Sam Tyler was not amused. Not at all. Because, honestly, how often do you walk into a lobby and find it amusing? None, for Sam Tyler. Which should be a given really, since this isn't exactly where he'd wanted to go
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And he can tell already that this isn't the doppleganger he's been toying with since he entered the Inn. This one is new.
The Master is just going to sit at the table he was at when the man walked in, elbow resting on the table, chin resting on his palm, and smile at him until he's noticed. He's patient.
"What is it now, eh!?" Sam shouted at the ceiling, hands out in a spread eagled fashion. "Couldn't get the dosage quite right!? What, did I change my Mum now she's trying to kill me or something!? WHAT!?"
He might be making punching gestures at the ceiling. And looking a bit insane.
Sam was not good at noticing people were around when he was talking to the 'voices in his head.' However, when he glanced at the man who had just spoke, he did a double take.
They tried the anagram charm with too few letters, Regulus is fairly certain; he's most of the way through the results, and he hasn't seen anything that looks much like a viable name. He'll have to take that up with Selwyn, when he goes back to Hogwarts. In the meantime, a shouting new arrival is a perfect distraction. "Something wrong, then?"
Svetlana nearly drops her tea at the sight of who she thinks is the KGB agent who has managed to derail her and her husband's life so spectacularly shouting like a madman.
She hesitates for a moment then goes over to him. "Comrade?" she asks faintly, in Russian. "What is wrong?"
By now Sam had slid down the wall in exhaustion, his good mood spent and his day ruined. Not that it had been looking to have been a particularly good day. 1973... not many good days in 1973.
The out of time police officer sat on the floor, his eyes closed and his jaw set, trying to calm himself down and find a solution for... for whatever this was.
Lucy is actually getting used to this whole seeing-people-who-look-like-her-husband thing.
Somehow, that strikes her as a bit pathetic. Amusing if she were anyone else, but terribly bathetic.
"Yelling isn't going to get you anywhere," she informs from her spot at a table not too far away. "And it's not exactly giving the rest of us a good impression either."
Sam exhaled exhaustedly and placed his fists on the wall, putting his head on them and grinding his teeth. He stayed this way for a moment before giving said wall a frustrated punch.
"Let me know if that actually does anything to improve the situation?" She asks, mocking in her voice. Really, all she sees is a man throwing a little bit of a tantrum and it isn't doing anything for her.
Folding her arms across the tabletop, she just watches him. "Let me know when you're done, then maybe we can get somewhere."
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The Master, however, is deeply amused.
And he can tell already that this isn't the doppleganger he's been toying with since he entered the Inn. This one is new.
The Master is just going to sit at the table he was at when the man walked in, elbow resting on the table, chin resting on his palm, and smile at him until he's noticed. He's patient.
Like a viper.
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He might be making punching gestures at the ceiling. And looking a bit insane.
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At length, he tilts his head to one side and asks with genuine curiosity, "Does that ever work?"
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Forgive the pun.
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In the meantime, a shouting new arrival is a perfect distraction.
"Something wrong, then?"
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"What the bloody hell do you want now!?" he yelled at the ceiling.
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...He couldn't resist. It's that sarcasm thing.
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In the meantime, he banged his fists against the wall and shouted on the top of his lungs some more.
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She hesitates for a moment then goes over to him. "Comrade?" she asks faintly, in Russian. "What is wrong?"
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"NO!"
Cue futile kicking of completely innocent wall.
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As she thinks away the mess she realizes though he may look look like Molokov, the body language is all wrong.
She tries again, in English, this time. "Hello?"
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The out of time police officer sat on the floor, his eyes closed and his jaw set, trying to calm himself down and find a solution for... for whatever this was.
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Somehow, that strikes her as a bit pathetic. Amusing if she were anyone else, but terribly bathetic.
"Yelling isn't going to get you anywhere," she informs from her spot at a table not too far away. "And it's not exactly giving the rest of us a good impression either."
Don't mind her, Sam, she's not slept yet.
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He didn't even flinch.
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Folding her arms across the tabletop, she just watches him. "Let me know when you're done, then maybe we can get somewhere."
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"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked purposefully, shortly, so as to show that he was really not in the mood for patronisation.
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