The Master turns, looking equally grim. Which makes some sense, seeing as the Sensoriums thought it best to clothe him as a fortuneteller. A girl fortuneteller, complete with skirt, and hoop earrings... and an unwieldy turban resting upon his head. A crystal ball sits in the crook of his arm.

Of course, humans trust soothsayers. Rassilon knows why. Perhaps he can spin this to his advantage, despite the unfortunate crossdressing. Though something about the newcomer seems off, and it's not just his clothing.

"Oh, you can always ask," he grins.