Taken aback, River Song cups his bottom once, then drifts back like a giant fey statue of bounding Artemis. She must be mistaken. There can’t be a virus in the response-timing feedback mechanisms of these Flesh, the Doctor made them himself! It must be a stray aberration due to the extra programming he’s activated- she’ll mention it later. In the meantime, she distracts herself with the odd tinge of his bowtie.
It’s patterned this time, with a print of Escher’s famous stair. Quite painful to look at, after a while. She turns away.
“Oh god stop it please; I’ll lose my breakfast.” the Master pleads, grabbing his stomach, one wrist dangling a striped purple tie.
“Yes, dear; now stop fussing. And Koschei- that body hasn’t eaten anything; they don’t need to.” The Doctor’s reply issues across their minds, rather than through their ears, as he is busy now in another room, checking, one assumes, on the shuttle consoles.