The Doctor follows close behind his new acquaintance as she leads him toward the far side of the square.
There's something odd about her. Well of course there is. Otherwise I wouldn't bother with this cafe nonsense. Doesn't she know it's the wrong time of day for breakfast? Well - here it isn't, but for me it is.
Through the dim half-light of the early morning, he looks at her again and tries to organize the mass of observations he'd made moments before.
Purple hair. Is that her natural color, or did she dye it? No, still too early for humans to have naturally purple hair. By the taste of the atmosphere, it'll be another century of so before they give themselves that mutation...gold eyes too, if I remember correctly. She sounds wrong for London. Did she come here from America? Must have. Probably why she's so friendly. None of this is especially odd. So why am I following her?
"What did you say your name was again?" the Doctor asks aloud.
"Tirhena." she calls over her shoulder.
"Odd name, that."
"Is that so, Doctor?" Tirhena retorts, "If you must know, my parents were hippies. They always told me Tirhena meant 'Joyful Peace' in Sanskrit. Though I'm fairly certain they made that up. But, you can't choose your family." she shrugs.
The Doctor looks at her (more accurately, the back of her head) incredulously, but lets it slide.
"You didn't seem fazed when I said I'm a time traveller."
"I just figured you're delusional. You did describe yourself as a 'madman in a box'. Seems apt. Here we are."
Tirhena pulls a set of keys from her bag and unlocks the door.
The cafe is on the ground floor of an old building, likely one of the original houses built on the square in the 1700s. Unlike most other structures in this part of London, the building housing the cafe appears to have survived the centuries with minimal changes. As they enter the darkened space, the Doctor looks around and notices a strange hodepodge of decor. A long, ornate Rococco table runs down the center of the room, flanked by a variety of chairs. Throughout the crowded restaurant, the Doctor notes furniture styles spanning over 400 years. Art Deco light fixtures, a Georgian couch; by the window, a Jacobean credenza with intricate mother of pearl inlays holds a mass of flyers and booklets. To confirm his suspicions, he lets his fingers drag across a few of the more authentic looking items as Tirhena leads him through the maze-like space.
Yep. That's real...That too...Surely not the - oh, hey.
Even from a cursory touch, he can sense the age of the objects; feel the weight of their time.
Either this woman has far too much money, and frighteningly eclectic taste, or something very strange is going on here.
"Have a look at the menu board there, and let me know what jumps out at you. I just have to pop into the kitchen and make sure my staff actually showed up. Back in a sec," Tirhena calls.
The Doctor watches her disappear through the swinging doors to the back of the building, and then continues his assessment of the cafe.
Yes, Definitely something strange here. he thinks, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to analyze the retro diner-style display case full of pastries.
Hmm. Normal vintage display case. Working well. Nothing too off about that. Oh wait - it's not plugged in...
He hears footsteps and a voice approaching and quickly re-pockets the device.
"Thanks guys! Nothing beats fresh coffee at this time of morning. I'll make the changes on the specials board now." Tirhena says over her shoulder as she returns with two mugs.
"How do you like your coffee, hun?"
"Black."
"Right, here y'are then. So what do you think of the place?"
"The decor is quite - varied." the Doctor replies, carefully pitching his voice to imply the question on his mind.
Tirhena gives a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, my accountant says I have bad taste. Expensive, but bad."
"Hmm. How long have you run this place?" he asks, trying to sound conversational.
"Feels like centuries sometimes. Other times, it feel like we just opened yesterday. So, what can I get you?"
The Doctor gives her another critical look.
"Is that Cranberry-Orange-Pistachio, I see?"