Wilfred Mott had seen a fair bit in his life. He'd seen a fair bit more in the last couple of years. He'd even been in space. Space! Out there in the stars. There was very little now that he thought could surprise him.
He was used to adventure too. The sort of man to make his own, even if it was dealing with Sylvia after she'd watched an episode of Jeremy Kyle she felt she need to be vocal about. His latest adventure had been taking Donna to Selfridges (or rather dragged along) on one of her spending sprees. More money than sense now, that girl.
Still though, even with all he'd seen and done, he hardly expected to wake up in the middle of what looked like a space age-y type station. Probably aliens, he thought.
Not one to sit and just wait for an answer to come to him, of course, he started to take a look around. It was on that journey he came upon the man in the leather jacket.
"Oh. Ey up," he said to him, lifting a hand to wave lightly. "Think I took a wrong turn before my weetabix."
There was a short old man talking to the Doctor. "Who did what with your bix?"
Oh, weetabix.
There was a short old British man talking to the Doctor.
The Doctor grinned. "Hullo! I think we've both taken wrong turns. Have you seen a girl," he gestured to about his chest, "yay tall. And a bloke, probably trying to hit on you? Or a key? Or, actually, anyone else for that matter?"
The whole thing was a bit off, and meeting this random human British man just made things more off.
More fun, too, though.
"Oh, where are my manners? I'm the Doctor!" He wiggled his fingers in greeting. "Nice to meet you."
Wilf stared at the man calling himself the Doctor.
He was confused.
But even with that confusion, Wilf wasn't rude, and he wouldn't be rude now, so even with that written on his face, he offered out his hand. "Wilfred. Wilfred Mott, at your service."
He paused a moment as he looked at him.
"Ahh get out of it," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "What d'you mean you're the Doctor. You look nothing like him!"
Unless... unless it was like that thing he said, that regeneration, changed his face all all that. Maybe it was the Doctor.
The Doctor knew that face. "Met before, have we Wildred Mott?" He held up a hand. "Don't answer, don't want to know. Don't know, in fact, which means you met an older me."
A big grin split his face. "Bet I liked you, Wilfred Mott. Will like." He thought about it a second. "Like already. Fantastic. Come on then, let's figure out what's going on, yeah? Two old blokes like us, there's all sorts of trouble we can get into."
He clapped a hand onto Wilf's shoulder. "Tell me, tough. Am I ginger?"
And the Master had slowly gotten around to exploring the Base. His main concern was procuring food. His second, well, when he thought of that, he might let someone know.
At the moment, food was the priority and that was all.
Only his priorities got a bit skewed when he rounded a corner and suddenly caught the Doctor's scent. Only, it was, what was that-
Leather?
Against his better judgment he decided to see if he could find the Doctor, and momentarily abandoned his quest for food.
There was an odd-looking man sniffing. The Doctor could hear him. And, what was that? He felt... like...
A Time Lord?
The Doctor took off at a full run down the hall. "Oi! You! Stop." Not that the man was moving. He skidded to a halt in front of him and looked down, eyes narrowed. "What?"
The Master stopped, eyes narrowing at the man that smelled like the Doctor. Then he remembered that he'd also smelled leather.
He also remembered the security footage from the Doctor's regeneration before this and started grinning. He sniffed again, testing to be certain, and then grinned some more.
Somewhere right around this corner here, someone was having a loud but fruitless argument with the base's computer. "Would you quit messing me about and tell me where this place is?"
He'd almost be cute if the Doctor didn't hate little boys. Too much trouble. All those hormones and all that inquisitiveness. The Doctor was enough trouble for himself, thankyouverymuch.
"You should be nicer to computers." He walked up behind the boy. "You never know when you'll need one to be nice back."
Hey, Clyde wasn't little. He was nearly sixteen-- which, all right, was pretty little by Time Lord standards, not that that would ever stop him being indignant at the term. Moving on!
"I've tried polite," he said, a bit defensively. "I think this one's got its brains scrambled. Yours, is it?"
Comments 30
He was used to adventure too. The sort of man to make his own, even if it was dealing with Sylvia after she'd watched an episode of Jeremy Kyle she felt she need to be vocal about. His latest adventure had been taking Donna to Selfridges (or rather dragged along) on one of her spending sprees. More money than sense now, that girl.
Still though, even with all he'd seen and done, he hardly expected to wake up in the middle of what looked like a space age-y type station. Probably aliens, he thought.
Not one to sit and just wait for an answer to come to him, of course, he started to take a look around. It was on that journey he came upon the man in the leather jacket.
"Oh. Ey up," he said to him, lifting a hand to wave lightly. "Think I took a wrong turn before my weetabix."
Reply
Oh, weetabix.
There was a short old British man talking to the Doctor.
The Doctor grinned. "Hullo! I think we've both taken wrong turns. Have you seen a girl," he gestured to about his chest, "yay tall. And a bloke, probably trying to hit on you? Or a key? Or, actually, anyone else for that matter?"
The whole thing was a bit off, and meeting this random human British man just made things more off.
More fun, too, though.
"Oh, where are my manners? I'm the Doctor!" He wiggled his fingers in greeting. "Nice to meet you."
Reply
He was confused.
But even with that confusion, Wilf wasn't rude, and he wouldn't be rude now, so even with that written on his face, he offered out his hand. "Wilfred. Wilfred Mott, at your service."
He paused a moment as he looked at him.
"Ahh get out of it," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "What d'you mean you're the Doctor. You look nothing like him!"
Unless... unless it was like that thing he said, that regeneration, changed his face all all that. Maybe it was the Doctor.
Nahhh.
Reply
A big grin split his face. "Bet I liked you, Wilfred Mott. Will like." He thought about it a second. "Like already. Fantastic. Come on then, let's figure out what's going on, yeah? Two old blokes like us, there's all sorts of trouble we can get into."
He clapped a hand onto Wilf's shoulder. "Tell me, tough. Am I ginger?"
Reply
At the moment, food was the priority and that was all.
Only his priorities got a bit skewed when he rounded a corner and suddenly caught the Doctor's scent. Only, it was, what was that-
Leather?
Against his better judgment he decided to see if he could find the Doctor, and momentarily abandoned his quest for food.
Reply
A Time Lord?
The Doctor took off at a full run down the hall. "Oi! You! Stop." Not that the man was moving. He skidded to a halt in front of him and looked down, eyes narrowed. "What?"
Reply
He also remembered the security footage from the Doctor's regeneration before this and started grinning. He sniffed again, testing to be certain, and then grinned some more.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
Reply
Not.
Possible.
Only one thing for it. He punched the Master. Hard. Across the chin. "What are you doing surviving when everyone else died?"
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He'd almost be cute if the Doctor didn't hate little boys. Too much trouble. All those hormones and all that inquisitiveness. The Doctor was enough trouble for himself, thankyouverymuch.
"You should be nicer to computers." He walked up behind the boy. "You never know when you'll need one to be nice back."
Reply
"I've tried polite," he said, a bit defensively. "I think this one's got its brains scrambled. Yours, is it?"
Reply
"No, it's not mine. Mine's five billion times more intelligent than this." He gestured at the screen, then looked pained. "No offense."
The Doctor turned back to Clyde. "Alright, then. Who are you?"
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