“Knock-knock!” sings the Eighth Doctor Flesh, as he raps a slender knuckle to the inside doors of the Jade Pagoda. To his free hand, which he holds in front of his face like a long sock puppet, he says, “I’ll tell you what happened in the cave later, I promise. Now, with luck, Queenie, we’ve arrived at the precipice. Or at least her mother-in-law’s. Shall we about? There’s bound to be that storage room somewhere… and judging by the trouble we had getting in here -that bottleneck was something, by the way- it’s probably a space/time trap of some kind. Not too conspicuous, or those who monitor the Citadel would notice the blip- especially if it’s old scenery. Out the way we go!”
Settling the issue, he thrusts the Pagoda’s vestibule open, swinging her great hinges wide toward the left and right walls of the little storage room they’ve just landed in.
Across the way, a rhapsody in blue.
“My dearest! Is it time for tea yet? Or have they rumplestiltzkin’d you with a ransom tied to the spinning wheel, like in the old days?” he murmurs to the familiar wood of the TARDIS’ frame, touching her here and there, running a chaste finger along her squarish chin of wood beam.
“What’s that you say, my pet?” he adds, almost to himself, walking humdrum over the silvery floor on his way to the grey, uninspired walls of the storage. He touches those, too; in fact he observes the dust there as it settles into his fingertips and smiles, then frowns.
“You say you can’t calculate a way out of here, and they’ve temporally sealed you inside?”