The back door blows open and a muss of black feathers hops through.
Still incensed. But there's a genetic imperative at work here. Something flashy catches his eye and he must find out what it is.
He doesn't fly in the bar. Still hasn't got that whole precision landing thing down. He hops, stiff-legged, ruffled and a bit poofed, over to where that woman is doing something with that metal thing.
The Time Lord has always been interested in wildlife - she once attended a seminar about butterflies, after all, when she could have been doing other, more prestigious things.
But this one catches her eye in particular.
There's something... not quite right.
"Now then. What are you then?" She asks in a casual conversational tone as she crouches nearby, her sonic screwdriver whirring.
He's a noble creature, immortalised in literature, the perpetual symbol of ominous foreboding, of Victorian gloom and doom.
Well, almost. Okay no. No, he's not. He's simply a rutting big crow. And he's not happy about it.
He hops a bit closer, wary clearly, but still unfazed by the whirring shiny thing in her hand. His beady (somewhat murderous) black gaze darts from her face to the screwdriver, back to the shiny metal thing.
K9 fails to react - Romana shuts him down when she does this sort of maintenance - there's something disturbing about working on something that talks back. "Temper, temper." She tsks at the bird, the screwdriver's hum changing frequency as she flicks through the settings.
The bird looks even more offended with her patronising. He croaks his displeasure at her. He'd leave, disgusted but --
The shiny. It calls to him.
He hops up on top of the metal thing, and gives it a few more exploratory pecks, beak tugging on some of the wires, all the while keeping a wary eye on her.
"I have to say, you should have picked a better construct - you're not at all good at handling that one." She informs the small invader tartly as she crouches near him again, continuing to investigate.
She frowns at the screwdriver as well, not believing what she is seeing. Maybe the screwdriver thinks this is a bog-standard crow, but she knows it isn't.
"Well then, that's..." And then, a napkin appears, as if cued. It floats down from... well. We aren't really sure, actually.
"Vlad Dracula III, Vojvode of Wallachia also known as Vlad Tepesh, the mysterious vampire of the past few months, currently a crow by order of Belar in lieu of cell time."
"Well, you have gotten yourself into quite a fix." She sits, folding her legs underneath her neatly. "I did warn you, if you remember, before you turned that second girl into a vampire."
His head comes around sharply at that little revelation.
His eyes narrow and he hops closer, looking into her face, his head tilting from side to side, as if trying to figure out just who she is and if he should remember her.
"Of course I looked different then, I had to change you see, but you, this change is... drastic. Don't tell me you've been pretending to be some sort of Cassanova here. You were always a bit cheesy about it." She berates him mildly, slipping her screwdriver back inside her coat.
Still incensed. But there's a genetic imperative at work here. Something flashy catches his eye and he must find out what it is.
He doesn't fly in the bar. Still hasn't got that whole precision landing thing down. He hops, stiff-legged, ruffled and a bit poofed, over to where that woman is doing something with that metal thing.
Shiny!
It comes out as a raucous croak.
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But this one catches her eye in particular.
There's something... not quite right.
"Now then. What are you then?" She asks in a casual conversational tone as she crouches nearby, her sonic screwdriver whirring.
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Well, almost. Okay no. No, he's not. He's simply a rutting big crow. And he's not happy about it.
He hops a bit closer, wary clearly, but still unfazed by the whirring shiny thing in her hand. His beady (somewhat murderous) black gaze darts from her face to the screwdriver, back to the shiny metal thing.
The latter gets a vicious peck.
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"Temper, temper." She tsks at the bird, the screwdriver's hum changing frequency as she flicks through the settings.
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He hops around a bit, following that glowing blue light, glaring at it like it's offended him.
His beak clatters and then -- he imitates that whirring pattern of hums. Pretty accurately too, it must be said.
No one is more surprised at this new development than him.
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The shiny. It calls to him.
He hops up on top of the metal thing, and gives it a few more exploratory pecks, beak tugging on some of the wires, all the while keeping a wary eye on her.
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And tumbles ass over tea kettle off the back of the robot with a startled squawk.
So not used to this bird thing just yet.
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Eventually he emerges from under the table, feathers somewhat straightened.
He glares at her like it's her fault. In fact, he glares at the whole bar, blaming everyone present indiscriminately.
She's waving that blue shiny thing at him again. He whirs back at it. All readings indicate this is just your garden variety crow.
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"Well then, that's..." And then, a napkin appears, as if cued. It floats down from... well. We aren't really sure, actually.
"Vlad Dracula III, Vojvode of Wallachia also known as Vlad Tepesh, the mysterious vampire of the past few months, currently a crow by order of Belar in lieu of cell time."
She reads the note once, twice...
And giggles.
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He inflates for a moment, and then lets out a sharp huff.
Feathers. Need preening now.
Ignore ignore ignore. Glare. Ignore.
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His eyes narrow and he hops closer, looking into her face, his head tilting from side to side, as if trying to figure out just who she is and if he should remember her.
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