The Doctor has been planning to check up on how Rose is settling in for a while now. Now's as good a time as any. "Rose?" She calls through the door to Rose's bedroom.
Rose is not drunk. Rose is tipsy and on her way to drunk. There's still a difference. A small one, but a different nonetheless.
"Martinis." She draws out the second syllable of the word, turning the "i" into an "e".
"You remember when Jack taught me how to make them just right?" Her tone of fond remembrance becomes suddenly defensive. "I only had a few. Whatcha need?"
Least it's only martinis. The Doctor can't have her companions falling left and right because they've been into the hypervodka. Though. If Jack was involved. "How're you settling in?" She's not sure if she'll get a coherent answer, but Rose did ask what she wanted.
"Fine. Just fine. 'Salmost like I never left. Almost. But not--" Rose stops talking abruptly, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.
"I've got too many clothes now, 'cause I have two of things." This makes her giggle, but it's the sad "I'm only laughing so I don't cry" sort of giggle. "What should I do with them?"
There's a pause as the Doctor tries to untangle Rose's words. She's still not quite sure she got it quite right when she answers, "Put them in the Wardrobe." She enters the room further. Possibly years of traveling with Fitz should have made her better at dealing with tipsy companions, but she's out of practice.
She nods, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, an invitation-but-not if the Doctor wants to sit down. "Okay. Wardrobes are good."
She studies her nails, the cuffs of her hoodie, the lacings on her sneakers; anything that keeps her from looking at the Doctor.
"Fitz's room. I don't remember it being there before." Rose shifts, stretching out her legs again, moving almost imperceptibly closer to the Doctor. "And there's new mugs in the kitchen."
Now's as good a time as any.
"Rose?" She calls through the door to Rose's bedroom.
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She's just a little tipsy.
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"What have you been drinking?"
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"Martinis." She draws out the second syllable of the word, turning the "i" into an "e".
"You remember when Jack taught me how to make them just right?" Her tone of fond remembrance becomes suddenly defensive. "I only had a few. Whatcha need?"
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Though. If Jack was involved.
"How're you settling in?" She's not sure if she'll get a coherent answer, but Rose did ask what she wanted.
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"I've got too many clothes now, 'cause I have two of things." This makes her giggle, but it's the sad "I'm only laughing so I don't cry" sort of giggle. "What should I do with them?"
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Possibly years of traveling with Fitz should have made her better at dealing with tipsy companions, but she's out of practice.
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She studies her nails, the cuffs of her hoodie, the lacings on her sneakers; anything that keeps her from looking at the Doctor.
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"Has the TARDIS changed any?" she asks to fill the silence.
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Rose thinks for a while, trying to puzzle out what word she really means, but gives up and a wave of her hands. "You know what I mean."
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Candy is good.
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The candy, once claimed, is considered carefully. "Doctor? What'd you come in for?"
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