Doctor Who: The Bright Asylum

Five Second Rule

“Do you recognize that?” Rassilon murmurs gravely, pointing at the infecting darkness as it inkily crawls across the com room screens.

The Master, in excellent mockery of the acting skills of frozen fish, slams down a fist on the keyboard-like interface of triangles and cubes and raised circles, banging at every button in a whirlwind of whack-a-mole. “Yes, I do. It’s annoying. Do you have any idea what it is?”

Rassilon’s sigh perches on his lips, threatening rebellion as he struggles not to smile. He fails. “You know, My Lord Master, I think we have another little amusement on our hands. Do you hear a man screaming?” His fingers silently converge on a blue note, concealed in the folds of his red, red robe, and he resurrects it, unfolding the edges over and over, each slice of motion quiet, nimble. Hidden.

The Master stares at the ancient Time Lord with shuttered eyes, adopting a look he perfected long before he savoured roast bird in that stupid ape’s mansion. “With any luck it’s Pasmodius choking on another bone.” he murmurs as his fingers grace the door panel that will let them both out.

“What?” the Master’s hands pluck in vain at the sides of the panel. “Well that’s just fucking brilliant. Someone’s gone and fucking locked us in!”

At the Master’s latest outburst, Rassilon allows the sigh, finally, then holds out a hand to telekinese the white paper bag off the floor and into his upturned palm. “We might as well enjoy it,” he murmurs, holding the crinkled mass full of tasty winged treats out to the Master, with the blue note pushed inside in all its newfound greasy glory. “…it seems we’ve an invitation to the play. Want another?”

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