Andrew pushes his glasses up his nose and looks around warily from behind the desk -- and from behind the mountain of books atop it. Quietly, he sets down his stamp and pushes his chair back, silently rising from his seat and --
"Going somewhere?" asks the Master, pressing him back into the chair and scooting it in so Andrew's belly is pressed against the edge of the desk. Andrew braces his hands against the wood, protests dying in his throat as the Master does something to lock the chair in place, then reaches over him to take his hand and press the stamp back into it. "You know why you're here," the Time Lord tells him reproachfully.
Looking at the books to his right, Andrew feels his mouth set into a pout. "I'd really rather not," he says even as he reaches for the nearest one. Flip it open, run it under the scanner, stamp it with words he can't read -- set it to his left, pick up the next. As the Master ruffles his hair in approval, Andrew plots his escape -- and his revenge.
no subject
"Going somewhere?" asks the Master, pressing him back into the chair and scooting it in so Andrew's belly is pressed against the edge of the desk. Andrew braces his hands against the wood, protests dying in his throat as the Master does something to lock the chair in place, then reaches over him to take his hand and press the stamp back into it. "You know why you're here," the Time Lord tells him reproachfully.
Looking at the books to his right, Andrew feels his mouth set into a pout. "I'd really rather not," he says even as he reaches for the nearest one. Flip it open, run it under the scanner, stamp it with words he can't read -- set it to his left, pick up the next. As the Master ruffles his hair in approval, Andrew plots his escape -- and his revenge.