“Superior Time Lord biology, wouldn’t you have to eat a lot for those to even affect you? How many brownies did you have?”
“You mean t’tell me the Doct’r nev’r told you …” The Master clears his throat, and reaches out to grasp the side of the table firmly, against an undignified wave of dizziness. He squints, and focuses ferociously on enunciation. “ … abou-t. The highly compromising. Effects. Of ginger?”
He sinks down where he’s mistaken a chair to be; it’s about four inches back from where his ass lands, and he sits, decisively, on the linoleum.
“ … I meant to do that.”
Oh dear. I’m embarrassing myself in front of the Bad Wolf, who consumed the Heart of a TARDIS. How terribly unfortunate.
She looks good in pink. A blond in pink.
Huh.
Well that’s unexpected. Maybe I should add some pink to my wardrobe. Rather inspired, that.
“Must you? That’s fine, that’s … bloody dandy, Rose, just … absorb the Time Vortex and all I get out of knowing you is these lousy koalas. No that’s alright, don’t get up. I’m just marinating in glee, can’t you tell.”
Icarus 