She sat at the bar, smoking a long-handled cigarette. She had hair the color of a black hole's heart, and eyes like glacial ice.
The Doctor wasn't fooled; she'd recognize the Master anywhere or anywhen, even if he was also a she. (And she didn't want to think about the implications of them both having female regenerations at the same time.)
The Master looked over, gaze drawn like iron filings to a magnet. She stood, and the Doctor couldn't help noticing her long legs, the fit of her black dress.
She found herself smiling. It was time to dance again.