Pick a Doctor and I'll drabble for you, because I'm both bored and suffering from a writer's block that is probably only worthy of Douglas Adams. Pick as many as suit your fancy and I'll try to write at least one. And if you've a particular mood or incarnation in mind, feel free to specify that.1. Playful!Eight
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However, when imbibing several Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters in quick succession, it was surprising that he was only drunk, rather than just dead.
In the end, after the bleary eyed bewilderment and shouts of 'Alistair, you're looking well, want a drink!?", it was only next to the console he fell asleep, after denying alternating offers to usher him to bed or get him a bucket, where he would wake up to comforting hums, a throbbing headache and a cup of devastatingly good tea.
Hope this doesn't disappoint! Went to 103 words, of course, but then, I hate word limits and word limits hate me, so I'll just ignore it before it counts this random rambling into its counting as well.
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"But it's in another room," the Doctor whines from where he's slouched in the chair, every bit the child he isn't. "You could move it closer. Or maybe make a bed in here! That's a great idea."
"That's a terrible idea. I will not redesign my own console room simply to suit your deplorable habits."
"You're my ship."
"I'm my own ship,"
The Doctor sniffs a little at being corrected at that. "Go away," he says finally, unable to say anything else.
"I can't," comes the amused reply. "I'm your ship."
Ugggggh, 108 words = 100 words in my world!
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