Ghostpaint1

[spoken] Doctor: Master! I challenge you to psychic combat. Master: And why should I agree to that, Doctor? Doctor: Why else? To prove you’re the mental giant around here. Master: True. I accept! Doctor: Galactic laws of psychic combat apply? Only to humiliate, never to harm? Master: Don’t be so naïve, Doctor. There are no rules here, and I’m afraid you’ve outgrown your novelty. Today is the day you die. Doctor: So be it. Master: But by all means, you can feel free to follow the rules. Doctor: No, you’re right. No more games. We’re the last of our kind. But I can’t let you continue doing what you’re doing. Master: So what will it be then, Doctor? Doctor: Rehabilitation. The best of the Time Lords will live on through us. Only the best. Master: You haven’t won yet, Doctor. Let us begin! [sung] Master: So it finally comes down to this, Two foes in a battle of mind. Well I promise that you won’t be missed, When I am the last Lord of Time. Doctor: I have no quarrel with you. I’d

Kevin Salt wandered into Whisper Falls at 6:45 in the morning on a Tuesday in October. He hadn’t intended on coming here. When he visited the bus depot two towns over the previous night, he simply looked for the most crowded vehicle with a sleep-deprived-looking driver that might not notice him sneaking on amidst the students and graveyard shifters. The trick didn’t work every time, but it worked enough to still be an efficient way of getting around when you were a broke drifter. This place had its own unique smell. Most cities did, Kevin found, at least for those who took the time to stop and smell the urbanity. Though there weren’t any visible, he reasoned that the name ‘Whisper Falls’ must be at least partially literal, with one or several waterfalls being littered throughout, giving the place a wet and muggy scent that was distinct from places near a lake or ocean. This was blanketed by the wafting aromas of autumn; dead leaves, pumpkins both fresh and rotting, petrichor from a