The Green Stile
Rassilon taps a foot against the steaming grate underneath him, his nearly vacant eyes straying again to the rumpled bundle in his arms.
Finally the doors slide apart, allowing him entry into the Jade Pagoda.
His eyes are no longer devoid; instead, they glance about the area, taking in the true shape of the little artifice’s control room now that the need for subterfuge has ceased temporarily.
The central control, a blackish column most incongruous and grim, sits darkened. There are thick silvery wires flowing across the shadowed floor like roots... but these too are sleeping; there is no heat, sound or light spilling through their polished metal.
The crèches, too, are...
Three are empty- one bears the indent of a young child. The other two are imbued with the taller dents of two much bigger people, a man with large hips and a woman with the same.
He shifts his snuffling carry-on luggage to the other arm, settles her in, then carefully picks his way over to the other two crèches.
One is partially open and draining a white liquid. The liquid has been dripping and steaming itself onto the incandescent blue panels beneath. River’s. So she was using a double-routed as well.
The other occupied creche shifts open, and Lord Borusa steps out, her entire young body catching at the back-sliding door like a reanimated corpse.
He should leave her alone.
But he can’t, regardless of what she’s discovered.
Her fingers are white on her joints as she breathes from the knees, curtaining the crisp black of the floor with golden hair.
He has to ask.
But her fingers snap up, and smear his query like a smudge of unlucky insect.
“...Jack is still at the Indso Tys, probably lying where the Doctor left him when he pulled us into the Land of Fiction. You should go and fetch him. The Valeyard got a nasty surprise when he leaped into the Flesh the Doctor prepared for him. He should be around somewhere near the Pyramid Corridor’s Mnrva exit. Fetch him too. I’m going back in. To test a theory.”
Rassilon’s eyebrows slide a fraction upward, despite himself. He feels his chin degrade in rotation, somehow, betraying his surprise.
“You should be used to his version of schooling by now,” Borusa quips hoarsely from her crèche, her diminutive digits tight and serious on the large inner handle as she shifts to close it again, “... The Doctor always takes us for quite an education- and what do we get in return? That boy, forcing us to sail strange seas in a rickety boat! I don’t even know what a boat IS!”
Sparkle-eyed with delight, she sticks her blonde head out and stares at him, then slaps his hand with a blue post-it before shutting the door completely.
Rassilon sticks the now post-it adorned free hand in his mouth and sighs as he walks away, thinking he may never bite down on his laughter so hard as on this day, at this resolute moment.
Against his chest, Flamina snuggles into his cool warmth, nuzzling closer in her sleep.
His smile splits him down at her with fingers and teeth set on preventing his lips from parting, trapping his tongue and a building desire to snort in the back of his nasal passage; it simply wouldn’t do to wake her now.