The white of Kenny’s hand slides across his own forehead, finding all the crevasses in the smooth Time Lord skin. Finding all the cracks.
Like a spider spinning a cocoon, his fingers shift across his old skin, studying. Surveying.
With a laugh he presses hard, smushing the smooth olive lips against the sharp olive nose with his fine olive palm.
The real Kenny’s body swings back indelicately, a swaying doll.
His laughter echoes hollowly through the frozen storage room.
“Rather like meat on a hook, don’t you think? After all, it takes Time to freeze them.”
In the doorway behind him, a shadow lingers, its eyes green holes in the icy dark.
“If you’re done?” it prompts, annoyed. “I’ll be getting hungry soon. Check the Gardens for intruders and then report back to Borusa for debriefing. I prefer to take my lunch alone... but if you hold up the works any longer, I may invite you to dinner. Mother will be irritated, but... I don’t give a damn.”
The shadow slurps away, leaving bare footprints in the snow on the floor.
“Of course, Father,” the Kenny Flesh says, inclining his head toward the empty doorway.
Then Not-Kenny moves to the door of the pre-freezing room, shuts it.
Ice sparkles free of the frame and shatters on the floor, sprinkling bits of white across his freshly booted feet.
“Mother will not be pleased, indeed. Who does he think he is?” he murmurs as he steps into the next room, “There’s not even anything in there. Statues...”
A square of black stone statues, all women, decorates the center of the space, flanked by more of the Valeshard’s frozen dinners, shoved in tight against the walls.