perhaps it is in the way that he staggers that you know something is wrong. or the way crimson oozes from the cracks of his fingers, whilst he struggles to conceal the wound interrupting the hardened skin of his midriff. he coughs once, sticking to the wall and ignoring the way blood spatters his hand. he needs help, but he isn’t going to ask. he will simply hide, struggle home to stitch it up himself. ( if he makes it that far. )
she sees the boy on her way back to her new shiny TARDIS. he’s clearly hurt, an while she coudn’t care less, she decides why not have some fun for a change? in mock kindness she picks up her pace and moves toward him.
❝ oh god, are you alright? do you need me to call an ambulance? ❞
❝01100100 01101111 01101100 01101100 00111111? — No, no that’s not right. Circuits have been so dreadful lately — Your face is that of The Doctor’s; tell me why I shouldn’t look like I hate you? — And doll?Really?❞
❝ because i’m afraid i’m not the doctor, in fact i like to think i’m the polar opposite of him. though that’s not quite true either seeing as how i’m everything bad that he is put together. perhaps i’m both him and the polar opposite, either way; i’m not the doctor. i’m mister clever, and you’re a machine. a machine who looks human. how? because you’re not a robot i know robots. ❞
❝ yes, you seem like someone who would walk away or you would at least hide away if you needed to of course it isn’t him that i think you would walk away from. so no, i suppose i wasn’t. ❞
