Candyland - open to the TARDIS
When the TARDIS lands with a decisive thump and a groan of protest, the Doctor makes a mental note never to press that particular switch again. The thing is, he is quite sure he'd hit the fast return switch; it'd been on the fritz for some time now, and with Amy and Rory happily poking around the market stalls in Casablanca, it had been the perfect opportunity to give it a test run. Clearly something had gone amiss.
"Sorry, dear," he calls out to the console room, straining his neck to watch the time rotor fall to rest. He spins the viewscreen towards himself, tapping it with a frown; it displays nothing but electric pink static, which changes to a vivid purple when he adjusts the tuner. He gives the console a quick apologetic pat before scooping up his jacket and heading out the door to discover exactly where he's landed.
Here turns out to be a visual assault of colours. The Doctor blinks rapidly, his eyes taking their time to adjust, but when they do, they widen, as does his grin. He is in a forest made entirely of what appear to be sweets of every imaginable variety, every colour, every size. Trees dripping with lollies, bushes bursting with jelly babies, spun-sugar flowers lining a path made of chocolate biscuits leading to a gazebo made of peppermint. The temptation to sample is evident in the lick of his lips, but being familiar with the correlation between strangers (seen or unseen) and candy, he begins zapping with his sonic seemingly at random.
"Sorry, dear," he calls out to the console room, straining his neck to watch the time rotor fall to rest. He spins the viewscreen towards himself, tapping it with a frown; it displays nothing but electric pink static, which changes to a vivid purple when he adjusts the tuner. He gives the console a quick apologetic pat before scooping up his jacket and heading out the door to discover exactly where he's landed.
Here turns out to be a visual assault of colours. The Doctor blinks rapidly, his eyes taking their time to adjust, but when they do, they widen, as does his grin. He is in a forest made entirely of what appear to be sweets of every imaginable variety, every colour, every size. Trees dripping with lollies, bushes bursting with jelly babies, spun-sugar flowers lining a path made of chocolate biscuits leading to a gazebo made of peppermint. The temptation to sample is evident in the lick of his lips, but being familiar with the correlation between strangers (seen or unseen) and candy, he begins zapping with his sonic seemingly at random.