[The Maestro’s Doctor rarely had companions. Brainwashed kidnapping victims, maybe. Nothing to keep him from going off what deep ends he could find. This one--all question marks and Scottish burrs--was one of the worst, along with the scarfed loony with a fondness for poisoned candy.

He almost rolls his eyes at the faux umbrella thrust--but it’s probably got something inside of it, doesn’t it? Taser? Hidden blade?]

I’m not here for the fucking CIA! [Damn the Web of Time. Damn keeping secrets.] I wanted a nice day, and here I am, arguing with a bloody ghost. Do you know, Doctor, I still can’t believe I miss you.