economicalrhinoplasty | Tuck Those Ribbons Under Your Helmet [Closed]

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Current Music: Tori Amos - "Mother"

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Tuck Those Ribbons Under Your Helmet [Closed]

Eva waits on the log for a very long time, until the chill from the shoe tree leaves her shivering slightly, her teeth clicking irregularly as a replacement for her normal twitching and jerking. She's become a very patient person, she thinks - she measured her life in three-day cycles for so long that she thinks she no longer views time like a normal human being, but rather in some extended and flimsy nature, like a rubber band with all the elasticity stretched out of it.

Given that she has no watch on her - Stacy's unique perspective on time, even more distorted and deformed than Eva's, has long since made watches useless - she can't properly estimate how much time she spends sitting there waiting, but she expects it must be hours, since she feels tired and bored and tiny icicles are starting to form around her eyelashes and bangs.

Somehow it seems strangely appropriate to sit around waiting for the Doctor. He doesn't seem to follow anyone else's schedule. She wonders how many people before have sat on this log, waiting for something, maybe for the Doctor or for deliverance or for God. Or maybe she's singularly unique, the sole passenger in this log's history, and this is the one moment in time where this log not only exists but is sittable, and has been seen by sentient eyes.

She's starting to think like him. All the silence in her own head is getting to her. Maybe she should get her Yeerk back. She misses conversation.

That's a terrible idea.

She gets up and twists her back some, eking little pops out of her spine. She wipes the ice from her eyes, careful not to harm her makeup, although it did get smeared somewhat during the dumbwaiter trip and library attack. It's the principle of the matter.

Tossing her hair up into a clip again, she walks in the direction the Doctor took off towards, her feet adjusting to the sockless interior of her new shoes. "Doc?"

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"I wouldn't need to stand around pestering you for explanations if you'd just give them to me readily, you know." Eva refuses to concede this point. In a world full of killer libraries and fire-breathing space bugs, 'trust me' may work on impressionable twenty-something with wide eyes and fiery spirits, but only gives her a reason to frown at him. He isn't dealing with cute little girls here, he's dealing with someone who raised a child and bears the stretch marks to prove it.

For a while she sits at the edge of the boat, staring out over the ocean, letting the spray of salt get in her eyelashes and her hair. She looks serene for a bit, as if the rollicking of the ocean has stolen all her inner turmoil for itself.

At least, so it appears, until a storm appears on the horizon. Eva looks up and sees that birds - or, it appears, strips of rags in the form of birds - are fleeing away from some dark reddish cloud on the horizon, like a blood stain on the sky. It begins to occur to her how completely massive the inside of the TARDIS is.

"Doc, do you see that?"

The Doctor frowns, as if a little startled that his usual hasn’t quite…had the same effect on Eva as it usually does on most humans he pops in on. But her knowing the intricacies of the time engine won’t help much, if any, in the end and he decides if she absolutely needs to know something that will save her life, he’ll be sure to tell her. The thing is even he isn’t entirely sure what they’ll find there. There’s a strong possibility he doesn’t want Eva to know he doesn’t know either.

He’s been watching that storm cloud growing from an ugly smudge in the distance to the low-hanging wall, fast approaching. Their dinghy is fast but not that fast and there’s simply no way to outrun it.

“I see it!” He has to raise his voice. The cloud promptly dumps a bucket of water at them, rain slapping at the boat and their faces. The Doctor wipes his hair out of his eyes and tries to blink paste the water as lightning flickers across the underbelly of the cloud. “I’ll need you to take over the mast for me, okay?”

The Doctor doesn’t have time to look for the mast’s manual, instead hoping that Eva can sort it out on her own. He drops to his stomach and tries frantically to sonic the base of the mast where a jumble of wires and other alien bits and bobs have come loose, trying to add in some extra power so they can try to scoot to the side.

"Already on it!"

If the truth of the matter is to be told, Eva's simultaneously peeved and excited at a good storm. She's always down for a storm, but the TARDIS has tried to kill her in some remarkably unpleasant ways in the last 24 hours and as such, she'd be fine with just a little more rest and relaxation on the sea. Her jaw grits and locks into a steely expression of determination that's going to either become trademark or give her TMJ if she keeps it up, and she leaps over to the mast and starts to tie and untie the appropriate ropes with both precision and a bit of pent up frustration.

It feels good to sweat, honestly.

