Hi. [She reaches up, swiping a finger under her eyes. It comes away just barely stained with damp mascara. With her clean hand, she offers a polite, buttoned-up handshake.] Clara Oswald. A few years early.
[ it's a hand he accepts, even if it feels strangely formal. it has no reason to, but he knows he means more to her than that now, and it's barely ever handshakes with him anyway. still, he takes her hand, because she's offers it, and it's all he has to offer in return.
and her hand is— cold. there's little display made of it, expression kept as neutral as he can manage, but he casts a swift glance up at her. pointed, concerned. it smooths out - he's smiling again. ]
Clara. A pleasure. [ a few years. ] Funny thing, time. I haven't been pulled out of it in a while. Shame it's muddled us up.
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for mmiab
Hi. [She reaches up, swiping a finger under her eyes. It comes away just barely stained with damp mascara. With her clean hand, she offers a polite, buttoned-up handshake.] Clara Oswald. A few years early.
[Her skin is corpse-cold.]
no subject
and her hand is— cold. there's little display made of it, expression kept as neutral as he can manage, but he casts a swift glance up at her. pointed, concerned. it smooths out - he's smiling again. ]
Clara. A pleasure. [ a few years. ] Funny thing, time. I haven't been pulled out of it in a while. Shame it's muddled us up.
no subject
It's alright. We met out of order to begin with.
[Her smile is narrow and nostalgic. That ridiculous monk's robe, his beaming face - it's all etched in her memory as clear as day.]