The bang on the Doctor's bedroom door was irritated. Majenta didn't need to sleep, and when he overslept---in her opinion---there was just no excuse. She banged a few more times and then vanished, probably to mess about with the console. The last thought woke the Doctor up instantly.
His head was pounding with what had to be one of the top five worst hangovers he'd ever had. At some point in the night, he'd undressed himself and then pulled on his trousers without his pants. Brilliant. His clothes were in a little pile by the bed. At least he managed to somehow get himself into the bedroom without collapsing in the console room. Majenta would've probably drawn on his face with a marker if he had.
He stood, his body sore and stiff and sticky in uncomfortable places. He couldn't figure out exactly why he was sticky in said uncomfortable places, but he had a funny feeling he'd been acting really, really inappropriately while he was here by himself.
Strange, though. He almost never got so drunk he couldn't remember what he did, but the whole night was a complete blank after he'd finished off the first bottle of liquor. Vowing never to get that drunk again, he scooped up his clothes to drop them into the laundry.
His tie fell, unnoticed, from the pile and landed by the side of the bed. As he went back to straighten his covers, he kicked it under.
"Scrummy!" Majenta's shrill voice cried again. "I don't pay you to lie around all day!"
"You don't pay me at all," the Doctor called back. He sniffed his shoulder. Were those pheromones? And the smell of--- No, no, must've just been his imagination on overdrive. He needed a shower.
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The bang on the Doctor's bedroom door was irritated. Majenta didn't need to sleep, and when he overslept---in her opinion---there was just no excuse. She banged a few more times and then vanished, probably to mess about with the console. The last thought woke the Doctor up instantly.
His head was pounding with what had to be one of the top five worst hangovers he'd ever had. At some point in the night, he'd undressed himself and then pulled on his trousers without his pants. Brilliant. His clothes were in a little pile by the bed. At least he managed to somehow get himself into the bedroom without collapsing in the console room. Majenta would've probably drawn on his face with a marker if he had.
He stood, his body sore and stiff and sticky in uncomfortable places. He couldn't figure out exactly why he was sticky in said uncomfortable places, but he had a funny feeling he'd been acting really, really inappropriately while he was here by himself.
Strange, though. He almost never got so drunk he couldn't remember what he did, but the whole night was a complete blank after he'd finished off the first bottle of liquor. Vowing never to get that drunk again, he scooped up his clothes to drop them into the laundry.
His tie fell, unnoticed, from the pile and landed by the side of the bed. As he went back to straighten his covers, he kicked it under.
"Scrummy!" Majenta's shrill voice cried again. "I don't pay you to lie around all day!"
"You don't pay me at all," the Doctor called back. He sniffed his shoulder. Were those pheromones? And the smell of--- No, no, must've just been his imagination on overdrive. He needed a shower.
And then off, back into the vortex.