... The Doctor perches on one of the few couches sparsely populating the Nexus, chin propped on one hand, gazing out with a pensive expression on his face. A thin layer of dust coats the nearby surrounds, especially the worn upholstery of his seat. He's wearing a brown suit at the moment, though it looks like it's seen better days. There are
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"I dunno," the Doctor says, placing the bag of jelly babies in between them and sprawling off the couch, crossing his feet at the ankles. He lolls his head over to look at Harry, observing him. There's a slightly nervous edge to his smile - like the Doctor's been placed in a cage with a sleeping, deadly snake and has no way out. "I've never been really fond of politics. Never had the stomach for it, really. Mass murder, world annihilation, genocide, yeah, been there, done that, but politics? Hardly."
The Doctor pauses for a moment, and then smiles with a touch of sadness. "I don't think anyone blames you for leaving though. Whatever reasons you had. It's a rough job running a country or the better part of a planet. I certainly wouldn't want it."
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He did enjoy being in politics, though, at least what he can remember of it. People listening to him, hanging on his words- there's a certain something about that which he enjoys very much. But still, he's happy enough where he is; at least this way, he stays out of the tabloids. Mostly, at any rate.
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