“…I know,” she says, straining a sugary soup of softness into her words with just those silent, saucer orbs she might call eyes, “…Rose Tyler, Defender of the Universe- blonde chit, yellow girl, chav extraordinaire, to the rescue. The Doctor needs to hear what I’m gonna say before I say it…” Her light-filled eyes roll up in a groan, crisping the edges of the golden dayshine blonde-dyed hair spilling into the pink hoodie. She grips his face with glitter-sprinkled hands, gold pouring into his vision like liquid butter in a vintage popcorn machine, “And you’re gonna tell ‘im.”
The Master scrubs his hair through with his hand. Perhaps if he regenerates into a bald man he won’t have to do this again.
“… what is it I’m supposed to tell him? Besides the fact I want to wring his scrawny chicken neck like a tasty turkey and stuff him with rice, then hand him over to the local street urchins as a piñata for making up this exquisite little fib about my online girlfriend?”
Rosette the TARDIS and Rose Tyler the woman who loves and might possibly be loved by… that prat. That Prat with a capital P. No difference.
Really? This will take some getting used to, he thinks, as he narrows his eyes at her, grinding his teeth together.
Rose Tyler smiles, her lips part in that pout he’s always heard about, and then she laughs, the sound chiming deeply through the rooms of her hull, and the world below them lights up for a split hair’s second.
“You’ve got three minutes. ‘t’s all I can give you. Tell ‘im… Tell ‘im Bouncy Castle says to try the other radio. There’s his signal now. Shift it.”
But then a buzz comes over the comms.