Occasionally a person can get bored of writing angst and character death. Have a daft thing.

Death stared at the hourglass that had just materialised on his desk. It had a total of twelve bulbs (so far) and appeared to be forming another one.

BLOODY TIME LORDS. Death said in a distinctly disgruntled fashion, tapping the glass with a bony finger then placing it inside his robes.

He thought he wouldn't have to deal with them any more but here he was again, the so called 'last'. He wasn't, of course, the rest were just frozen and therefore locked in a special room off the main part of Death's study, but even Death had to agree with the Auditors this time. The various universes and dimensions in time and space were better off without a planet full of the buggers flying around. They played a merry hell with his schedule, Death noted, remembering all the times past and future that one of them was supposed to die several centuries away from where they actually did. And then they went and regenerated anyway. He honestly didn't know why he bothered sometimes.

The seven foot skeleton gave a sigh like a death rattle and picked up his scythe. He wandered towards the door of his study, feet clacking on the tiles.

This specific Time Lord, The Doctor, as he apparently liked to be called, had been especially annoying recently. Death had met a young man, Rory, who'd died numerous times in his company, not to mention the girl with some form of extreme memory loss and occasionally a peculiar obsession with making soufflés. Not even those monks from up near the Hub had died as many times as those two and at least they had the courtesy to ask how his day was going. Ye Gods, not even Rincewind was supposed to die this many times.

BUSY, BUSY. Death said absently, putting on Binky's saddle and patting the horse's head vaguely.

The TARDIS was quiet apart from an annoyingly long death monologue, better only found in the famous plays of Hwel the dwarf and in a few of the more select operas of the Disc.

The Doctor looked over Clara, eyes momentarily focusing on the horse that had just apparently materialised in his control room*.

"I'll always remember when The Doctor was me."

FINALLY. Death said impatiently, swinging his scythe.

Everything was frozen outside their conversation. Nothing unusual, especially for a death in a time machine.

Death gave the crackling ball of gold energy what could have been an irritated look. It was hard to tell on his skull but he was definitely radiating annoyance.

COULD YOU POSSIBLY STOP DYING SO OFTEN?

"Hey, it was a few centuries this time!"

THAT DOESN'T EXCUSE THE LAST TWELVE TIMES. I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO. SOULS TO REAP. AND I'D ALMOST GOT THE HANG OF THE VIOLIN THIS TIME.

"Well done! You've only been trying for, what is it, three centuries now?"

Death's eye sockets flashed red for a second. YOU CAN TALK. EVEN I COULD FLY ONE OF THESE THINGS PROPERLY.

"Then why don't you? They're sexy!"

Death glanced affectionately over at Binky, who was nibbling one of the switches on the console then turned back to the Time Lord. LOOK, ARE YOU GOING TO DO THIS OR NOT. THERE'S A PLAGUE IN GENUA THAT I NEED TO GET TO.

The energy, now vaguely more Time-Lord-shaped shrugged and waved dramatically at him as the energy was drawn back to his body, becoming a more . "See you next time!"

Death gave an embarrassed wave back.

TRY TO LAST OUT A FEW MORE CENTURIES THIS TIME. He said, a few seconds too late as The Doctor's body convulsed with gold.

"Kidneys! I've got new kidneys! I don't like the colour."

*Time Lords, like wizards, witches and cats can see what's really there. They mostly ignore it. It's difficult to concentrate when you're being criticised by several of your own ghosts.