The Clothes Make the Man
Author's Notes: Once I saw a picture of Eleven's outfit, this idea popped into my head. I have high hopes that something like this may be the reason behind his wardrobe choice but even if it isn't I hope this give you a chuckle or at the very least a smile. Please enjoy!
Title: The Clothes Make the Man
Show: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Genre: Humor
Characters: Eleven
Spoilers: If you've seen pictures of Eleven you're set!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Doctor Who
Summary: The Eleventh Doctor struggles to find himself in this new body
The Doctor stood among his expansive wardrobe in a suit that was clearly too tall for him. He ran fingers through a new head of hair; tossing long dark locks every which way as he attempted to familiarize himself with their new feel, the way they sat, the color. Still not ginger; he sighed the universe was already having a good laugh at his expense, why give it more fodder.
The reflection staring back at him was a stranger though he recognized himself in his own timeless eyes. They could change their color, size and shape and he'd still see the endless expanse of time and space staring back at him. It was the one constant in all of his regenerations; the Soul of a Time Lord, the last of the Time Lords.
The Doctor regarded his reflection critically in the stand mirror, trying to decide what he thought of this new form. He leaned in towards the mirror; right hand pulling down his cheek and jaw. "Does this face even need a shave?" he asked the empty room if for no other reason than to test these young vocal cords.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked this young. He was the Doctor, 900 years old -vanity thy name is Time Lord- he thought ruefully, the expression on his young face changing to match.
Regeneration was always a dodgy process, he should have just been grateful to come out with all limbs attached and a decent face. But he looked as though he'd just left school, his eyes were the only element that carried his true age.
"How will I be taken seriously now?" much to the Doctor's dismay his voice squeaked in indignation.
With a sigh he turned his eyes on the wide expanse of clothing he'd collected over his travels. He wondered what might best suit his new frame and tastes, if he could just discover what they were; preferably something with a hint of dignity which might convey an air of authority.
He wandered up and down the staircase, stepping out onto catwalks to pick at lines of clothes before moving on once more. He was waiting for that spark to strike him, for new tastes to emerge. The Doctor's eyes finally caught sight of a suit which caught his fancy and he pulled it from the rack quickly putting it on.
The pants were two long but he simply rolled them up at the hem, liking the color and cut too much to discard them. The overall colors were muted compared to the vibrant blue pinstripe he'd been wearing just moments ago. His fingers fumbled with the delicate procedure of tying the bow tie, he knew deep within his endless recesses of knowledge that he knew how to do it, though it took several attempts to remind himself.
The Doctor slipped the suspenders over his shoulders before reaching for the tweed jacket which completed the set. Turning once again on his reflection the Doctor gave himself a critical assessment and quickly reached for his untamed hair. Sweeping it across his face in a fashion which suited his new suit he felt his lips turn up at the corners.
The suit added years to his young exterior, giving him the look and feel of a professor; someone of authority to be taken seriously. With his track record so far the Doctor knew he needed to be taken seriously. Despite his best effort he was continually thrown into situations where decision could spell the death of thousands. The last thing he needed was to be disregarded simply because he appeared young.
He smiled brightly at his reflection. "I'm the Doctor," he greeted.
Thanks for reading!
Title: The Clothes Make the Man
Show: Doctor Who
Rating: G
Genre: Humor
Characters: Eleven
Spoilers: If you've seen pictures of Eleven you're set!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Doctor Who
Summary: The Eleventh Doctor struggles to find himself in this new body
The Doctor stood among his expansive wardrobe in a suit that was clearly too tall for him. He ran fingers through a new head of hair; tossing long dark locks every which way as he attempted to familiarize himself with their new feel, the way they sat, the color. Still not ginger; he sighed the universe was already having a good laugh at his expense, why give it more fodder.
The reflection staring back at him was a stranger though he recognized himself in his own timeless eyes. They could change their color, size and shape and he'd still see the endless expanse of time and space staring back at him. It was the one constant in all of his regenerations; the Soul of a Time Lord, the last of the Time Lords.
The Doctor regarded his reflection critically in the stand mirror, trying to decide what he thought of this new form. He leaned in towards the mirror; right hand pulling down his cheek and jaw. "Does this face even need a shave?" he asked the empty room if for no other reason than to test these young vocal cords.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked this young. He was the Doctor, 900 years old -vanity thy name is Time Lord- he thought ruefully, the expression on his young face changing to match.
Regeneration was always a dodgy process, he should have just been grateful to come out with all limbs attached and a decent face. But he looked as though he'd just left school, his eyes were the only element that carried his true age.
"How will I be taken seriously now?" much to the Doctor's dismay his voice squeaked in indignation.
With a sigh he turned his eyes on the wide expanse of clothing he'd collected over his travels. He wondered what might best suit his new frame and tastes, if he could just discover what they were; preferably something with a hint of dignity which might convey an air of authority.
He wandered up and down the staircase, stepping out onto catwalks to pick at lines of clothes before moving on once more. He was waiting for that spark to strike him, for new tastes to emerge. The Doctor's eyes finally caught sight of a suit which caught his fancy and he pulled it from the rack quickly putting it on.
The pants were two long but he simply rolled them up at the hem, liking the color and cut too much to discard them. The overall colors were muted compared to the vibrant blue pinstripe he'd been wearing just moments ago. His fingers fumbled with the delicate procedure of tying the bow tie, he knew deep within his endless recesses of knowledge that he knew how to do it, though it took several attempts to remind himself.
The Doctor slipped the suspenders over his shoulders before reaching for the tweed jacket which completed the set. Turning once again on his reflection the Doctor gave himself a critical assessment and quickly reached for his untamed hair. Sweeping it across his face in a fashion which suited his new suit he felt his lips turn up at the corners.
The suit added years to his young exterior, giving him the look and feel of a professor; someone of authority to be taken seriously. With his track record so far the Doctor knew he needed to be taken seriously. Despite his best effort he was continually thrown into situations where decision could spell the death of thousands. The last thing he needed was to be disregarded simply because he appeared young.
He smiled brightly at his reflection. "I'm the Doctor," he greeted.
Thanks for reading!