"¿Que estas haciendo, Doc?" She can't tell why he's worming around on his belly, but she hopes he has a good plan. The wind is kicking up, and soon the waves will be too great for them to rely on the boat's base to stay put.

“What am I doing?” The Doctor doesn’t look up from his worm. “I’d like to think I’m saving both our lives! And – oh! There we are!”

The dinghy suddenly scoots to the side with an extra burst of power (yes, that might be part of the dinghy on fire like a jet – the inverse-flux pattern may have just blown), sending the Doctor sprawling on his back. He flops in the bottom of the boat, wriggling over to try to grab Eva and stop his friend from tumbling right off the side. Maybe that inverse-flux wasn’t a good idea to stick in there. He’d basically forced it in with good will and a hammer, after all! The Doctor manages to pull himself up against the low slung railings just in time to get a good second look at that storm. Lighting cracks over head and dances across the clouds, Eva’s cutlery fish leaping up in schools out of the water and heading away from the storm.

The first chunk of hail is baseball sized. It thuds into the deck only feet away from Eva with heavy dull think. The Doctor winces as he gets a smaller one right upside the head before he can duck away.

“Press that, then this!” the Doctor’s hands are blurring all over the mass. Maybe he ought to have built a proper shelter for the boat. He will, assuming they get through this with it intact.

Eva sort of shoves the Doctor off her after his daring rescue. It's not that she doesn't appreciate him intercepting her tumble into the sea, but she's not a fan of feeling restrained, either.

When the hail starts to fall, she looks up at it in a sort of turkey-like fashion, before one hits her square in the face. She drops to her knees with a yelp and brings her hand to her mouth. When she tastes blood on her teeth, all bets are off - the pottymouth the Doctor was bemoaning before is there in full force, as if it's the hail's fault for existing and not hers for not moving out of the way of something dropping straight at her.

Sometimes she forgets to move. It happens. It's apparently fairly common with hosts, and part of why they need to be retested for their driver's licenses and need to be careful around crosswalks. All it takes is one moment of forgetting that you have agency.

Thankfully it's just a ball of hail.

The Doctor’s surprisingly easy to shove – being distracted and being a walking scarecrow probably didn’t help either. He glances over at her yelp, turning as if he’s been shot. Oh dear! It seems she’s taken a ball of hail right to the face, which…sounds right for a human and their instinct to downright attract this sort of thing. You’d think they would have evolved out of this stage by now. The Doctor scurries over, looks her over to make sure she hasn’t lost any teeth – and yes, Eva, his ears are red at the sheer language -- and satisfied she’s more or less alright, hands her another one of his typically awful handkerchiefs and scurries back to his post.

For how busy he looks, it doesn’t look like there’s much to be done about getting out of the storm. Hail contains to clatter onto the deck. More splashes into the often, the waves choppy and sending up big white sprays.

The Doctor has time to wonder if this might be another glitch in the TARDIS.

It takes him a moment to realize there’s a roaring sound, even over the thunder and the lightning. The Doctors squints against the gray rain slapping against his face, wiping his sopping wet fringe out of his eyes as he yells at Eva.

“What’s the noise?” It’s one of those human failings he’d picked up. He thinks he knows exactly what it is, he just hopes he’s wrong.

Through the gray murk, there’s a foaming line of mist up ahead, water churning, the ocean rushing toward that line where it simply drops off. Odd, he didn’t remember a waterfall being here…

Eva barely has time to take in the atrocious pattern on the handkerchief (pink and brown plaid) before she has it to her bleeding lip. She would be shaking her other fist at the skies, except she needs it to grab the railing and keep from getting bowled over by the rock of the dinghy again.

And then she just comes right out and says it, because there's no use denying it. "It's a waterfall!"

What can they do? They can't abandon ship, the waves are too volatile and either way, they'll still end up sucked over the edge. The human body, or a Timelord body, she imagines, can't fight that sort of current.

"Hold tight and let go at the last minute!" She can't tell how much of that he hears from her, but she holds the railing now with both hands. The handkerchief goes whirling off into the mist somewhere, and she hopes to God that the water doesn't go as far down as it sounds like it does. Or that Timelords can fly.

Time Lords might if they’d had the sense to regenerate with wings.

The Doctor still hasn’t gotten that sorted yet. If he can’t figure out the Ginger Secret, what makes Eva think he can manage wings?

