Chapter Seven, Part Five: Wake-Up Call of CthulhuMature

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Moving on! What the hell? What’s going on here? Are you saying this baby…thing is from Jersey, from when the Cracks appeared? So what? Any enemy of the Doctor is my best mate…” the Valeyard chokes, rubbing his stomach gingerly, as if enjoying the thought that the embryo might suddenly grow and eat his innards for lunch.   “Ah, it’s settled then! I like anything he doesn’t like. What’s not to love about a kid who doesn’t like that pervy uncle who’ll only go for teenage blonde shop girl types hanging on their every word and telling them what to do, eh? Eh? And Jersey’s not that bad, really… if you don’t mind the alien plastic flamingo pigmies during the summer months…” 

He grins then, looking from Roda’s wrinkled raptor prune of a face to the younger monks’ smoother gazes.  “What? Why the long faces? Did somebody die? Don’t tell me you met an alien plastic flamingo pigmy! They’re worse than those fanged white bunnies… and don’t even start about the man-eating carnivorous quatrefoil vulgaris! Did you run, like the little twit tells everyone to do? How lovely.” He grimaces then, and pulls his feet up under the covers, grabbing at his toes to warm them… “It’s so cold in here. Can’t you put some heating in? Gods and graces, so hard to find good help. I ought to slaughter the lot of you, stuff you with apples and serve you to Koschei, but he’s too busy playing house with that annoying Pythian child. So I’ll just… yes, I’ll just… do you have anything to eat?”  he adds, staring ahead as he grabs his arms and rubs, “…I’m so cold. And I’m starving.”

The End

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