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Description
Sarah clenched her eyes shut and purposefully threw a punch hard at the lobby door. There was a loud crack and it flew open crazily, slamming into an occasional table which alerted the passing members of the hotel's staff to the untoward situation.
A shaft of pain shot up her arm from her bruised knuckles, clearing her mind further like a dash of cold water to the face. Suddenly, she was surrounded by others and helped from 'his' arms by a concerned bellhop and two of the place's ridiculously-garbed waitresses. Sarah Jane was then laid-out on a couch as one of them tried to fan her with her apron whilst cooing soothing words at her.
"Whatever happened, Mr Magister?"
"I'm not entirely sure but I believe this young lady took a bit of a tumble on your back stairs."
An immediate, worried tone entered the other's voice as he envisioned lawsuits beckoning-this had to be the place's manager;
"It's perfectly well-lit back there! Why didn't she use the lift? Has she been drinking?"
"I really couldn't say," this 'Mr Magister' answered, annoyed at both Sarah's escape and the man's wheedling tone, "... now, if you'll excuse me, I really have had a very exhausting day. Goodnight!"
Sarah was now having water dribbled clumsily into her mouth as she lay back on the sofa, the pain in her hand ebbing as she took deep breaths and tried to fathom the night's experiences. She heard a deep voice inquire, "You'll inform me of her condition?" and, craning her neck around she saw him (Mr Magister?) standing in the elevator with his hands clasped in front of him as the doors began to close. She couldn't believe it, he was grinning at her! Had she hit her head? Just before the doors closed on him their eyes met again and he smiled broadly, holding his index finger aloft as if to say, 'Round one to you, Miss Smith!"

Water dripped from the condensation-dulled faucet into her tub. What a night! As Sarah Jane Smith lay back in the steaming water, luxuriating in the smell of bath-salts she mused over what had happened and what she could ascertain from the experience. Once again, the robot from 'Lost in Space' screamed its litany at her;
"DANGER! DANGER, SMITH. DANGER!"
She concluded its usual chant;
"Alien presence..."
Sarah Jane Smith pursed her lips and stared at her sponge speculatively. She'd definitely heard the Tardis but was certain that only she and Magister had been present in the car-park. Her conclusion? Not 'The Tardis', a Tardis! So, not The Doctor... another Timelord? Who? Despite his wit and charm obviously not such a nice bloke!
Immediately on her arrival back in her room, despite the time-difference she called the Brig but it was fruitless. As it turned-out only Doris was at home, explaining that Alistair was in Geneva on a lecture-tour and she didn't really have any way to get in touch with him, sorry. Despite being disappointed for the second time that night, Sarah couldn't help but grin;
"Good old Brigadier, still in demand!"
The problem was, although she had the greatest respect for Winifred, the woman was bound to be very tight-lipped on the matter even if she did know something about the mysterious Mr Magister, especially bearing in mind Sarah Jane's 'independent status'. Besides, Sarah didn't want Bambera's troops stomping all over her exclusive in their hobnailed boots!
Sarah weighed-up her next plan of action She was loathe to contact one of her fellow reporters on The Metropolitan, no-one was going to steal this off her, it was big-maybe too big... She'd nearly been got-at so speed was of the essence. If Magister thought she was a real threat and not just some silly, tipsy girl who was overcome by his presence he could disappear again in an instant. She felt out of her depth for the first time in her reporting career.
The blare of the TV filtered through into the bathroom. With a chair under the front door handle, the blinds drawn and the room to herself, Sarah kept it on for company. She idly looked-out to see Cher standing atop a bar in a barely-there skirt belting out Heavy Metal's version of a love song to a bemused-looking Meatloaf, the camera focusing lovingly on her legs. Sarah smirked and turned her gaze on her own ankles as they lay, crossed to one side of the mixer-taps at the other end of the tub. She tapped them with the loofer;
"Not bad," she muttered, "...no, not bad at all!" and, grinning she sank beneath the foam.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Description
Sarah clenched her eyes shut and purposefully threw a punch hard at the lobby door. There was a loud crack and it flew open crazily, slamming into an occasional table which alerted the passing members of the hotel's staff to the untoward situation.
A shaft of pain shot up her arm from her bruised knuckles, clearing her mind further like a dash of cold water to the face. Suddenly, she was surrounded by others and helped from 'his' arms by a concerned bellhop and two of the place's ridiculously-garbed waitresses. Sarah Jane was then laid-out on a couch as one of them tried to fan her with her apron whilst cooing soothing words at her.
"Whatever happened, Mr Magister?"
"I'm not entirely sure but I believe this young lady took a bit of a tumble on your back stairs."
An immediate, worried tone entered the other's voice as he envisioned lawsuits beckoning-this had to be the place's manager;
"It's perfectly well-lit back there! Why didn't she use the lift? Has she been drinking?"
"I really couldn't say," this 'Mr Magister' answered, annoyed at both Sarah's escape and the man's wheedling tone, "... now, if you'll excuse me, I really have had a very exhausting day. Goodnight!"
Sarah was now having water dribbled clumsily into her mouth as she lay back on the sofa, the pain in her hand ebbing as she took deep breaths and tried to fathom the night's experiences. She heard a deep voice inquire, "You'll inform me of her condition?" and, craning her neck around she saw him (Mr Magister?) standing in the elevator with his hands clasped in front of him as the doors began to close. She couldn't believe it, he was grinning at her! Had she hit her head? Just before the doors closed on him their eyes met again and he smiled broadly, holding his index finger aloft as if to say, 'Round one to you, Miss Smith!"

