“Obviously, when I saw the pod in the Panopticon, and put it together with the fact of Keflistian’s unfortunate discovery and the relevant footage from your amusing little See See Tee Vee experiment, I came to the only reasonable conclusion.” He adjusted his tie, this one a rabbit hued number the same color as his hair, tied nice and straight against his unpopped collar. “We ought to discover who gave us these rings, Koschei… although, we probably never will. That’s what the failsafe must have been, a temporary death differential mnemonic buffer against fraying all of time and space. Before all this, it might have been fun to play with. Basically, whoever it was turned us into isometric schwarzchild radii for our own personal memories. We’ve been playing Manchurian Candidates in someone’s greater Game, Kos. I mean to find out why.”
The Master opens his mouth to complain that the Doctor has suspiciously not given his usual emaciated answer to a relatively important question, but Rassilon’s voice booming from the too-audible comms runs rather roughshod over his attempts to be heard.
“Would the Other please report to the Cardinal’s apartment? Thank you. Rassilon out.”
The Doctor stiffens at his old moniker, feeling suddenly, inexplicably dizzy at the strange announcement, while the beautiful red damask-like pattern on the chair back gives a foreboding shripping sound behind him. Had he heard a slight snicker at the end of Rassilon’s broadcast? He can’t seem to get his brain to stop spinning the room around… the scent of roses is deafening. Why can’t the Master smell it?