It most definitely is a waterfall and the odd thing is, he’s dead certain that he didn’t put one there. It’s new. He has no idea where it goes, if it has a bottom, if he ought to tell Eva it might not have a bottom and they could be falling quite a while and apparently the dinghy has better ideas because it’s tired of his dithering. They’re already falling. The Doctor can feel the drop trying to suck the air from his lungs as they crash through the choppy waves and foam, the storm a swirling ugly mass above them. Lighting streaks out, striking the ocean only yards away. It hits the water with a deafening sizzle, throwing off blue sparks.

Eva probably has the best idea. He shoots her a bedraggled look through his sopped hair, nods, and holds tight to the boat as it tips over.

The roar of the waterfall is deafening. Streaks of light rush underneath the water, looking for a moment almost pretty, and then they’re falling and spinning away into the darkness.

At some point, Eva's no longer in control of when she jumps from the ship, as gravity dislodges her from the deck. She's free-falling, and some part of her brain realizes that they've fallen so far that the water will be like concrete below, and another part of her brain remembers that drowning was the way Marco thought she died the first two times, and falling the third.

The water hits the back of her head and it's like being bludgeoned with a rock. She wakes up underwater, and before she even understands the situation she's flailing, thrashing, searching for the air that turns out to be only inches above her. There's even a floor beneath her, and she soon realizes she's in less than two feet of water.

How is she not dead?

Her sopping hair is in her face, so it takes her a moment to figure out where she is. In a fountain with a checkerboard marble floor, in what appears to be some sort of museum lobby. With a whirlpool where the ceiling should be.

"Doc?"

The Doctor is sitting up under the receptionist’s deck he broke on the way down, nursing what will be a downright incredible (possibly awe-inspiring) black eye. Considering they fell off a waterfall, he’s doing well. He pretends the wobble to his legs as he gets up is entirely on purpose as he wobbles his way over to Eva. The whirlpool overhead continues to swirl, every now and then giving a vicious little splash as if to remind them its still there. Chunks of the poor dinghy bob in the thin layer of water.

“Ah, so there we have it!” The Doctor says, trying to act as if it’s every day you fall off a water fall and into a museum. He means to dust off his jacket but when it’s not quite the same effect when it’s soaking wet and instead he ends up making squishing noises. The Doctor kneels next to Eva, checking her for any sign of concussion. Her hair, of course, is utterly ruined by the waterfall. “Perfect escape from a storm and waterfall! Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

The Doctor gives Eva a soggy grin and then staggers to his feet, moving a bit stiffly because falling off waterfalls tended to do that. His eye is starting to swell as he tries to squint at the registry holo tablet he also broke along with the desk.

“We’ve fallen…oh, I’d say probably close to the Zero Room. Where I used to keep it,” the Doctor adds. “The downside is we’re back on mostly dry land and that means we’ll have to be careful with that library out there.”

"Oh, thank God you're alive. Couldn't do with having you dead." Eva wrings out her hair and clothing and meets him halfway. Her own steps are pretty wobbly, but she figures there's nothing like a drop through a whirlpool that probably goes thousands of feet and through the fabric of space itself to give someone a little vertigo. She drops to her knees a little bit before he reaches her to examine her for head trauma. The worst of it just seems to be the busted lip from the hail, which she would take responsibility for, were she not blaming the hail for existing where her face was.

"You're kidding. You actually know where we are from here?" She grabs his elbow and helps herself back up, leaning in close to examine his eye. It looks swollen, but at least the pupils are lined up correctly and he seems to be seeing well enough - not like he'll keep his head still long enough for her to tell.

"I can handle the library. It's drops like that I'd rather not do again. Did I tell you I almost fell to my death once? Broke twenty-seven bones." She mentions this as casually as she would 'yesterday I went to the mall and milk was twenty cents more expensive, can you believe it?'. She starts walking towards the exit of the room, a big thing with marble columns that looks dreadfully academic and stuffy.

The Doctor makes a rather un-Doctorly snort at Eva’s remark.

“I imagine being dead would be incredibly inconvenient.” Although for all they know, he could actually end up ginger, so maybe it wouldn’t be entirely inconvenient. Maybe. It’s another one of those “next time” things, like telling yourself you’ll remember to bring in the laundry from outside. “Twenty-seven bones!” The Doctor looks surprised, peering at Eva. Scars and loads of broken bones. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about any drops in here. The Zero Room is one of the safer places in the TARDIS.”

