“I’ll give you want you want the most,” she moaned huskily to the Time Lord, narrowing her violet eyes and unbuttoning the top two buttons of her tight blouse, revealing her ample chest.
“Excellent,” he intoned, pulling out a dataPADD that had a 20 digit number glowing on its screen.
She stuttered. “Wh-what?" she asked, confused.
“Eh?” the Time Lord replied in confusion. “It’s an account number. You weren’t going to give me twenty million dollars?"
"N-no,” she repiied weakly, putting the boobs away. “No, I.. I wasn’t going to give you twenty million dollars.”
They both sat there staring at each other, profoundly dissatisfied.
Having successfully invaded both America and Canada from her home base in Windsor, Paisley has become horribly corrupted by the world. She hates active voice and wishes to god Twitter had an edit button. Dedicated to "creating the greatest 'Ship of them all", she ponders horribly terrible, idiotic things for your amusement.