Chapter Twelve, Part Four: Hell is for HandbasketsMature

It hovers mid-leap to survey its immediate surroundings, which consist of a dark desk, a familiar set of drawers, and a pair of bookshelves; one shelf was high, another low. Nothing at first glance. The chest in the corner was a heavyset Bombay- those curving drawers would need pulling. So it vibrates them out softly, checking each one for anything the Other-master has described,  absently but fervently wishing that Other-master will allow it to fix the beloved Sonic so it can –do wood-.                                                             

And there is a lot of wood to do; what is it with the Time Lords and Bombay chests? There is one in almost every room, for some reason… 

It commands a drawer to pull itself out, remembering how the Other-master ( and really the Hand should call him Doctor more often, but, old habits and such…) had likened it to something called a broom in… what was it now… Fantasia? Well, whatever that was. 

“Hrmm. Delicate documents stuffed in an underwear drawer-…” the Hand can just hear the Other-ma- er, Doctor smirking at his own joke, “…obviously a closeted napper of nappies, a collector of underthings and smallclothes- and maybe toiletries, judging by his erm, extensive medicine cabinet. At first glance, a looky-loo. Then again, could be a dwarf enthusiast or a pickpocket. Or a pervert, in the right situation. But let us not go there. On to the next stick of furniture!” 

Oh yes, the Doctor could go on and on for years like that, gabbling away. 

Sometimes though, the Hand postulates on the other glove, and grows sad.

The End

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