The gravity could be slightly glitchy in there but he doesn’t foresee any drops. The Doctor gives up trying to peer out of an eye that is slowly swelling up on him, squinting around and bobbing his head in that alien bird-like fashion of his. He follows after Eva, shaking water from his boots as he squelches along. Eva’s path takes them out of the museum lobby to another short corridor, the walls lined with vases dating from early man to some time in the mid-3000s. The pool beyond is Jamie’s pool: the one he discovered during that bout of spring cleaning and decided that the best way to bathe a Scot was to fall headfirst into a pool. Eva will find that the pool is empty now, sitting with a few sad puddles at the very bottom.

He points toward the opposite end at the door.

“The Zero Room. Provided it hasn’t turn carnivorous too, I think you’ll like it. Lovely place, the Zero Room!” The Doctor manages a tired, water-logged grin. “Very bubbly.”

He means it literally too. Unfortunately there isn’t much in the way of food or dry clothes there that he can offer Eva. It’s difficult not to think of her as “his” human. He’s done it so long with Jamie and the others that it’s almost the habit of an old man stuck to that same routine every morning, every decade – every century, even!

"Funny, you say that and yet I don't get the feeling that you're a hundred percent certain we're safe here. What with your library being unexpectedly on the loose." She arches an eyebrow at his and taps the side of her nose. He can be as reassuring as he likes, but she isn't forgetting that half of the nonsense here was unexpected on his part too.

She takes a few moments to look at the mostly-empty pool, entertaining the notion that this is where the library stopped for a quick drink.

Even so, it isn't unusual for Eva to be headstrong about getting something done. She's never been terribly fond of sitting around and twiddling her thumbs - well, maybe the twiddling her thumbs part, but not the sitting around bit. She much prefers action. As such, she heads right over to the door to the Zero Room and shoves it open. She doesn't even wait for the Doctor before heading inside.

She’ll be the second human since the Doctor arrived on Stacy to see what the new Zero Room looks like.

The Doctor steps in after her, still trying to wring water out of his clothes and looking around like the Time Lord version of a second-rate cyclops. The Zero Room looks untouched, probably one of the few places in the TARDIS capable of completely resisting the corruption that intruder has sent spreading like wild fire all over her poor insides. Bubbles rise up from the floor, billowing about the room in a non-existent breeze, several of them settling against the Doctor's hair.

"At any rate, I'd say we're entirely safe here. So long as we stay in this room," the Doctor says. He'd spent his time in the Zero Room way back when he was a younger man - the cricket version, he seems to recall. It'd looked completely different then, mind you. There's just something inherently calming about it still and he really, truly does like those bubbles. "Maybe I can come up with a backdoor to the engine room. Fold space and pull it from the old billard room. It might save us a few days."

The Doctor thinks Eva might appreciate those few days. She's strong, but she's also only human, and so far they haven't found much in the way of food or drinkable water for her species. It hasn't escaped his notice that conveniently all the food machines dotted around the TARDIS are missing, even the one with the setting stuck on lemon curd and toast.

"Great. As long as we stay in a cage, we're totally safe." Eva wrinkles her nose with clear distaste - her upper lip curls and folds into that scar that only comes out when she opens her mouth. It's difficult, impossible, for her not to see being told to stay put as a cage. Given enough hours here and she'll happily trade the safety and restraint away for another adventure into the TARDIS, danger or not - one of the aspects she finds most enticing about the device is that you can walk forever and not run into the same thing twice. It's freedom, squared. The freedom of the unexpected rolling out for miles and miles.

"You don't really think it'll take days, do you?" She bites the corner of her lip, staring at the zero room and those bubbles that are doing their damnedest to catch in her hair, like ersatz flowers. She takes a seat in one of the chairs. "Marco will start looking for me. He'd tear this place up and find us having tea in here, I'm sure of it."

Although she prefers coffee.

She holds a hand out and pantomimes tracing the double helix staircase. "And where does that go to?"

The Doctor shakes his head. “I don’t think it will. Anyway, time’s wibbly this far into the TARDIS, so it could be either only hours or mo –” the Doctor has a moment of self-preservation and cuts himself before he says “months” to Eva’s face. Something about the expression on the human tells him that would be incredibly stupid. “That? I haven’t the faintest.”

