“This panel is classic; it really catches that Art Nouveau style, don’t you think?” the long-haired man whispers jovially into her young ear, “…and I really should be going now! Say hello to The Ship for me- This version shan’t be seeing her just yet.”
Borusa tears her gaze away from the painting to look at the man’s face more closely, but…
“This painting is of that one, isn’t…it? And him as well? And that must mean…”
Of course, the man is gone.
She is far too short to see him from this far away. He must be a fast walker.
Or… she thinks of the draft from the tapestry over the hidden door to the Doctor’s old rooms.
If -he- is here, she thinks demurely, clutching her chest from shock, then it must be soon.
“River! Jack!” she calls, but the two are surrounded by a flurry of octopus guards.
Just then a whisper rides their ears; they turn, to see Borusa waving at them from the other side of the hall.
And just behind her, the line of a door melts onto focus, much like on the shuttle they used to travel here, and to the Cloud.
A hand brushes her shoulder, moving her gently to the right- she slides easily to the right, as if some voice she might obey has commanded it.
“There’s only one person I’ve ever seen who can order her like that…” River says softly, gripping Jack’s arm as the guards close on them in a mess of white tentacles and silver crescent batons.
“Rassilon!” Jack says, grinning at River while he ups his volume.