Suddenly finding himself somewhere he didn't expect to be is sort of how the Doctor's life works. If he had a pound for every time he woke up in an unfamiliar place with no idea of how he got there, he would never need to worry about money again.
(To be fair, he doesn't worry about money anyway.)
He's been wandering the universe on his own again, a lonely old man in a blue box - though right now, he appears to be missing his box, which is a worrying situation. (But waking up in a strange place without his TARDIS anywhere in sight isn't unusual for him, either. It just doesn't make him terribly happy.) He's still got a guitar slung over his shoulder, and his sonic screwdriver in the breast pocket of his navy coat, so for the moment, he's got everything he needs. If someone keeps him from his TARDIS for too long, though, there'll be hell to pay.
But right now, he's more distracted by his fellow...travellers? Prisoners? Hostages? Colonists? Perhaps all of the above.
"It's interesting," he says in an even, conversational tone to the nearest person. "Someone's taken the time and effort to subdue the lot of us and transport us here - to a place that's clearly capable of sustaining life - but they haven't left us with any supplies. Why do you suppose that is?"
[ooc: also open to wildcard prompts of your own choice! will match brackets/prose]
the twelfth doctor | some show that's named after him
(To be fair, he doesn't worry about money anyway.)
He's been wandering the universe on his own again, a lonely old man in a blue box - though right now, he appears to be missing his box, which is a worrying situation. (But waking up in a strange place without his TARDIS anywhere in sight isn't unusual for him, either. It just doesn't make him terribly happy.) He's still got a guitar slung over his shoulder, and his sonic screwdriver in the breast pocket of his navy coat, so for the moment, he's got everything he needs. If someone keeps him from his TARDIS for too long, though, there'll be hell to pay.
But right now, he's more distracted by his fellow...travellers? Prisoners? Hostages? Colonists? Perhaps all of the above.
"It's interesting," he says in an even, conversational tone to the nearest person. "Someone's taken the time and effort to subdue the lot of us and transport us here - to a place that's clearly capable of sustaining life - but they haven't left us with any supplies. Why do you suppose that is?"
[ooc: also open to wildcard prompts of your own choice! will match brackets/prose]