“Here,” a sweet voice mumbles through the bars, “I brought you some water.”
Ice splashes wetly across the Doctor’s face, and his head smacks back, hitting stone.
He blinks away the water, staring as the naked white skin of his lovely not-daughter parades itself around, like an armor suit of meat, on the wrong side of the bars.
“Do you remember when I made you your pretty dress? It was your birthday...,” he murmurs softly, averting his gaze with a hand, as if trying not to stare out to sea.
Flamina’s white fingers wrap around the bars, curling loose, then tight. They pull.
The thick bars rattle free with a clang and no small bit of dust, clouding up a bit.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Daddy. We’re too old for this game,” she breathes, tossing the wall of bars and stone behind her, causing a racket somewheres.
“Well you can tell your mother I don’t like the furniture. Bit too garish. Needs addressing.”
He mutters it under his breath, watching her watch him as he plucks at the dirty blue bathrobe that’s all they’ve dressed him in.
Flamina smiles, and draws her ankle back, dipping her foot so smoothly along the floor, touching toes to the stones.
Her foot then returns to its former position, and finds his solar plexus, kicking him there, in the middle of his ribs.
The blow scoots him toward the back wall and instinct curves him in on himself, and so he holds his arms close to his lower chest.
“You’re not yourself today. But we could still be friends. What say you put this behind us, and we can get some ice cream? Just tell me where the TARDIS is, and-.. glug!”