But then he remembered the Doctor’s smug face. Dottore, that preening collection of scarves and scalpels, always going on about “efficiency” and “clinical precision.” He remembered Signora’s cold, condescending smile. He remembered the Raiden Shogun— her —and her immutable, divine perfection.
And for the first time in centuries, he felt understood. scaramouche x debate club image
“I find,” Scaramouche whispered, tapping the flat of the club against his palm, “that with the proper tool, a debate can be concluded very, very quickly.” But then he remembered the Doctor’s smug face
They had been sent to clear a Nobushi encampment. By the time they arrived, the camp was a crime scene. Not of stealthy assassinations or arcane Electro overloads. It was a scene of profound, cartoonish, and absolute demolition. he felt understood. “I find
