"Where are you? Oh, yes. There you are. Imagine such a small wire being so crucial," the light voice, accented with a British-like cadence, seemed to be directing its comments to the circular console that occupied the center of the ship's cavernous control room. The speaker himself lay on the deck plates, half beneath the shelf of that console, as he sorted through the wires that hung down like vines in a dusty jungle.
"Doctor?" a woman asked as she walked in from the aft corridor, skirts swishing lightly.
"Just a minute, Charley, I almost...Ow!" he jerked back from beneath the console and put his finger promptly in his mouth.
The blond woman winced, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to distract you. Are you quite alright?"
"Yes, yes. Just fine. Though I fear that the TARDIS has just about had it with my tinkering at the moment," he stood up, nearly six feet in height once stretched out. Hands brushed against his trousers and he reached for the sea green frock coat that hung over a nearby seat. "Poor old thing. Not that I blame her. It'd been a bit of a rough ride for the past few weeks, hasn't it?"
Charley wrinkled her nose as she smiled and made her way over. "Nothing beyond the usual at any rate. Gallivanting through time and space, stopping a revolution here, creating one there. Finding monsters and mad experiments between the cracks."
"Well I guess when you put it that way." The Doctor smiled at her. He had lived many lives, the death of one body simply leading to a life in another through a Time Lord's trick of regeneration. Yet even through everything about his body and even aspects of his personality would change, there were somethings that never altered. Traits that were undeniably and utterly the Doctor's. His curiosity, his sense of adventure, the drive to wander and quite tangibly, the way his smile would transform his face into a joy that could be almost painful in its purity. This regeneration, his Eighth, was fairly refined in features. The term Byronesque had been applied to him so many times it was almost a cliche. With that frame work, his expressions could reach a school boy's measure of clarity in a heartbeat. "But, wait now. Don't tell me all this has become old hat to you?"
She laughed and walked the rest of the way over, hands trailing on the console. "Old hat? What, careening from place to place with hardly a breath between? You are forgetting exactly who you are traveling with. I'm Charley Pollard, Ed..."
"...Edwardian Adventuress..." they finished at the same time.
"Yes, I know," his voice dropped to a teasing intimacy as he held out his elbow to her, "But even an Adventuress such as yourself needs a break every once in a while."
She looked skeptical, "A break?"
"Well, why not a break? According to the TARDIS we've landed in France. Isn't that nice? France."
"France," she repeated dubiously.
"Yes, France. Late Eighteenth century, I should think," the Doctor frowned and began steering her towards the door, "Come now, Charley. Home to Paris, city of lights and love. Birthplace of such marvelous folks as Louie the Fourteenth and Madame de Pompadour..."
She couldn't help it. She laughed, "I'm hardly dressed for the French court or Napoleon, Doctor. Nor are you."
His smile was charming, innocent and almost painfully gleeful as he opened the door. "Nonsense. We're dressed for whatever occasion we deem suitable."
"Mmm... famous last words," Charley said in mock dire tones. But, even if she did have reservations, she followed him out, nearly as eager as he was to see what waited.
The sun was shining and the scent that was carried to them on the breeze was crisp. The doctor inhaled deeply of it and pointed, "Look. That way. I'd guess that the ocean isn't more than a mile that way. Maybe even less."
"That would seem to be the only thing around for miles," Charley raised a hand to her hat and turned to look. "It's all woods and scrub as far as the eye can see."
"Not quite. There's a road there. Come on. Let's see where it leads, shall we?"
Gravel and sand crunched beneath their feet as they made their way. "Do you think there is a town up ahead? The road twists and turns too much to see." Charley craned her neck around anyway.
"It's following the shore line," the doctor explained and lowered his voice, "We're angling closer, you know."
"Well, I suppose that worst to worst we have a day at the beach out of the venture. Could be quite peaceful," Charley said cheerfully.
The doctor merely hmmed an answer. Whether some sight or sense had tipped him off, he didn't say, but within a few more moments of walking the white flapping fabric of several tents set up near a crossroads could be seen. Tents, horses, and a rather large group of men in the uniforms of the French military.
"Is that an encampment of sorts?" Charley asked, blue eyes widening in alarm.
"Why, yes, I suppose it is. See? They've got the colors run up and the supplies are over there..." The Doctor dropped his voice.
"They look as if they are assembled for a battle."
"I'd imagine they are. This time period is fairly rift with the French preparing for battles of one sort of another," the doctor smiled at her and kept walking forward.
"Doctor?"
"Of course, it could be something much more simple..."
"Doctor..."
"Though, the proximity to the coast is very telling, don't you think? I wonder if they could be persuaded to show us much or if they'll try to be close-lipped about it."
"To a man and woman who speak in a very clear English accents?" Charley had grabbed his arm, finally, "I think they'll most likely to show us their guns!"
The Doctor stopped and stared at her. "I don't have an... oh. Oh. I see..." Clearly, the thought of their accents, or the accent the TARDIS conveyed for him at least, hadn't occurred to him. "You might have a point there."
It was about that time that the shouts from the camp at the sight of two strangers, standing on a road that should have been blockaded, rang out.
"Perhaps we'd better..."
"Yes..."
The Doctor took Charley's hand and they turned, running. Gunfire wasn't far behind them.