Water dripped from the condensation-dulled faucet into her tub. What a night! As Sarah Jane Smith lay back in the steaming water, luxuriating in the smell of bath-salts she mused over what had happened and what she could ascertain from the experience. Once again, the robot from 'Lost in Space' screamed its litany at her;
"DANGER! DANGER, SMITH. DANGER!"
She concluded its usual chant;
"Alien presence..."
Sarah Jane Smith pursed her lips and stared at her sponge speculatively. She'd definitely heard the Tardis but was certain that only she and Magister had been present in the car-park. Her conclusion? Not 'The Tardis', a Tardis! So, not The Doctor... another Timelord? Who? Despite his wit and charm obviously not such a nice bloke!
Immediately on her arrival back in her room, despite the time-difference she called the Brig but it was fruitless. As it turned-out only Doris was at home, explaining that Alistair was in Geneva on a lecture-tour and she didn't really have any way to get in touch with him, sorry. Despite being disappointed for the second time that night, Sarah couldn't help but grin;
"Good old Brigadier, still in demand!"
The problem was, although she had the greatest respect for Winifred, the woman was bound to be very tight-lipped on the matter even if she did know something about the mysterious Mr Magister, especially bearing in mind Sarah Jane's 'independent status'. Besides, Sarah didn't want Bambera's troops stomping all over her exclusive in their hobnailed boots!
Sarah weighed-up her next plan of action She was loathe to contact one of her fellow reporters on The Metropolitan, no-one was going to steal this off her, it was big-maybe too big... She'd nearly been got-at so speed was of the essence. If Magister thought she was a real threat and not just some silly, tipsy girl who was overcome by his presence he could disappear again in an instant. She felt out of her depth for the first time in her reporting career.
The blare of the TV filtered through into the bathroom. With a chair under the front door handle, the blinds drawn and the room to herself, Sarah kept it on for company. She idly looked-out to see Cher standing atop a bar in a barely-there skirt belting out Heavy Metal's version of a love song to a bemused-looking Meatloaf, the camera focusing lovingly on her legs. Sarah smirked and turned her gaze on her own ankles as they lay, crossed to one side of the mixer-taps at the other end of the tub. She tapped them with the loofer;
"Not bad," she muttered, "...no, not bad at all!" and, grinning she sank beneath the foam.

TO BE CONTINUED...