Prompt 154.3 for oncoming_storms
Prompt 154.3:
The first thing that greeted the Doctor was a pair of pristine plimsoll shoes, propped strangely up on the TARDIS console, too. How funny, that, considering his feet were still in them. A blink of beady blue eyes, and the Time Lord reached up to rub his hands over his face. He supposed he ought to right himself and begin a preliminary investigation into the events that could have led to such a bizarre incongruity... wait, why were there gaudy stripes leading up to those precariously perched plimsolls? Furthermore, once he turned his head to scan the room hazily why was the hat over on the coat rack entirely wrong? A panama hat, yes. But with the downward sloping brim of a fedora, and without his beloved handkerchief wound for the band around the crown.
Holding up his arms revealed a stretch of beige, ringed with orangeish red around the cuff. Even at this peculiar angle, with him on his back and his arms up over his head, the garment reached the middle of his hand right where the first joint of his thumb began.
What in Rassilon's name had happened?! Hadn't he put these away!
He rolled onto his stomach, face squished against the smooth white surface as he attempted to get his legs properly beneath him much like an ungainly ungulate on a frozen pond. "Benny..." he called, his voice not quite up to fully calling out at that moment. He was too thrown. It took until he was on quavery legs and unsteady feet that he could call with more earnest. "Benny!!!"
The response was quick. "What?!" She entered shortly after. Paused. At first she seemed alarmed, and then confused, and then irritated in microseconds flat after that. "...What did you do?!"
"I was going to ask you that!" He brushed off the arms of the frock coat, which brought the sleeves almost to his knuckles. Such a sulk was to be had.
"You can't be thinking this is my fault," she crossed her arms and stared at him with every incredulous fibre of her being, as if that would put him back in his right mind. Even if this look never really did have any effect.
"I'm not accusing anything! Not until I know what you were doing. I didn't put these on!"
"Read-ing." She enunciated slowly and pointedly. "I was in the library going over some of the books that you left in a disorganized pile in the back. I don't think reading can change your clothes!"
"Depends on what you were reading!" She had a point, though. Probably. He grumbled, plucking at the pullover and waddling like an uncomfortable duck toward her and the door to the corridor.
"Aren't you going to run some tests or something?" Bernice asked, following after the plodding Doctor as he passed her, heading into the depths of the TARDIS and away from the console room where the incident had apparently occurred. "Where are we going?"
"The wardrobe room. I need to be wearing something that fits." Plod waddle plod. "And something considerably more stylish."
She snorted. He chose to ignore it. He did note that was still following him, though, which indicated that she was worrying despite her silence on the subject. So he might as well tell her what he was doing in order to alleviate her concerns. "I had my straight-jacket on and was practising my escape artistry-" which very much was an art, thank you, "-when I blacked-out. The next thing I know, I was in this ill-fitting set of rags." He spoke as if he wasn't at all fond of the clothing, though it made him nostalgic, truthfully. Well, it would make him more nostalgic if he didn't feel quite so much like an anatid, and had occurred very much without his permission. He didn't approve of his clothing being altered in any fashion without his say-so.
"You were in your straight-jacket in the console room?"
"That's the first question you can come up with!?" He retorted hatefully.
"You're aware of the more obvious ones!"
He rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose in an ungrateful sneer (he could be very unpleasant when he put his mind to it, especially when he was annoyed with a situation). He swung open the doors to the wardrobe room, ready to give Benny a speech on being helpful which he supposed would be about as well received as preaching etiquette to Ace, when opening the wardrobe room door stole his course of thought completely. Everywhere, walls to ceiling, was cricket gear. Cricket gear, and duplicates of the same outfit that he was wearing. This wasn't his wardrobe room at all, this was the cricket room she'd given him upon the death of his fourth self and regeneration into the fifth. He'd kept it for the entirety of that incarnation. But what was it doing here? "What? No! What is this?"
Today was going to be an incredible waste of his time. He could clearly predict this as well as any precognitive seer.
Character: The Seventh Doctor
Series: Doctor Who
Words: 844
Notes: One half of this prompt is written by 5th_doctor here.
