One Hell of a Cold
It was an understatement to say he felt terrible when he woke up that morning. He felt worse than terrible, as close to dying as one can get without actually dying. Every part of him ached and throbbed at the same time and his fingers were numb with cold. His hair was plastered to his forehead but he felt cool rather than hot, which was usually the reason for having ones hair styled like one of the beatles during a monsoon.
He pulled himself up, never even trying to stop the groan that issued from his lips, he rubbed a hand across his eyes and stared at the floor that was dancing in front of him. He told it to stop that nonsense and reached for a fluffy purple dressing gown with matching grand-pa slippers in something resembling fur.
The timelord wearily made it past the objects littering his room in the style of tardis chaotic chic and pressed the door button, stumbling into the empty corridor. Water, he needed water. Boiling hot water. So tea, he needed tea. Now the kitchen was somewhere.....that way. He hoped it was anyway, he was bound to stumble on something eventually.
The kitchen itself was huge and more of a hodge podge of types of kitchens rather than just one giant singular kitchen. One area was devoted to eating and dining, containing various tables, chairs and couches. It was an all inclusive kitchen for all species, ages and preferences. Only one kitchen light was on when he finally found the correct door. A standard earth kitchen from the 23rd century. Someone had been eating cereal if the packet was anything to go buy.
Rubbing at his eyes, he fumbled through the tea chest for a selection he knew was good for the sinuses and placed the bag in his monogramed mug. (A gift from River so he would stop using hers) The kettle keened in that irritating way only kettles can and lit up in lights. Shivering, the timelord poured the boiling hot liquid into the mug and spooned in one teaspoon of sugar before throwing the bag into the bin behind him.
He could have sighed with pleasure at the sweet aroma, but it hadn’t succeeded so far in warming him up. He’d downed it almost in an instant, and nothing? Not even a burnt tongue? He stuck out his tongue, pulling at it in order to get a look. Not very helpful. He leaned down in front of the kettle and managed to see a shock of pale blue before toppling to the floor.
His balance was off now. Perhaps a nice nap on the floor would do him good.
