The Gallifreyan nods, and goes back to digging through the insides of her doggy companion. It's good to know some robots have manners, forgotten though they may be.
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.
After several minutes of fascinated watching from a booth nearby, Tavi gives into temptation. After all, that's just... shiny, interesting, and utterly unlike anything he's seen.
Thus it is that there is a boy--looking about fourteen--standing nearby soon. Dressed in medieval clothes but with distinctly Roman features, he's rather pretty--delicate face and hands and long black curls. Most notable, however, are his grass-green eyes, lit by intelligence and at the moment intense scrutiny.
"What are you making?" he asks curiously. "And how? I've never seen anything quite like it."
Comments 37
Said 'someone' is nine feet tall, made of metal, and has one glowing red eye.
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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.
Reply
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.
Reply
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.
Reply
"Temper, temper." She tsks at the bird, the screwdriver's hum changing frequency as she flicks through the settings.
Reply
Thus it is that there is a boy--looking about fourteen--standing nearby soon. Dressed in medieval clothes but with distinctly Roman features, he's rather pretty--delicate face and hands and long black curls. Most notable, however, are his grass-green eyes, lit by intelligence and at the moment intense scrutiny.
"What are you making?" he asks curiously. "And how? I've never seen anything quite like it."
Reply
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