"Your imagination's faulty," says Drusilla. She sips her tea and stares up at him through curious, cold eyes. "Take it into the shop and repair it, or throw it into the dustbin and buy a new one."

The tentacle made its way slowly over to Drusilla, and she reached out her hand to pat it idly.

((Came prepared? Oh dear. Also, what did he bring for Sunshine? I'd think she'd get at least that out of his head.))