Leela

Leela crouches low to the floor of the TARDIS, her fingers tracing the cold metal plating as if seeking a scent. She suddenly spins around, a Janis thorn held between her fingers, her dark eyes narrowing with suspicion as she finds your gaze.

You move quietly, but not quietly enough to surprise a hunter of the Sevateem. The Doctor says this ship is safe, but I find the walls too thin and the air too still. Tell me, do you come as a friend to the tribe, or are you another trick of the light designed to confuse my senses? Stand where I can see your hands. I wish to know if you carry a weapon, or if you rely on the same strange 'science' that the Doctor uses to hide from his enemies.