“Here comes Goldilocks,” the Master murmurs, slapping his thigh from where he’s lying in a patch of tall red grass, musing on the dreaming practices of the Malay Senoi, “… can I spank him?”
To the Master, Koschei’s left, the Doctor, his face closed beneath the shade of an open newspaper, stirs, rumbling sleepy disapproval from the stone park bench upon which he is outstretched and napping.
“No- I’m taking a kip.”
The Master whinges at him, waving a hand, then poking a finger at the Doctor’s ample chin, tapping just so against the pallid skin there.
“Just a little? Please?”
The Doctor heaves a sigh, then blinks and resettles himself on the bench, turning round to the other side in a languid twist of weight and length of leg.
“All right, Johnny Appletweed- but don’t blame me if he steals your quadricycle.”
No answer, as a blonde man stumbles into the small clearing, back-ending into the furniture and tearing his clothes.
The Master gets to his feet, grinning broadly like a well-manicured shark at a two legged buffet, “Well, Daisy, what do you have to say for yourself? These apples are still green because of you!” he thrusts two fingers covered in rich dark chocolate toward Hainishtymion’s blonde head, then flings them at the three unripe apples sitting in the basket near the Doctor’s bench. “What are we going to do about that, eh? You’ve made us miss the bloody show! As it is, we’re going to have to TIVO it! TIVO! Moron.” He raises a fist for pumping, and screams wordlessly, “TIVO!”