Chapter Seven, Part One: On the Comforts of a Pyramid-Shaped Tent, Part OneMature

Flamina looks at the Master. 

The Master looks at Flamina. 

They both, then, respectively, look at the only other door between them and the hallway which promises the desired location within Rosette’s hull. 

The Master shoves. Flamina pushes. 

Flamina finds her shoulder in the door. 

But it’s the doorframe, really. 



Ah yes, a crunching. 

“You fractured my shoulder, idiot,” she murmurs, crashed as she is against the doorframe leading to the outer hall, which in turn, eventually, will lead to the Doctor’s Zero Room. 

The Master, leaning into her, is just as unpleased; his nose has shifted by means of her fist quite a sizeable ways to the visual right, just enough to give his face the approximation of a heavyweight boxer’s sterling, empty gaze, the dark eyes full of ribbons of brains and the weight of obols. Their importance to someone. 

“But my dearest Flamme, you broke my nose.” He rubs his eye with a free hand. “In any case, let us continue down the hallway; I sense a skedaddle in progress.” 

The shoulder archs up, then back; lots of little cracks are heard as they walk.

The End

0 comments about this story Feed