The Master knows better than to assume anything, with him.
Her head whips around as well, meeting his chickening gaze and raising him a querent, eggy visual.
“Did you actually go in the room, and see him? I mean, have you lately, Flamina? Seen him?”
“I haven’t seen father since he got here.”
“And when was that?”
Flamina sets her finger to her bottom lip, which puffs out silently then retracts like the quick steps of a water strider.
“Forget the shower. We should check. If anything happens to Daddy or…you know, Auntie will be furious with him.”
“And so will I.” the Master mumbles spitefully, breathing in the violet scent of Flamina’s white maiko tresses.
Her hands reach for his; they skip down the smooth gang just as the white door slides open, heading for the deeper recesses of Rosette’s innards.