Chapter Seventeen, Part One: The Robbes-Pierre of LonginusMature

Rassilon sighs as he looks down the plank. 

 Several attendants in white, pushing trolleys and chairs, are shuffling by him, around him, the flow of people like fish in a stream. 

He grabs one woman by the shoulder, smiling a blank, unthreatening smile at her. 

Project reassurance, he tells himself glibly as he gauges the woman’s reactions. It’s been a while since he’s had to remind himself of how to act to get information. 

The small, one-eyed heart of a face responds as he thought it would, blinking its one blue eye and shuddering, the short worm’s-beak mouth wheeling with resonant odd clicks and catches and whirs. 






Wheeek! T-t.

 “I’m sorry sir, but the Hospital is closed to visitors; We’ve had an incident. Please go back to your ship!”

 She scurries off, her thin hands driving off with a hovering chair full of a pile of grey, slimy, occasionally bubbling patient. 

A Turelo woman, he surmises, shifting himself forward through the rushing crowd.

 A man whose brilliant pate is an almost diacritically mottled golden ball strikes a heavy foot across his path, his long marble fingers five in number and dangling, the palm pensive and… strangely empty.

The End

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