feigns | ► two → video/action。

[When the video first clicks on, all that's visible is Will's face and the top of his shoulders. The feed shifts slightly, and from the angle it's being held at, it would be reasonable to assume he's led down, and even more reasonable -- from the slight squint and the admittedly somewhat dirty red bricks visible in one corner of the screen -- to think that he's outside and on a wall. After a moment, he appears satisfied that the device is, in fact, turned on, and places it somewhat clumsily behind his head, slightly further along the wall.]

I assume if this were normal, it would have been mentioned somewhere in between the rampaging wooden animals and the impromptu, temporary marriages ― perhaps just after cats, but before the clones. I shan't complain, though I feel as if I ought to be speaking of― [he pauses for a moment, waving a hand vaguely and briefly adopting something approaching a passable West Country accent] ―thic faraway lands, visited only by a daring, and arguably foolish, few on gurt maggoty ships.

[He sits up suddenly, and turns round to study his device; he looks cheerful, albeit slightly grubby and fairly nonplussed by the situation as a whole, although it soon fades into poorly concealed irritation.]

Perhaps Bristol's only up the road, or Teignmouth to the west and Torquay just below that. I suppose we shan't ever know; in a few hours more, we'll be somewhere and somewhen else entirely, taking part in a wholly ridiculous scavenger hunt. Why would it be as simple as playing along in what amounts to a bastardised children's game?

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[His attention briefly shifts to her tights, and he raises his eyebrows at her before pointedly ignoring the question.]

It's a very attractive face; there's nothing with it.

Grumpy is hardly attractive. [ She teases. Your face is very pretty even when you're grumpy. ]

[He leans forward as if studying her.] Then you must be in need of glasses. No-one else has ever claimed otherwise.

I can see perfectly well.

I hope you're not accusing the women of London of being sorely mistaken. I doubt they'd take too kindly to that.

Maybe I've just formed a different opinion.

The wrong one, in that case. [He's just going to go back to lying down on the wall.]

I've another one, too. That one says you're pretty full of yourself. [ She doesn't sound like she minds. ]

That one's quite correct. [He doesn't sound like he minds, either.] One out of two isn't bad, I suppose.

Wasn't hard to figure out, that.

You do yourself a disservice, Miss Pond.

Just Amy.

[ A beat. ] Or Pond, if my first name's too much for your delicate sensibilities.

[Dismissively:] You've said as much before, although I feel truly touched you'd worry about my sensibilities, delicate or otherwise.

[He pauses, lifting his head to regard her briefly.] I must ask, though, who chose your clothes?

And still you call me Miss Pond.

[ Ah. The outfit. He gets a bright grin. ] I did, obviously.

It was to make a point and― [he smiles back at her] ―perhaps you oughtn't have made a such a point of how much you dislike being called it.

[A pause.] Obviously. Are you certain there's no need to have your eyes examined?

Oh, but you wouldn't abuse your knowledge, now, would you? [ Mock-horror. ]

Very sure. Not what you're used to, is it?

I abuse everything, Miss Pond. [He does little to hide his obvious amusement.]

Not quite. I dare say a lesser individual would have fainted on the spot.

How very despicable. [ Hiding amusement? Amy is still grinning. ]

What's so unusual to you? [ A beat. ] I really like this coat. I think I'll keep it.

I've been called worse.

[He sits back up, running his gaze along her outfit. He gestures at her skirt and tights.] Most of your legs are visible. I'd see women wearing more on Whitechapel. [He shrugs.] And your shirt and coat are like a man's.