Alas, of all the un-pleasantries associated with being a vampire, one thing above all others stood up with its arms outstretched, at least, in the Doctor's opinion. Naturally, the Doctor's initial worry had been the thought of possibly harming innocent life forms, including his own companions. However, even as his ex-girlfriend stood akimbo before him, tapping her foot impatiently because of the impertinence of men, an old man in a bowler hat and surrounded by a fuzzy blue hue, had appeared out of nowhere and sailed unsteadily toward them. A Time Lord, apparently. Apparently, the Time Lords had bothered to send him to apprehend Ruath. The five of them had discussed the situation (Nyssa and Tegan had woken up in that time), which consisted of the Time Lord representative reading out Ruath's rights from a long scroll. Despite the Doctor's best efforts, the question of his own predicament had fallen upon deaf ears, as the man seemed enthralled in the task of recovering the scroll from the depths of a TARDIS hallway. So, when the Time Lord finally collected the now-compact scroll, finished the tea Nyssa had thoughtfully provided, and vanished with a sleeping Ruath, the Doctor was beside himself with grief. Luckily, the realisation that the Doctor was going to be a permanent vampire had crossed Nyssa's mind through a barrage of blahs, and she had spent several hours reformulating the artificial blood compound she had been working on. Much to the Doctor's (and Nyssa's and Tegan's) relief, the formula worked wonderfully. So, at least he didn't have to worry about harming anyone.

Everything had been pretty okay, after that, until he realised he hadn't brushed his teeth in some time. And then started the biggest, most gigantic nuisance the Doctor had ever experienced, including his last regeneration's small assets. Well, maybe not. Anyway, this big, gigantic nuisance was nothing more than some gum bleeding, due to hard brushing. Once the Doctor had gotten used to his new teeth, there would cease to be any problem. However, since the problem was a huge one in the Doctor's opinion, he decided the best option would be to march briskly into the next telephone box and beg some unfortunate dentist to see him, urgently. Well, he walked into the phone box…and out of the TARDIS medical bay several days later, with a sore head to add to his troubles. (At least he managed to properly work his toothbrush that night.)