“It’s... not a stone I would have equated with you, my boy,” she murmurs flatly as she turns around.
There is an overlarge quartz, rosy in color and point, suspended over a hole in the engine room floor.
It is quite uniform, to the eyes, this mutant crystal, and glows with a subtle, clean force reminiscent of older days beneath Gallifrey’s suns, before the stupidity.
Inside the pinkish interior, there rests the fearsome form of her former student at his most demure; arms in tweed crossed over a chestful of pale cream shirt.
“It wasn’t my idea,” claims the almost idiot in the crystal, his arms unfolding like a pile of rabbits waking from an orgy, “... but look over there.”
One of the Doctor’s peridot eyes flicker open on his former teacher, and he grins. His fingers lift from his chest, and point to another area though, lingering in the direction Borusa had come.
Another crystal beckons in the hallway Borusa just fell out of.
Old world pink with modern lines.
The same one?
“I suppose these things will be popping up all over this place now? In various positions?” Borusa gripes as she tries not to skip over to the next pink stone.