Meanwhile, the Master watches in horror as the wood in the chair splinters, arches out beside his friend’s prostrate body and breaks, collapsing the legs out from beneath him and sending the Doctor straight down to the floor with a yelp of pain as his spine strikes hard marble.
Then, just as he is contemplating how he is to manage getting down on the floor to check on the Doctor, the Cardinal’s voice starts to come over the comms again. But before the comms can give their second address, the Master lifts a large shard of wood, straining his small ability with telekinesis as he flings it at the comm control panel near the door, the small blue panel fizzing in a shower of sparks as it is pierced.
The Master feels sick as he looks down at the Doctor. The unfortunate man lies moaning and sprawled on his back, his hair longer than usual, some ends just longish enough for jagged bits to peek around the base of his ears, although most of it is halfway to his shoulders in some sort of boyish layer. Despite the child growing in his womb, in the face he looks a child himself, with hooded, bright eyes and a thin, girlish upper-lip pout.
“Idiot!” he croaks before regaining his composure. “You lose that baby and our leverage is gone, and the Restoration after it!” He continues in a roar, shaking with equal parts rage and concern so that his entire frame seems to quiver with the need to spit.