“I swear, what do I have to do to get some food around here?” the Doctor moans, turning a white corner outside the Master and Rassilon’s impromptu meeting room.
He sighs; it’s the very same white corner he’s been turning for quite a while now. Back and forth. Waiting. He knows what they’re discussing- he also knows he wants no part of it. Not that he can’t hear exactly what the two men are exchanging jabs about behind the door. It’s just that…
Clink. Gloosh-slosh. Clink-link.
A frosty can rolls across his foot. It feels cold; condensation trickles in little wet cords of icy water that grip his naked foot and trail frosty ivy down to the dark stone floor. This corridor, he decides as he rubs his robe down over his bigger-since yesterday waist, bends to retrieve the can and turns the corner yet again, was decorated by a professional.
“Obviously, the author of this decor is a genius,” he says aloud as he walks, enjoying with fresh appreciation the coolness of the black black stones beneath his feet, “… black floor white walls, oh yes, the duality is quite nice. Although, a bipolar hummingbird seems nice, too... they usually are- until they eat your Chihuahua.”
Abruptly, tickling feathers erupt across his neck, as though the walls are giggling. Perhaps they are, he reasons, looking about the hallway for the billionth time.
Delightfully, there is an aberrant space- or rather lack thereof, a few footsteps down the way, on the right. It seems to be full of…