Revelations are made. The Doctor disappears. Due to this, the Master is not a happy camper. We top this decadent dessert with a fistful of 22-1-12-5-25-1-18-4.
“… don’t you harm him, you hairy little troll!” the Master yells, tearing a bleeding strip from his platinum hair. His fingers knuckle his scalp in frustration as the mouth of the gun crawls closer to the Time Lord in tweed slumped halfway against his leg and the corner of the Green Pagoda, limp hands plastered loosely backward over face and stomach as though confused on the order. “Harm him and you harm me.”
Jack Harkness’ smile holds the barren glaze of a beady eyed shark as he continues on leveling the gun toward Benjamin Pond. “Well then,” he says, shoving the barrel of his shiny webley into Benjamin’s shoulder- the same shoulder he plumbed that day in Martha and Mickey’s kitchen, “I guess it’s a two for one special.”
His finger curls lovingly, then-
In a spectacular spray of gore from such a small exit wound, bits of shoulder curtain the floor behind the swimming dragons and flying fish that decorate the carved green curves of the Jade Pagoda.
And so, much like the TARDIS, the Pagoda, too, now wears her special lipstick, like a badge.