Thirty minutes later, the Doctor’s fingers clamp nauseous and white on the Lesser Inquiries Room door.
“...I’m here,” he says, carefully pushing the door a bit further ajar before sticking a naked foot in to keep it that way. “I think the guard has left me. Don’t really want to turn around to be sure. When did we get her? She’s creepy.”
Borusa smiles at her little table, not bothering to get up.
“Take a seat, fool boy,” Borusa says, gesturing to a wooden chair, “you and your bare toes, both.”
She then lays a paper down, something about ... disappearances? Climate change?
His eyes blur as he tries to focus on the page, but Borusa slides it away from him, watching his reaction.
“Not that, not... yet. I sense you have a question. Best be out with it boy,” she says, tapping his hand with the pointer in her fingers, because her small hand is too short to reach his, “with that look on your face, you haven’t all day, let alone the hour or so it would take for this. I’ll hurry it up. Go ahead and ask.”
She smiles, turning her eyes down at him.
The Doctor blinks again, thinks better of shaking his head to clear it, and then sinks back into the chair, slowly tilting back against the high rest for a moment before opening his eyes and speaking.
“...where is Koschei? Last time I checked, he was miserably in love. He should have been there last night. Why wasn’t he? Or...”