Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum

Little Boy Flew

“It’s simple really,” the Master says flatly, rubbing the ball of squirming Flesh between his fingers, “…when you think of it in this way, he’s like an overlarge pet boogie. You just roll him back and forth, like so…”

The ball of Flesh squeaks in audible annoyance and melts into gooey liquid, attempting to escape the Master’s smoothing fingers.

“Oh, leave him be, Koschei!” says Flaminarixodaparcaftion as she struts long hands through the Master’s jambalaya blond hair. “There’s dirt in your hair. Do you want a shower? Or do you want to see him first? I asked you once already…”

The Master sighs and grabs her bum, to which a silvery a-line strapless gown is now fitted quite nicely indeed, and so soon after the corset she greeted him in.

“Shut up phone sex, I’m deciding.”

“Stop being vulgar.”

“Stop being so damn attractive. Ungrateful whore.”

“Well, I guess you could visit him later. Rosette informs me he’s sleeping just now, anyway.”

Did she just dismiss him? God damn it. She’s just like her mother! Father. Birth-giving parental unit.

“Thank the gods for that. I thought he’d never give me any peace.”

“Shut up and kiss me you uncouth idiot.”

“Stop ordering me around, or I’ll make you regret the day you were…”

Born. Hold on. Did she say sleeping?

The Master knows better than to assume anything, with him.

Her head whips around as well, meeting his chickening gaze and raising him a querent, eggy visual.

“Did you actually go in the room, and see him? I mean, have you lately, Flamina? Seen him?”

“I haven’t seen father since he got here.”

“And when was that?”

Flamina sets her finger to her bottom lip, which puffs out silently then retracts like the quick steps of a water strider.

“Forget the shower. We should check. If anything happens to Daddy or…you know, Auntie will be furious with him.”

“And so will I.” the Master mumbles spitefully, breathing in the violet scent of Flamina’s white maiko tresses.

Her hands reach for his; they skip down the smooth gang just as the white door slides open, heading for the deeper recesses of Rosette’s innards.

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