There is white above River Song’s head, obscuring her vision.
It’s a bit disappointing, considering that he was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago.
The white thing is wide, about as broad as her shoulders.
It’s long, and thick, too.
Fur covers it like a blanket of snow.
Her fingers are itching; she wants so badly to drag the thing down so she can examine it. But the urge is building again, shimmying down her spine and pooling along her back and in her nethers like congealed honey.
One chunky white leg dangles over the water cup on her small bluish pull over tray like the bendy straw in the sweet violet slush of a mixed berry smoothie. A loose artificial hair slips from the threads of the foot and floats down, sliding onto the surface of the lukewarm fluid. Long fingers are wrapped around the base of the big white thing, firm long strips of flesh coated in sinew and bone, slender, squarish… pale as hot cream sand on a beach.
“I expected you later, my love.” she murmurs as the hand flattens against her forehead so gently, a mask of skin-covered feathers perfectly fitted to her face.
The big stuffed rabbit drops first to one side, then another, big ears flopping in her hair just so. A sound comes from behind it.
Enter, the smell of mud from somewhere other than this, disrupting their private little shiny white universe.