[ Closed with @masterfulxrhythm – Continued from Here. ]
Her head tilts to the side and she lets out a soft grunt before turning round to face the Master, looking for all the Earth as if she’s just lost her sonic screwdriver. She has, of course- been missing for near two days now, and she suspects he’s had something to do with it- but that’s hardly the point. The point is that she’s yet to suss out all the things she enjoys, and despite her best efforts her body keeps on bringing her round to the produce when all she seems to want is confectionery carbohydrates. She’s tried the veg, and she’d rather leave it, thanks.
“Never, tha’s when I’ll be done lamentin’. M’not just walkin’ round in circles to amuse myself, nor you, much as it might. D’you ‘ave any idea ‘ow frustratin’ it is when your feet go left when you tell ’em go right?”
She knows he does, but again, not the point. She wants to complain. She wants do bellow and yowl and any other manner of dramatic display of distaste. She wants to be as grumpy as the gray-haired Scotsman was, but she’s just not. The steering’s been off on this body ever since she’s obtained it, and it’s beginning to lose its’ charm quickly. Sighing heavily, she relents and her face breaks out into a grin that scrunches her nose and dimples her cheeks. The gesture’s followed by a soft chuckle and it’s clear the displeasure was put-on.
“Oh that rhymed, didn’t it? Yes, alri’. FINE. Fine I give oop. But you’re gonna ‘ave t’stear me in the proper direction, cos my feet’re downright stubborn.”
She reaches out her hand and places it over his on the shopping trolly’s handle, leaning her head against his shoulder. Stranded or not, she’s very happy that it’s with him. Her oldest and closest friend. Her Koschei.
“Right then, onward to the confectionery majesty! Think I fancy a cupcake.”
“Doctor, I don’t suppose you could have just let me do the grocering
while you recovered your memory AND your sense of balance.”
The way the Master speaks these words, he might as well be reciting Chaucer to a crowded theater; his voice thunders through the supermarket with thespian incredulity. People turn their heads and stare. To them, it’s a highly typical old married couple, except the woman is rather batty and the man is rather melodramatic.
Just another day in London.
“Come on, then, the most most logical way to do this is to sample
sundry foodstuffs, while I distract any clerks who happen upon us.
Just pinch off a bite of everything not boxed or canned or raw.
Unless it’s sushi, which you very well may enjoy. We’ve yet to
know.”
He sniffs, laces an arm about her waist and guides her toward the bakery.
“I confess, it’s rather exciting. Will she like cupcakes? Croissants?
Shall we go hogwild, and even try a muffin?”
Icarus 