[seated in an ornate armchair, speaking in fluent, articulate, and rather pleasant-to-the-ears Gallifreyan]It's actually a bit disgusting, hearing you lot speak Gallifreyan so
primitively. Like chanting off - no, that metaphor's incomprehensible without a background in high mathematics. Fine. Like writing Calculus and finding everyone else doing basic algebra.
[then he changes to Russian - less articulate, of course, but he's comfortable with the language]This one, though, this one's a bit ironic. Look at me, the Master, the
deathless, blathering on in Russian. Haven't been in ages, should probably go back and put a few more legends into the locals.
[sips from his wine, and slips back into Gallifreyan]At least the people of the city still understand me.