Koschei of Oakdown meets the Doctor’s gaze as though a shooting star has just landed in his latte. In other words, cool and sleek and usual. Usually flabbergasted, that is.
“…to –know- me? As in you –knew- I wouldn’t be dead after entering the Time Lock with the others? Prat. I think there’s an award for being the biggest, really.” The Master waves his hand in languid dismissal like the last fish caught before the fry. “Oh you two don’t have to mind me; please continue. I would have brought refreshments, but the Doctor has that covered. We had best check his pockets for jelly babies though- I hear they’re addictive to prenatal brains. Explains a lot. He must have tossed them into the Loom during The Event at Lungbarrow.” He turns, belatedly, back to the Doctor and says, “… on that note… you were –playing-?”
The Doctor sighs, then leans back in his chair and pulls a foot across his knee. He rests one hand on his stomach for a moment, then arranges his arms behind his head and settles back. He says, as he closes his eyes and turns his head into the crook of his elbow to sleep, “It might be prudent to send a team out there. And I know just the people. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He pushes himself up from the chair.