(So, to summarize, what with the Doctor's new set of regenerations and all, I thought it'd be a good time for me to put forth some of my ideas for the Doctor while not having to be tied down to an already existing incarnation but still able to reference events of the series, perhaps investigate certain unexplored points of the series, etc. If you've opened this, then thank you! If you're going to continue to read, thank you again!)
The Doctor stumbled back. He felt something hard bump into his lower spine, spilled back onto the table, and then quickly slid off the oak and onto the cold, hard floor.
There was a moment of silence.
The Timelord blinked his eyes a few times.
These were new eyes.
Fresh eyes, like those of a baby. Of course, usually the first things the eyes of a baby saw were a lot of bright lights and a rather frisky man/woman in scrubs. Sometimes a barn, perhaps, which could mean a cow. Maybe the smoke-filled insides of a tavern if it was going to live a particularly Oliver Twist-like life. Something that a baby did not, however, first see, was a library full of burning books and tipped-over bookshelves.
"Odd," he muttered, then widened his eyes.
That voice.
The Doctor stumbled to his feet roughly as the fires continued to crackle around him, bottles of Encyclopedia Gallifreyica popping all around him and letting their bottled whispers out into the air.
High-class, that was for sure.
"Odd," he said again, to test the new voice.
He knitted his eyebrows.
Older.
Now that was peculiar, the Gallifreyan thought to himself as yet another bookshelf creaked loudly through the air before crashing with a noise to the ground, when he was young he had looked old and as he grew old he had looked young.
Perhaps this meant he was getting younger?
He grinned at that thought.
He reached his hands up to his face, rubbing his cheeks, and then frowning.
Now that was odd, he thought as an entire walkway crumbled above him, his face was furry.
"My God," he said aloud, in that pompous, older voice, then quickly decided, "No, no, too modern. By the stars."
He shook his head.
"No," he muttered, and let out a low hum.
A chandelier detached itself from the roof and came flying down, shattering into a million pieces of flying, dagger-sharp glass in front of the Doctor. The Timelord threw himself back, onto his knees as he covered his head from the flying debris.
The Doctor looked over his shoulder with wide eyes and raised eyebrows at the mess that had once been an antique chandelier.
"By Jove," he muttered.
He froze.
"By Jove, that's it!" he exclaimed, a smile spreading on his face as he bounced to his feet, "By Jove, that's the word!"
With a cackle, he rubbed his cheeks again and remembered why he'd gotten into the peculiar subject of exclamations in the first place.
His face was furry.
Perhaps he was a dog, he thought as one of those glowing circular things he always had in the walls exploded, but he was an awfully tall dog if so. Perhaps a werewolf.
Could he do that? Turn into a werewolf? That'd be quite a surprise.
"Bark!" he shouted.
No, that didn't sound right.
He dusted himself off and rubbed his cheeks again, exploring the fur.
Were those…
No!
He grinned.
You scallywag..
Muttonchops!
By Jove, great big old furry muttonchops right down the jaw! He'd never had muttonchops before!
"Ha ha!" he exclaimed.
The muttonchop-induced laughter, however, was quickly interrupted when another piece of debris fell by The Doctor.
He turned his head to it, frowning.
"Note to self," he said, in fact, to himself, "Don't regenerate inside the library."
On that note to self uttered to self, the old time-traveler quickly darted forward, leaping over the fallen glass and through the large metal doors leading into the library, which were now stuck half-way open and half-way closed, sparking and buzzing. As the library continued to burn behind him and the lights around him flickered, the Timelord jogged down the corridors. Most of the floor was grates with lights underneath, the corridors themselves tubes with stripes on either side containing more of those small, glowing circular things that he always had.
What were the glowey thingies?
How often he wondered.
A jump through an anti-gravity lift, a dash through two more corridors, a hop, a skip, and a jump later and he had arrived at a door forced shut, dented and sparking and letting loose all kinds of miniature explosions along the edges. The Doctor patted himself down all over the silky blue jacket of his past incarnation before finally finding the sonic screwdriver in an inside pocket. He grinned as his hands found it and whipped it out. Then stopped grinning.
"No, that's simply not proper," he said with a shake of the head, looking at the sonic, which consisted of a kaleidoscope pattern across the shaft with a spiders-web like glowing extension at the top.
The Doctor shook his head again, grumbling a bit before finally letting the old Timelord tech do it's magic on the crackling door, forcing it slowly open. When it was just wide enough, the newly-regenerated Gallifreyan slipped through and continued to dart along his path.
The suit just wouldn't do either. A silk jacket? And a black dress-shirt? What was he, a disco dancer?
He tried to ignore the disco room as he jogged past it, the disco ball lying in shatters on the glowing disco floor.
The Doctor dashed through one last door and into a large room. He quickly hopped up a small set of grated steps, then stopped.
A wild smile spread over the muttonchopped-face.
The console room.
The smile then disappeared as he looked around.
"I don't like it," he muttered.
As if in response, the part of the desktop in front of him then exploded, sending sparks flying and heat deeply into the new face of The Doctor.
"Egad!" he shouted, then grinned again, "There's another good one."
He darted off, to the front doors, shoving the doors open and leaping outside.
Something blinding flew by.
Another explosion.
"DELETE."
"Oh, bloody good idea, Doctor!" the Timelord said, swinging around back into the TARDIS, "Go right back to the place where you just died, eh, old chap, yeah, absolutely royal."
He slammed the doors shut and then paused.
"Such slang," he said, "That's new. Well, not really. I need a language tutor, really."
As yet another burst of light in the TARDIS shook him out of his thoughts, The Doctor turned back to the console.
A flip of the switch.
A pull on the Zigzag Plotter.
Twist on the Helmic Regulator.
A pair of rapid hands, with rapid fingers, flew across the navigations keyboard.
A turn of the dial, a smack of a button, a push of the lever, a twist of the cog, and suddenly that familiar old sound was filling the air and the TARDIS was in motion, far rockier than normal. The Doctor clenched the console as the TARDIS swung with him in it, nearly falling off his feet.
"Ha ha!" he cackled, "Onward!"
Another switch flipped.
The Doctor let go off his grip on the edge, swinging around the triangular console and twisting a few more cogs. As the TARDIS swung yet again, he flew back, knocking into the railing. His hair flopped down in his face.
He gasped.
"Ginger!" he exclaimed, "Ginger and muttonchops! By Jove, everything's going royal here!"
The Doctor cackled again. For the second time that day, his cackle was interrupted, this time by yet another swing of the TARDIS that sent him spilling to his feet and sliding across the metal floor. He quickly hooked his fingers into a grate. He kicked his feet across the floor, struggling to get to his feet. The task was quickly managed when the TARDIS swung back, sending him into a rough front-flip/roll in which he let go of the grate just in time to not break his brand-new fingers. The Doctor stumbled to his feet, hitting the railing again and pushing himself off straight to yet another lever to pull that he quickly swung off of to get to the next flip.
It was from there, as lights continued to explode around him and grates continued to blast up from the ground and fly through the air, that The Doctor manned the console for the next few minutes before the TARDIS made a rough landing on the ground.
All the sound stopped.
There was a moment of silence as the TARDIS sat, halted, in the machine's new destination.
"The first place this face will see," The Doctor muttered.
There was another pop and fizzle from one of the walls' lights.
The Doctor exhaled, leaning off the console and letting go of the technology.
"Ginger and muttonchops," he muttered, the grin spreading over his face again.
He cackled, then abruptly stopped.
"First things first," he said, "New clothes. A new sonic, as well."
He rubbed his cheeks again, still grinning.
"I could get used to these…"