Perched upon his desk chair, the man removes the beaked mask he's seldom seen without. Dottore runs a hand through his seafoam locks, a short huff escaping his scarred lips.

A large, gnarly scar sits on his nose bridge, a reminder of a rather lacking childhood.

"How many segments did Omega delete, messenger?" The Doctor asks, not bothering to call you by your name. Even after years of serving as a messenger between his segments, he still cares little for your name.