feigns | ► one → video/action。

[There’s a teenager!

He’s wet, in something of a ‘I’m going to ignore how much of a drowned rat I appear’ way. One might assume that he fell into the fountain at some point, but equally, the all-encompassing wetness may have something to do with the fact that he was just in England, aka the land of copious amounts of tea-and-rain. His expression, for the record, reflects his irritation at being displaced without warning, frustration from trying to get whatever this might be to work (he's not entirely convinced it is), and curiosity. You know, at the whole ‘suddenly displaced, this isn’t London’ thing. It’s hard not to wonder about something like that.

When he finally speaks, he sounds Remarkably British, although his accent is rather indistinct for the most part – southern, one might assume, well-brought up, although there’s a slight hint of Welsh. No, he doesn’t do anything untoward with sheep. London doesn't have sheep.]

Normally, one only has to ask for my company to be granted with it. [This? This would be the unmistakable tone of `GRUMPINESS`.] I do try to make myself available for all, but it can’t be helped if someone misses out here and there. Kidnapping tends not to be the answer, though. If I said I was impressed, I’d sadly be lying, but if it makes you feel any better, you can pretend I’m of that opinion regardless. Likewise, I think you’ll find you’ve managed to overshoot ‘mysterious’.

[There’s a pause, and for a moment, there’s a flash of wry amusement in his expression, as if this entire scenario is utterly ridiculous to the point of absurdity.] “I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?'” I hope you won’t mind if I happen to refuse any bottles labelled ‘drink me’, or any foods labelled ‘eat me’. I’m quite content with who I am and don’t envision any existential crises a la dear Alice.

I won't decline any explanations, though, even if they happen to come from hatters and caterpillars and assorted small mammals with a fondness for tea and an inability to correctly tell the time.

[There’s another pause, and after he glances away from the device and up at the sky, he shoves the device into a pocket – without, for the record, bothering to turn it off, so have fun with the sound of footsteps and the wonderful blackness of pockets until the device times out.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

'course there's pubs. And don't count on it being just one night.

Then I'll live in the hedgerow.

Mightn't be very comfortable, that.

You just need to find the right hedge. It was rather more difficult in London, of course, if you happened to forget your way home for one reason or another, or found that your feet weren't quite as co-operative as you'd hoped. You'll have to trust me on the matter of doorways not comparing to hedges, particularly when old, embittered women decide that some ridiculous hour of the morning is the prime time for ridding their pails of dirty, soapy water.

Sounds like you've got a lot of experience with that.

More than I'd like.

How tragic.

Only the dirty water, mind. The rest of it, I quite enjoy. My clothes tend to be quite expensive and I take pride in them. If they wished to let me know that they considered them dirty, the least they could do was offer to wash them for me -- or, I suppose, at least let me take them off first.

Would you really want for bitter old ladies to be taking off your clothes?

If they're going to be washing them, I have no reason to decline. [A moment of consideration.] And bitter old ladies tend to have charming young daughters hidden about the house.

Ah, but then wouldn't sleeping in doorways be better than sleeping under a hedge?

... Or are there many girls around hedges in your world?

[Slowly:] There aren't many hedges in London.

That's either lucky or sad for you, then.

One of the two, yes.

There's a garden here, Xanadu. You could always find a hedge there.

And I shall indulge myself in unfathomable slumber and gaze upon pale stars flooded with glory.

How poetic.

Naturally.

Not so natural, if you ask me.

Perhaps you ought to be more familiar with poetry, then.

[8(]

[ BIG SHRUG HERE. ] I'd rather do other things.

So would I, but it's no excuse to walk around uneducated.

Nah. Poetry's not that important.

[He regards her for a moment before shrugging dismissively.]

What is important, Miss Pond?

[ Have a shrug in return. ] Saving Venice from space fish vampires. Saving London from Daleks. Making sure the Doctor doesn't run off to do something stupid. [ Her tone says she could go on. ]