"I'd only bother if it was a one-tined fork," the Doctor says with a disdainful sniff. "Three-tined forks are very common place."
He turns his back as Eva goes about her business, rifling through things and pulling up a few screens, his eyes roving as he almost - almost - forgets he has a companion to look after. It's the smell of lavender and sage that makes the Doctor turn around, his nostrils flaring and ah, there's his human. Well, not his, persay. He suspects she would kill him long and slowly if he let one of those slip, unlike Amy or Jamie. Very touchy about that sort of thing, Eva! Anyway, he thought the BANJO shirt was a lovely touch and she had even found herself a nice set of trainers to go with it. He beams up at her and gives her one of those little waves, waiting until she's made it down the double helix stairs before waving her over to the screen he's put up. It looks nothing more like an old tv from the 1950s, complete with a flickering screen and what looks like far too much fuzz and noise - noise that apparently means something to the Doctor, as he glances over to consult it and then points at one particularly stubborn batch of static.
"Right there. That's where the infection started," The Doctor says with triumph. "I'm not sure why he'd start in the Wardrobe, but yes."
He falls silent, frowning deeply at the monitor. A bubble drifts down and settles in his hair for a moment, right before it pops with a faint scent of fresh popcorn.
no subject
He turns his back as Eva goes about her business, rifling through things and pulling up a few screens, his eyes roving as he almost - almost - forgets he has a companion to look after. It's the smell of lavender and sage that makes the Doctor turn around, his nostrils flaring and ah, there's his human. Well, not his, persay. He suspects she would kill him long and slowly if he let one of those slip, unlike Amy or Jamie. Very touchy about that sort of thing, Eva! Anyway, he thought the BANJO shirt was a lovely touch and she had even found herself a nice set of trainers to go with it. He beams up at her and gives her one of those little waves, waiting until she's made it down the double helix stairs before waving her over to the screen he's put up. It looks nothing more like an old tv from the 1950s, complete with a flickering screen and what looks like far too much fuzz and noise - noise that apparently means something to the Doctor, as he glances over to consult it and then points at one particularly stubborn batch of static.
"Right there. That's where the infection started," The Doctor says with triumph. "I'm not sure why he'd start in the Wardrobe, but yes."
He falls silent, frowning deeply at the monitor. A bubble drifts down and settles in his hair for a moment, right before it pops with a faint scent of fresh popcorn.