antitimelord

With a distinctly disapproving wheeze, a TARDIS materialises, its door drifting ajar. Anyone daring to look inside would be greeted by a scene of utter chaos, even compared to its usual state: everywhere are things piled precariously, books obviously having doubled as serving plates, bowls with teabags still sitting in them, some kind of machinery that appears to be almost growing in the corner. The hollow under the console rather suggests magpies of enormous size have taken up residence; it's a bizarre mixture of torn blanketry, trinkets, and the odd bit of silverware. The very air inside the ship is suggestive of madness.

Nimbly dodging monuments to who knows what deity of mess, Zagreus exits without a backwards glance. "Coming, Charley?"