Killed By A Woman. Worse yet, my wife.
The Master was slouched over a milkshake, slurping his woes away. It was an old 1970's diner, American style, with tables scattered around the place. Voodoo Child was playing on the radio.
Christ. That takes me back.
When Lucy had stolen his ring just to remember him by, somehow, he'd reanimated. Obviously on fire and wrapped in what seemed to be loo roll, the Master had escaped with a slightly charred face an' splinters stuck in rather strange places. Getting away from the burning pyre was harder than he'd imagined. Many spectators were already crowding it, laughing at the 'strange man who set himself alight'. One of the less entertaining names. After escaping, the only thing to do was, apart from extinguishing the flames, buy some clothes. The Master didn't reckon the toilet paper would hold for long, and his most adored suit was still smouldering atop of the pyre. Finding the nearest New Look he could [his wife used to visit there often. , which happened to be inside one of the biggest shopping centres in existence, he stumbled in, pushing past certain individuals that looked in his direction with some sort of recognition. Mr Saxon was supposed to be dead, and now he suddenly decided to reanimate and stumble half mummified into a shopping centre. Grabbing what he could only assume to be a pair of jeans and a hoodie he hurled whatever notes he had tucked into his underwear, at the shop clerk.
"Excuse me sir-" The Master slowly spun around, shooting the teenager a filthy look. Another stupid remark about his toilet roll appearance, probably. He wasn't expecting the boy to say "-Here's your change." The Master smiled, almost warmly, and grabbed the cash from the boy's outstretched palm.
Outside, in an alleyway behind Nandos, the Master leant against the wall trying as best he could to pull the jeans on. A size 10 would never work.