The tavern, when he found it, was a particularly large tent striped white and blue. Part of the side was rolled up, and light and drunk people overspilled into the night. The Doctor waltzed in, noting in passing the threatening figures dressed in black and blood haunting the door, and looked for a seat. There were none. Every bench was fuilled to falling off with cats and dogs and monkeys with scales. Humans with patches of scales? That was a new one. The bar itself ran along the width of the tent on his left, and he leant on it cheerfully. "Hello!"
The rather pretty barmaid, in the kind of low-cut blouse universal to barmaids everywhere, looked round at him and smiled. "Hello, handsome. What can I get you?"
"Got something with bananas in it?"
She shook her head. "We've got cider. Or ale, or mead, or wine. That's it."
"No cocktails? What kind of bar doesn't do cocktails?"
The barmaid raised an eyebrow. "The kind that travels to foreign fields to serve beer at festivals. Do you want something or not?"
The Doctor pulled a banana out of his pocket. "You sure you can't do anything with this?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I could mash it up and pour cider over it, if you like."
He pulled a face. "No thanks. Tell me, you must get all sorts in here. Got any good stories?"
"There was the time Legion tried to kill me for serving drinks to demons."
"What?"
"Yup. He reckoned it was our fault. Dunno what expected us to do about them. Better to serve them drinks than let them kill you, that's what I say. Anyway he's banned now, so he won't be pulling that trick again. Sure I can't get you anything?"
"Nah, I'm fine thanks."
"Right you are." She turned to the next customer, looking disgruntled by the space he was taking up at the bar, and the Doctor moved away, looking around impatiently for the woman he'd come to talk to.
Thus it was that he was looking in the right direction when she appeared out of thin air.
Or, rather, it appeared. The Doctor had assumed it was female, because that's how it had looked, but it was wearing a male body now and looking perfectly at home. The scarlet frock coat and lacy white shirt put him strongly in mind of playing cards, which, since it was apparently called the King of Diamonds, was probably the point. Its face did look similar to the last time he'd seen it, as a brother might resemble a sister, but the only way he knew it was the same creature was the bright golden symbol on its forehead.
"Hello, the King of Diamonds," he said happily. "Nice to see you. You're looking well."
"Yes, it's a rather useful trick," King said, looking embarrassed. "Rather an unpleasant sensation, getting shot. I can't recommend it."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"Now, before we were so rudely interupted, where were we? Ah, yes - you were asking me to demonstrate my independence from corporeal existence. I trust you're satisfied on that front?" As it spoke, King was leaving the tavern tent, and the Doctor followed.
"Not entirely. If you don't mind me saying so, you do look rather similar to the last time we spoke."
"Naturally. I wanted you to recognise me, after all. It wouldn't have made much sense to manifest as a mokosh. But I will concede that there does tend to be a certain resemblance between manifestations, especially around the eyes. It might just be habit, of course. I have been manifesting for rather a long time."
"How long is a rather long time?"
"About eight thousand years."
