So what do bookworms eat? [Fifth Doctor and OPEN!]
Days, maybe, but as far as the Doctor was concerned, it could have been hours for all the attention he paid his immediate surroundings. His first goal, of course, had been to get outside as quickly as possible; the faintly Escheresque quality of the castle's interiors were disconcerting at best, and reminiscent of muddled times alongside. The grounds and surrounding lands, though still unfamiliar, were far more welcoming to his senses.
Even if the populace wasn't.
Nothing like pursuit by an impressive assortment of intriguing creatures to get the hearts in shape and the mind sorted out, apparently. Perhaps he'd go back and make peace with them later.
Having escaped barely unscathed and with a distressing handful of tearing and stains on his coat, the Doctor decided that perhaps exploring the castle itself would be a good idea after all. After being sidetracked frequently by a number of talking paintings (some indignant, of course, upon having their basis of existence challenged and their frames prodded in search of transmission devices) and strange visions (also indignant upon being told to return to their proper energy planes, because, of course, ghosts don't exist), he'd managed to acquire a room of his own somehow, where his coat rested until he could learn to mend it himself, and his hat kept it company. He then got himself more or less directed to the library, where he spent what most humans would consider an embarrassing amount of time simply getting lost among the rows. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to find no direct references to his presence or influence in the immediately available historical documents, though this Merlin fellow sounded somewhat familiar. Better to pursue that concept later on, though.
With better footing after that, despite how few familiar subjects he could find amidst the archives, the Doctor set to work educating himself about his surroundings. It wouldn't be fair, would it, to condemn the place for the intentions of a few denizens, and wouldn't it be his luck to land here in some other time zone by courtesy of the TARDIS? Earth itself had been a prison for a time, after all, and he loved it no less than he had before his sentence.
And so it was that now, some several days after his release, the Doctor could be found at a massive reading table, surrounded by codices of theory, numerology, defence, herbal maintenance and utility, potions and the like, nearly hidden behind the stacks with his nose buried in Hogwarts, A History. He'd decided several times over to stop and seek out a cup of tea, but he could never tear himself away from a good story.
Even if the populace wasn't.
Nothing like pursuit by an impressive assortment of intriguing creatures to get the hearts in shape and the mind sorted out, apparently. Perhaps he'd go back and make peace with them later.
Having escaped barely unscathed and with a distressing handful of tearing and stains on his coat, the Doctor decided that perhaps exploring the castle itself would be a good idea after all. After being sidetracked frequently by a number of talking paintings (some indignant, of course, upon having their basis of existence challenged and their frames prodded in search of transmission devices) and strange visions (also indignant upon being told to return to their proper energy planes, because, of course, ghosts don't exist), he'd managed to acquire a room of his own somehow, where his coat rested until he could learn to mend it himself, and his hat kept it company. He then got himself more or less directed to the library, where he spent what most humans would consider an embarrassing amount of time simply getting lost among the rows. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to find no direct references to his presence or influence in the immediately available historical documents, though this Merlin fellow sounded somewhat familiar. Better to pursue that concept later on, though.
With better footing after that, despite how few familiar subjects he could find amidst the archives, the Doctor set to work educating himself about his surroundings. It wouldn't be fair, would it, to condemn the place for the intentions of a few denizens, and wouldn't it be his luck to land here in some other time zone by courtesy of the TARDIS? Earth itself had been a prison for a time, after all, and he loved it no less than he had before his sentence.
And so it was that now, some several days after his release, the Doctor could be found at a massive reading table, surrounded by codices of theory, numerology, defence, herbal maintenance and utility, potions and the like, nearly hidden behind the stacks with his nose buried in Hogwarts, A History. He'd decided several times over to stop and seek out a cup of tea, but he could never tear himself away from a good story.