Blimey. Rose mouthed the word "three" as John wandered further into the room. Lips parted, she filed all the answers away in her brain the best she could. Six months for her, a few years for him- nothing about time really shocked her anymore... unnerved, maybe, but never shocked.

Her wits returned, and Rose trotted to catch up with the Metacrisis. "The food," she piped in, having at first ignored his query. "We don' know where it comes from. It jus' sorta is. People 'ave been down 'ere all hours o' the nigh', and we never see nothin'."

Her eyes scanned the kitchen around them. The kettle was still in the sink from a few nights prior. She tried to think about what she'd be wondering, were she seeing the room for the first time. "S'pose we could jus' sit an' wait 'ere, one day, watchin' for a delivery."

John would probably find that boring.