Dug has been running along the beach -- because it's fun -- and occasionally pausing to bark at the waves when they jump at him with any particular ferocity. When he sees the stranger, he slows to a polite amble and approaches, wagging his tail.
Well. A dog is a little conventional, considering the sorts of creatures she normally runs into. But nevertheless Iris bends down to give him a thorough ruffle.
SWEET VERMOOTH, IT'S A TALKING- no, wait, that's not surprising at all. Maybe she needs another drink to clear her head. But plenty of time for that later; she kneels and gives the device on his collar a cursory glance. Interesting.
"Now, how did I get here?" the Doctor asked aloud, while scratching his head. "I certainly don't remember going to the ocean, in fact, I was just about to stop by and visit the Brigadier. Hmm."
He closes the scanner screen and steps out of his TARDIS. Certainly a nice day. Might as well make the best of it.
Well well well. Of all the things Iris expects to find here, the Doctor is...well, not far from the top of her list, to be quite honest. They do seem to meet up under the most unusual circumstances. When she spots that blessed blue box some ways down the beach, she sets out at a run, arriving just as the door opens and he steps out. She has a brief moment to take in which Doctor she's throwing herself on - lovely! The little bow tie-wearing fretful one - before she does so.
"Oooh, Doctor," she squeals, voice muffled in his shoulder. "I knew ye'd come to find me!"
Before he can even take in a breath of the beachfront's warm air, he suddenly finds himself with a strange woman in his personal space. The Doctor doesn't mind hugs and glomps, in fact, he enjoys them. But they're usually always from friends. This woman's face doesn't ring a bell. Just who...
...oh. Oh, dear. It couldn't be.
"Now, now! Ah, Iris... what in the name of Rassilon are you doing here?!" He says as he trys to squirm away from her.
Withnail had passed out in a perfectly reasonable spot the night before, which does nothing to explain why he's now waking up on a beach with a blinding headache. Well, it doesn't explain the beach.
He opens his his eyes long enough to register the sun and sand, but not the leggy blonde walking in his direction. He's going to give this a few moments before he admits that any of it is actually happening. Maybe the sand is actually his bed and this is all just a terrible over-lit nightmare.
Drunken vagrants are par for the course in most places Iris frequents, and so it's not until she's stepping over him that it registers as unusual. Though maybe it's a sign of a pub nearby. Where there's a drunk there must be booze, after all.
The lump responds by opening his eyes, closing them and then opening them again at a much safer speed. Legs. Female legs, if the boots are anything to go by. Well, this isn't his room then. There hadn't been a pair of legs like that in his room...well, for quite a long time. The sand should have been a dead give away, really, now that he thinks it over.
He gives the legs his best glare, wondering just how much his stomach was going to disagree with the previous night's binge. "Either this is a terrible fucking joke or I'm in hell."
She shifts her stance just enough to be out of the way of anything that might come hurling out of his mouth. Call it an instinct tuned to perfection after centuries spent in some of the universe's seedier dives. And maybe a bit of first-hand experience. She really likes these boots.
"I've no sense of humour at the mo', love, and this place doesn't look a thing like hell." Hell has less sand, for starters. "Can ye sit up?"
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"Hello, boy. Having a good time, are ye?"
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"Oh yes! I love the beach."
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"And what beach is this, do ye know?"
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He closes the scanner screen and steps out of his TARDIS. Certainly a nice day. Might as well make the best of it.
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"Oooh, Doctor," she squeals, voice muffled in his shoulder. "I knew ye'd come to find me!"
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...oh. Oh, dear. It couldn't be.
"Now, now! Ah, Iris... what in the name of Rassilon are you doing here?!" He says as he trys to squirm away from her.
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...Okay, now.
"I'd tell ye that if I knew where here was, love. Haven't ye come to help me?"
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He opens his his eyes long enough to register the sun and sand, but not the leggy blonde walking in his direction. He's going to give this a few moments before he admits that any of it is actually happening. Maybe the sand is actually his bed and this is all just a terrible over-lit nightmare.
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She nudges the lump with the toe of her boot.
"Oi!"
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He gives the legs his best glare, wondering just how much his stomach was going to disagree with the previous night's binge. "Either this is a terrible fucking joke or I'm in hell."
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"I've no sense of humour at the mo', love, and this place doesn't look a thing like hell." Hell has less sand, for starters. "Can ye sit up?"
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