The Master, in typical Harold Saxon form, carried with his swagger through their conversation, even if the new acquaintance's voice disturbed even him. "Ooh, a bit scratchy, are we? I think I have a Ricola in my pocket," he said, scouring through his pockets sarcastically. "Nope, still a bus ticket and a sweet. I should really empty these more often. Wonderful things, pockets."

He still hadn't seen the face or recognized the cold presence of his newfound friend, but the sense of humor made him endearing to The Master. "Classic, is it? Just like the black suit, white shirt, black tie combo? I'm always a fan of classics. Fine wine, young women, The Smiths, all that rubbish."