The Doctor is fairly certain he’s staring at the Rani, and he does his level best to keep his gaze from being too piercing, to keep his face looking bored and faintly impatient. It’s harder than he thought it would be, not helped by the fact that this body’s response to stress –its instinct to hide his true intentions– has always been to play the noisy fool, and that is the opposite of what is required here.

He resists the urge to cover his ears. The last time he heard anyone speak this language… –it had been in fear, and rage, and pain, the screams of the maimed and the reports of the dead. when he’d woken to the irrefutable silence of the aftermath, for a moment he’d almost thought it was better. but, oh, it’s beautiful–

He does manage to look singularly unimpressed at her words, and he gives her a slow once over.

“And why are you here, then?” he asks, sliding his gaze to the Master with the suggestion on his face that if she’s not here by the Council then they are wasting their time.