“The link to trigger and trap the blast has been made.” the Master whispers, sinking down against the solidified doors as he watches the white streaming like salt from the Flesh and the Flesh Violin. “Now hurry on to Mount Doom, Stupid.”
As the white figure of Rosette’s interface grows out of the floor, and sits cross-legged there beside him, he growls at her, then lets out a deep, gasping breath and looks again at the screen.
It’s switched over to the red jewel of Gallifrey, the silver points of chronon mines flickering like shrapnel in orbit.
“How long has he got?” the Master murmurs softly.
“Till after the cows come home.” Rose-Rosette sighs, handing him a mug of something dark. It smells vibrant, full of spices.
He lifts it to his lips, swishes, and swallows.
“Bitter, thick and seasoned, just like good South American chocolate should be. Where did you get this? Teotihuacan?”
Rose-Rosette small-grins her plump lips into a juicy pout, then grasps the mug in her silent hands as she turns it so he can see.
There’s something printed on it.
The text reads,
“Death By Tesco’s.”
He smiles, looks over at her, then takes another sip.