“Why don’t you explain for me then, Raspar, exactly why you seem so intent on demeaning the Doctor’s good name?” the Master says, stepping down and rearranging Raspar’s high-pointed blue collar, “I don’t care about mine; I don’t have one. But the Doctor is a goodie-goodie who’s died countless times so that you lot can sit on your arses and play Time Lord pinochle.” He stands, smiling now, one hand dancing a heavy silver coin back and forth across his knuckles.
“Oh, look here’s his Lordship Rassilon the Cardinal over the comms again. What’s it this time? Has he got a wedgie?”
“Well, personally I think it’s funny that the Master made him Cardinal. Don’t you, Kenny?”says peacock-haired, effeminate Keflistian, getting up suddenly to dust off his trousers. But it seems Kenny has choked on a fish bone… rendering himself momentarily indisposed and coughing up blood on Keflistian’s robe. So Keflistian pats him on the back, wishes him a good regeneration and then walks off, in the direction of the disrobing room.
The comms crackle nostalgically with a warning. “Intruder in the Citadel! Silver mask, blond hair! Don’t let him make it to the…”
But a bowtied shadow pops into existence near one of the exits , a green-tipped sonic probe in hand. He raises the probe in the air; it blinks red, and then the comms spark, going silent, and he blips out again just as old Pasmo turns with a swish of robes to stare at the empty space the shadow no longer occupies.
The Master yells in frustration at the cracking-fizzing interference. “Bit late, ‘my Lord Cardinal! A bit of forewarning would have been nice!”