It’s a slow little day. There should be no such thing in his vocabulary, not those three words tied with a string and lined out together, but it’s… it’s not a bad thing. It’s really not. At least, not this time around. Bit of quiet never hurt anyone—as long as that quiet didn’t announce something reminiscing of permanent.
So he’s just walking instead of dancing, lightly pressing instead of jamming, and there’s no need for the hammer or any kind of knock. The engine purrs, rotor column pumps up and down, and they twirl in a paced calm through the vortex. All he’s missing is a cuppa and a friend, the Doctor muses.
And speak of the ginger.
"G’morning. Sleep well?"
She's still a bit of a mess. Her hair naturally curls, so it frizzes with the morning's sheep dawn and tickles into her sleep - swollen eyes with her fringe slightly receded to above her brow. She rubs it, with curled fist and index finger, and then gives a little groan. " Hm. " She sighs away the lingering slumber, long and deep, and straightens out the belt of the bathrobe she is wearing. In their early days, she would not emerge before she had her pants and blazer on, but it's been long enough that she now simply appears with her jammies covered and socks on her feet. The grating is a bit unpleasant without soles. " .. I did. " It's a late answer from a slow starter with her palms pressed to her eye sockets. " Just a bit ... -- I don't know. " Unknowingly, she shares his sentiment for tea. " ... Where are we, now? "
