He can’t place her… why can’t he…
She blushes more, her cheeks filling like candied apples from Earth. Brainless, repressed tart. She fancies both of them. Oh well, at least he’ll have a pet librarian in his pocket, just like the Doctor. And speaking of Earth, how he longs for a nice bit of beef... and he still hasn’t got the Doctor back for pretending he was the baby’s father. Things to do, things to do.
“Plus,” he says, sweeping a hand around her back and retrieving the small bit of plaster perched in her messy bun, “I think Caltreevian plaster suits you.”
He examines the whitish chunk for a moment, noticing the blues and greens that flowed over the small bit that had managed some color. There’s an intricate rose pattern over one edge. Not bad work for a library mouse.
Nemontiarla hunches her shoulders in a modest shrug, and one bangle slides from her upper arm down onto her wrist. “Well, the Caltreevians did imbue it with trace amounts of validium, which as we all well know is what TARDISES are formed of, and is thusly well able to withstand regenerative energy expenditure,” she murmured.
His hand traces her chin; she giggles like a school girl behind thick glasses she, and practically every other Gallifreyan ever, will never need.
Then he kisses her softly and throws her to the ground. It’s like breaking a toy, he imagines. As he feels the knife slide into his left heart, he smiles at her. See, Theta, he muses to himself, I can be beautiful. You just… watch me, you… goody-goody… bastard.