The first thing that greeted the Doctor was a pair of pristine plimsoll shoes, propped strangely up on the TARDIS console, too. How funny, that, considering his feet were still in them. A blink of beady blue eyes, and the Time Lord reached up to rub his hands over his face. He supposed he ought to right himself and begin a preliminary investigation into the events that could have led to such a bizarre incongruity... wait, why were there gaudy stripes leading up to those precariously perched plimsolls? Furthermore, once he turned his head to scan the room hazily why was the hat over on the coat rack entirely wrong? A panama hat, yes. But with the downward sloping brim of a fedora, and without his beloved handkerchief wound for the band around the crown.
Holding up his arms revealed a stretch of beige, ringed with orangeish red around the cuff. Even at this peculiar angle, with him on his back and his arms up over his head, the garment reached the middle of his hand right where the first joint of his thumb began.
What in Rassilon's name had happened?! Hadn't he put these away!
He rolled onto his stomach, face squished against the smooth white surface as he attempted to get his legs properly beneath him much like an ungainly ungulate on a frozen pond. "Benny..." he called, his voice not quite up to fully calling out at that moment. He was too thrown. It took until he was on quavery legs and unsteady feet that he could call with more earnest. "Benny!!!"
The response was quick. "What?!" She entered shortly after. Paused. At first she seemed alarmed, and then confused, and then irritated in microseconds flat after that. "...What did you do?!"
"I was going to ask you that!" He brushed off the arms of the frock coat, which brought the sleeves almost to his knuckles. Such a sulk was to be had.
"You can't be thinking this is my fault," she crossed her arms and stared at him with every incredulous fibre of her being, as if that would put him back in his right mind. Even if this look never really did have any effect.
"I'm not accusing anything! Not until I know what you were doing. I didn't put these on!"
"Read-ing." She enunciated slowly and pointedly. "I was in the library going over some of the books that you left in a disorganized pile in the back. I don't think reading can change your clothes!"
"Depends on what you were reading!" She had a point, though. Probably. He grumbled, plucking at the pullover and waddling like an uncomfortable duck toward her and the door to the corridor.
"Aren't you going to run some tests or something?" Bernice asked, following after the plodding Doctor as he passed her, heading into the depths of the TARDIS and away from the console room where the incident had apparently occurred. "Where are we going?"
"The wardrobe room. I need to be wearing something that fits." Plod waddle plod. "And something considerably more stylish."
She snorted. He chose to ignore it. He did note that was still following him, though, which indicated that she was worrying despite her silence on the subject. So he might as well tell her what he was doing in order to alleviate her concerns. "I had my straight-jacket on and was practising my escape artistry-" which very much was an art, thank you, "-when I blacked-out. The next thing I know, I was in this ill-fitting set of rags." He spoke as if he wasn't at all fond of the clothing, though it made him nostalgic, truthfully. Well, it would make him more nostalgic if he didn't feel quite so much like an anatid, and had occurred very much without his permission. He didn't approve of his clothing being altered in any fashion without his say-so.
"You were in your straight-jacket in the console room?"
"That's the first question you can come up with!?" He retorted hatefully.
"You're aware of the more obvious ones!"
He rolled his eyes, wrinkling his nose in an ungrateful sneer (he could be very unpleasant when he put his mind to it, especially when he was annoyed with a situation). He swung open the doors to the wardrobe room, ready to give Benny a speech on being helpful which he supposed would be about as well received as preaching etiquette to Ace, when opening the wardrobe room door stole his course of thought completely. Everywhere, walls to ceiling, was cricket gear. Cricket gear, and duplicates of the same outfit that he was wearing. This wasn't his wardrobe room at all, this was the cricket room she'd given him upon the death of his fourth self and regeneration into the fifth. He'd kept it for the entirety of that incarnation. But what was it doing here? "What? No! What is this?"
Today was going to be an incredible waste of his time. He could clearly predict this as well as any precognitive seer.
Character: The Seventh Doctor
Series: Doctor Who
Words: 844
Notes: One half of this prompt is written by 5th_doctor here.