to watch my Feyd- he's winning more than honors and glory there. He's been winning hearts- a very useful thing, seeing as how he's my heir." Not that the Baron would have allowed Feyd's opponents to present an actual risk- his nephew was indeed highly skilled, and capable of besting most opponents on his own, despite his youth. As insurance, however, all opponents in real matches were dosed with the elacca drug prior to combat- although it greatly increased aggression, it also reduced skill, and basically guaranteed the upper edge to a skilled and focused combatant. "And even without those useful qualities, the show of life and death's a beautiful thing." As the music shifted to a track by LCD Soundsystem (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdJx02LpQao"), Vladimir sighed fondly as he recalled some memorable moments presented by his nephew, adding, "Especially when those involved in the dance are beautiful as well."

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

"Oh, it's glorious, in an atavistic way," the Master mused, taking another sip of wine. "That struggle for life or death. Not that it can be fully appreciated if you've never fought for your own life." He remembered his own traipse through the Death Zone, when it had been a monument of the barbaric past and not a pale shadow of things to come. "Although an arena fight is awfully controlled conditions. Hardly comparable to an actual battle." He twitched inwardly; he hadn't fared so well in the Time War, after all.

[i-am-harkonnen.livejournal.com]

"Ahhh, those days were so long ago. I still remember them well." His wry, but wistful sort of smirk was followed by a moment of attention to his own wine. In this light, the dark depths of muted color worked to summon up a sharp recollection of his youth, when he too had spent some memorable moments in the arena. Drugged slaves of course, as was standard for such things- but he was too young to care too much. The blood on bare flesh, that was what he'd cared for in such moments, and, it had certainly left its mark upon him.

"I was never so good as my dear Feyd, however. I fought like any other young man, but, always was inclined toward the bigger picture, and known for other talents that had nothing to do with either one." Another smirk, this one slightly self-deprecating, but also containing a certain nostalgia. He hadn't sung in decades, although he assumed he technically could, still. But he hadn't seen the point in a very long while. "Strategy was always my preferred focus, military, financial- and more subtle arenas. Battles are controlled conditions, too. Even if the players don't tend to realize it. If it's all been properly arranged, the battle's the easy part."