Lightning strikes outside, yet, without any rain. The Doctor sits, with his hand holding up his chin, at the end chair of the meeting room table. He seems irritated, tapping his fingers on his cheekbone in rhythmic succession to the thunder sounding. He pulls on his mustache a bit, eventually letting it go so it can return to its original, arched form.

“That blasted hedgehog has bested me for the last time; the line has been crossed far too many times for me to count, now!”