He has no problems admitting that. He simply hadn’t had the chance to properly explode the TARDIS and with how her rooms have shifted, he has even less than an idea now. What with the TARDIS and Stacy herself demanding a good poking around, can Eva blame him? The Doctor tilts his head at the staircase, trying to think of some of the possibilities. Kitchens, possibly. He’d had a hell of a time trying to find those. Or it could go to his bedroom, the one he only used whenever he was bored and thought a nap was better than nothing. Possibly the Pond’s room, or Jamie’s. Hard to say!

The Doctor goes back to wringing the water out of his jacket, leaving puddles on the Zero Room floor. Give him a minute and then he’ll start nosing around for a console or anything he could try to use to take a look at the other parts of the TARDIS. There’s no telling just how far this infection has spread, or what it could still do to damaged time engines.

Eva's face gets a little harder and scrunchier as the Doctor clearly backpedals away from telling her the truth. She doesn't even have to do the hand gesture - she's watching you, Doc.

Eva goes ahead without the Doctor's prompting to start poking at things. Whatever promise she made him earlier about not touching stuff is apparently completely forgotten, or, honestly, being outright disrespected due to his apparent inability to be forthcoming with her. She carries spite around like a battle axe.

She heads up the staircase without waiting for him, popping up inside what appears to be an extremely fashionable rest room. Marble showers, a huge bath, various levers on the wall that state 'bubbles', 'soap', 'perfume' and 'just for fun'. She takes a step back down onto the staircase and sets her mouth in a thin line. "If I take a shower here, you won't walk in on me or anything, will you?"

She does not trust him with boundaries.

Now that's scary. The Doctor shivers a bit at just the look. Yes, he can very much feel how on watch he is right now. Clearly he's toeing some sort of line with Eva.

He watches as she decides to investigate the double helix stair without him, his head craning to follow her. She pops her head in, seems to take a moment to take it in, and then pops back out on the staircase's stop landing.

"Why would I walk in on you?" The Doctor asks, honestly baffled. It seems like it's a human thing to be concerned about things like that, and he's not sure why she'd worry about that. Was he supposed to? He doesn't think he was and at any rate, he doesn't need to see naked humans - not quite his thing, thank you! He gives her a puzzled look and turns his back on her so he can continue with his jiggery pokery, something that he feels is loads more important than worrying about showers.

"You might find a shiny object you want to share with me and forget how humans feels about having aliens show up while they're showering to show them a three-tined fork or a whatever else."

And with that, she disappears back up the stairs. Not as if she hasn't been wet enough recently, but the warm water and actual soap is soothing, and the conditioner allows her to pull her fingers through her hair without yanking off half her scalp. The towels are even nice and fluffy, if adorned with particularly homely rubber duckies, and soon she discovers that there's a wardrobe nearby.

Satisfied that it won't lead her to Narnia, she helps herself to some clothing that isn't crusted in salt and sand, a t-shirt that says 'Banjos!' on the front and a floor-length skirt made of various fabrics. Unfashionable, but comfortable, at least. To top it off, she finds some shoes to make up for what the library stole from her, a pair of sensible white sneakers.

She heads back down the staircase again, with a gift from the wardrobe for the Doctor. "Here. Suspenders with sequins on them. I want to see if there's a limit to the amount of tackiness you can handle."

"I'd only bother if it was a one-tined fork," the Doctor says with a disdainful sniff. "Three-tined forks are very common place."

He turns his back as Eva goes about her business, rifling through things and pulling up a few screens, his eyes roving as he almost - almost - forgets he has a companion to look after. It's the smell of lavender and sage that makes the Doctor turn around, his nostrils flaring and ah, there's his human. Well, not his, persay. He suspects she would kill him long and slowly if he let one of those slip, unlike Amy or Jamie. Very touchy about that sort of thing, Eva! Anyway, he thought the BANJO shirt was a lovely touch and she had even found herself a nice set of trainers to go with it. He beams up at her and gives her one of those little waves, waiting until she's made it down the double helix stairs before waving her over to the screen he's put up. It looks nothing more like an old tv from the 1950s, complete with a flickering screen and what looks like far too much fuzz and noise - noise that apparently means something to the Doctor, as he glances over to consult it and then points at one particularly stubborn batch of static.

"Right there. That's where the infection started," The Doctor says with triumph. "I'm not sure why he'd start in the Wardrobe, but yes."

He falls silent, frowning deeply at the monitor. A bubble drifts down and settles in his hair for a moment, right before it pops with a faint scent of fresh popcorn.

"Three-tined forks remind me of weapons of war rather than silverware," she says with a prim little pout.

