Well, looks like another nightie without the cut, but it’ll have to do I s’pose. Good choice. It’s more modern than the 1800’s ver…” he stops on purpose, studying the Master’s face for a spell before continuing. “Oh go on, then,” he adds, sticking a hand in the air and waggling his fingers and twisting his wrist. “I’ll be along for the conference in a few tics. I can see it’s murdering you to be in the same room with me for more than a fiver; Go and stalk Pasmo or something. Just don’t put too many tacks in his chair. I still enjoy his company.”
Koschei of Oakdown, the Master, the present Lord President of Gallifrey peers at the Doctor from his perch on the stool, glaring out from his sad little cave of greyish fabric, and shook. His body is indeed coiled- but not like a snake, oh no, more like a spring than any sort of Ophidian serpent. Reaching round and blowing his nose on a random shirt from the drawer, he then spins and offers a quick retort to the silence before vacating the room through the leftmost exit, still carrying the plate with the sarnie. Then he stops, looks at the drippy bacon sandwich on the plate, and rages back into the Doctor’s room. Faced by the Doctor’s suspiciously starry smile, he blows past the gingerly dressing Time Lord with turn on a penny care and slams the dish down on the bed.