You are my voodoo child, my voodoo child...
There are an unusual number of people in the Inn singing, or playing music, or writing it. This is hard to miss.
It's also hard to miss a certain Time Lord stalking around the Inn, tapping his fingers on things at random, and looking somewhat perplexed.
Yes, he can feel the music, pulsing around him, but the drumbeat's only gotten louder in response, as if challenging it.
It's maddening.
It's also hard to miss a certain Time Lord stalking around the Inn, tapping his fingers on things at random, and looking somewhat perplexed.
Yes, he can feel the music, pulsing around him, but the drumbeat's only gotten louder in response, as if challenging it.
It's maddening.