She comes over to the control panel with the strange snowstorm static that the Doctor's watching. She can't make heads or tails of it, and for a brief moment that frustrates her, as if she should be able to just because she spend so many of her prisoner years at the helm of a battleship. But she figures the Doctor probably does actually know what he's doing, so she defers to his judgement of the salt and the pepper.

"Alright. So, now that we know the root of the problem, how do we fix it?"

She still has the damn gun, and honestly she's a little itching at the idea to shoot something over all this - but while she may not be a patient woman, she is practical, and she can't just go in and put ammo through the Wardrobe.

She amends her statement. "And can we fix it?"

“I think so,” the Doctor says, distracted. He bobs his head, thinking. “Obviously we’ll have to jettison the Wardrobe after, since it’s likely there’s going to be trace amounts of infection even with my fix.” He sounds sad about that, mostly because he’d started becoming rather fond of that version of the Wardrobe. His scarf collection was still in there. “And I suppose at that point we’d be too busy holding onto something to worry about if the Wardrobe falls anywhere it shouldn’t. I hope it doesn’t land anywhere…awkward.”

He really, truly hopes not.

The Doctor wants to say that this shouldn’t trigger any time or space travel, especially with how the TARDIS has been grounded since he woke up on Stacy, but he’s also quite sure the old girl can get finicky at times like this as well. Probably didn’t help he’s rewired bits and pieces of her so much over the centuries that even he can’t entirely remember what goes where anymore. It’s possible they might end up careening loose from the Hanger or – worse – falling back through time somewhere and when. The Doctor picks at his lip, tugging at it as he frowns.

Eva lifts an eyebrow, wondering if the Doctor's insistence on getting rid of the whole kit and kaboodle extends to her rather eclectic current outfit. "I'm fairly certain that's the most convoluted way any man's ever suggested I take off my clothes."

She reaches over and tugs at his wrist, pulling his fingers away from his mouth. "Stop that. It's a disgusting habit." Hypocrisy, thy name is Eva. Her own lip bears quite a few markers of compulsive biting and picking. She claps her hands together and then slaps one on her thigh. "Right then, what should I be doing while you're jettisoning your entire wardrobe?"

Eva doesn't even need to mention that it might be wise for him to torch his entire clothing collection and start over for reasons unrelated to a malfunctioning TARDIS. She's seen his handkerchiefs. She's wearing his banjos shirt.

Eva’s remark is startling enough that the Doctor doesn’t resist her meddling (or mothering. With her it could be both), his hand pulled away as he gapes at her for a moment. He manages to catch the gape, closing his mouth and fussing with his bowtie nervously. “Well! I’d say the best thing to do would be to hold onto something and try not to get jettisoned into space. Or any time vortexes that might open up.”

He has to at least warn her about that. Realistically he thinks her odds of falling into an alternate dimension are low, but he’s had companions with that sort of luck and so he can’t rule out that possibility. He shifts his feel, his mouth pressing into a line, for a moment withdrawn. Maybe he should focus on finding the door and scooting her out into the Hanger before he attempts this. The Doctr does remain blissfully unaware of Eva’s (incorrect) fashion judgments, because look at that banjo. The pinnacle of fashion! And the handkerchiefs were all rather nice once you’d trained your eyes to resist the urge to cross just looking at them.

The Doctor reaches out to make some more modifications to the monitor. His fingers press against the side and suddenly the parts of it spread apart like a slowly expanding galaxy, allowing him to rearrange it to a different sort of console. He does so like an artist, without even thinking, his hands flashing.

“Did you want to keep looking for the door?” He suddenly asked, swiveling toward Eva with a deep frown.

"And wander around alone in this giant deathtrap of a spaceship?" Her upper lip quirks upwards - with the scar on her mouth, it gives the appearance of a crumpled piece of wire. "Sure, why not?"

She spends a few moments watching the Doctor work the console like a conductor in an orchestra, then decides that this is a profound waste of her time - not that he's all that helpful here anyway, but she dislikes admitting that she's out of her league.

It's hard to carry yourself with much grace in the outfit she's in, but she does her best to look somewhat dignified anyway as she skirts out of the room and back towards the marble fountain outside. "Just let me know when you're going to turn off gravity, will you?" she yells back.

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i'm sorry I am slowbro this month D8

Re: i'm sorry I am slowbro this month D8

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Slowbro tag is slowbro 8|

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