day one.
Jordan was attempting to drown his sorrows with a heaping helping of alcohol. Jordan was sad. Jordan was pitiful. Jordan was a sexually frustrated seventeen-year-old virgin.
"Hey there, trusty barkeep," Jordan said awkwardly. "I'd like cup of whiskey and for all my sorrows to disappear."
"You got ID, bro?" asked Zoey the barkeep of the totally seedy and shady and weirdly unpopular bar, Imagination.
Jordan handed over his fake ID. Zoey studied it under a comically large magnifying glass. "Benedict Cumberbatch," she read. "Nice try, bro, but nobody's actually called Benedict Cumberbatch," she said, throwing the fake ID back on the counter.
Jord dejectedly sat his head down on the bar.
"Tough break," said a stranger in a trench coat who he probably should have been ignoring. "But hey, don't worry, I got ya covered. Two doubles of the cheapest shit whiskey you got, barkeep."
"Huh?"
She winked, and with a 'you owe me.', proceeded to pour the two glasses. Jord downed them in quick succession, but gagged almost immediately. "Oh, god, that was disgusting. Enough to make me regret it immediately."
The stranger made a gurgling phlegm-infused sound in her throat that he imagined was akin to the human act of laughter. "You're hilarious. What's your name?"
"Jordan."
"I'm Joan. Shit, I mean— I'm the Doctor. I— I shouldn't have told you my name; there's a whole thing with the name, you see, it's a. . . well, it's kinda a, y'know, a secret. Just, ah, forget I said that. I'm the Doctor, that's me, call me the Doctor."
"Okay, that's fine," said Jord awkwardly.
"Sooooo. . . which one of the ladies do you have your eye on?"
"Oh. Ladies. I hadn't, um, looked."
"You're looking for a companion." Jo— the Doctor winked. "iIf you know what I mean." He winked again. "Sex," she stage-whispered and winked for the last time. "I can smell it. A ship."
"Yes, okay, yes, you know, I got it, please just stop winking at me," Jord said awkwardly.
"Watcha looking for? What does it for you? What's your type? Cougars? Pre-teens? Daddy issues? Three tits? Hard-to-get? Low self-esteem?"
Four minutes later, when the Doctor stopped listing off different types of women, Jord admitted he, well, had no type. Because he was still a virgin.
The Doctor ordered a glass of water just to do a spit take before answering Jordan. "A virgin? How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Seventee— seventeen? By the time Rasputin was seventeen, he had nailed at least two chicks. And he was Rasputin. Fuck this. Earth girls, contrary to popular opinion, are not that easy. I'm taking you to Scrotar Five."
"Is that a different bar?"
"It's a different planet. I'm an alien time traveler, bitch. And you get to come with me. All of time and space… who do you want to fuck?"
Jord wondered if you could get drunk from one shot of whiskey, because he thought for sure he was hearing things. "What?"
"I'm pretty sure I'm speaking English. We just hop into my spaceship and we'll get you laid."
"Oh. Um. No, thanks, but I appreciate it. Thanks for the alcohol. Goodbye forever," Jordan said awkwardly and stumbled away awkwardly out the door.
"Not even for a triple-breasted whore?" the Doctor called out after him.
Jord only realized what a horrible mistake he'd made after he left the bar. He rushed back inside. "Wait! Anyone?"
"Yep." The Doctor gives him a smug smirk.
"Okay. So there is this one girl."
"Done," says the Doctor, leading him into the surprisingly clean Men's bathroom. She opens one of the stall doors with a flourish, revealing what looks like an old-timey police box.
"What the fu—" begins Jordan, but the Doctor drags him inside before he can finish.
"Welcome. . . to the TARDIS. I can tell that this is gonna be the beginning of a wonderful shi— er, friendship."