[Oh, right, he's still barefoot, too. Hm. Well, he's got plenty of spare Converse in the wardrobe; he'll pick up a pair while he's there, and go by to retrieve the ones he left back in the storage room later. Maybe. Or maybe he'll just leave them there, because he's sure to sleep in that room again, and maybe he'll be barefoot and need shoes the next time, one never knows.]
Chilly? Really? [The Doctor frowns thoughtfully. He used to notice things like that—to have to ask the TARDIS to adjust settings for him or to wonder why she refused to do so. Ever since she freed him, he's not sure if she automatically adjusts for him or he for her, but little things, the light levels, the temperature, the gravity, they always seem...right. Which isn't right. But it's not wrong, either. Just...different. Really different. He doesn't like to think about it.] Seems alright to me. I'll see if I can't get her to turn up the thermostat.
[The hand on his back, and the easy way his other guides him out of the room and shuts the door irk him slightly—this is his TARDIS, not his other's, and to feel the other assuming even that bit of control hooks at the drums. They object. He should get this other Doctor out of here, they say. He says. They say. He can never be sure.]
Right. Wardrobe. Same as yours, is it? Through here. [And the wardrobe door is only a few short steps away. The Doctor pushes it open and leads his other in, glad to be away from the armory and the confrontation and emotions of the past few minutes.]
[It's the same as his other's—spiral staircase, racks and racks of clothes, mostly Earth fashions, from every era.]
The coat and the suit are...well, I reckon they're where you found them. [He hasn't moved them, but he knows exactly where they are. The clothes he never knew he was meant to be wearing, until he came to the multiverse.]
no subject
Chilly? Really? [The Doctor frowns thoughtfully. He used to notice things like that—to have to ask the TARDIS to adjust settings for him or to wonder why she refused to do so. Ever since she freed him, he's not sure if she automatically adjusts for him or he for her, but little things, the light levels, the temperature, the gravity, they always seem...right. Which isn't right. But it's not wrong, either. Just...different. Really different. He doesn't like to think about it.] Seems alright to me. I'll see if I can't get her to turn up the thermostat.
[The hand on his back, and the easy way his other guides him out of the room and shuts the door irk him slightly—this is his TARDIS, not his other's, and to feel the other assuming even that bit of control hooks at the drums. They object. He should get this other Doctor out of here, they say. He says. They say. He can never be sure.]
Right. Wardrobe. Same as yours, is it? Through here. [And the wardrobe door is only a few short steps away. The Doctor pushes it open and leads his other in, glad to be away from the armory and the confrontation and emotions of the past few minutes.]
[It's the same as his other's—spiral staircase, racks and racks of clothes, mostly Earth fashions, from every era.]
The coat and the suit are...well, I reckon they're where you found them. [He hasn't moved them, but he knows exactly where they are. The clothes he never knew he was meant to be wearing, until he came to the multiverse.]