Entering the large building, Haley sees one of her friends waving to her. She's in her simple waitress outfit which is an orange, short-sleeve dress that shoes the tops of her shoulders. The neck is in a wide U-shape that shows the small amount of her breasts that are pushed upwards thanks to her push-up bra.
"Hey Monica, you okay? You're a little jumpier than usual," Haley chuckles as she reaches behind the young woman to grab round black tray, her notepad and pen, a few empty glasses, and a few bottles of beer.
"Why wouldn't I be excited?" Monica practically squeals in her attractive, British Cockney voice, "Your birthday is next week! You'll be twenty-one!"
"Why does that matter here? I've been eligible to drink since I arrived. Just means I can drink back home in America," Haley shrugs her shoulders and sets a few drinks down for some normal customers to guzzle down.
"I'm not talking about drinking!" the dirty-blonde spats with amusement present in her speech, "It just means your completely mature now! Twenty is all fine and dandy, but twenty-one is where it's at! You're at the point where everything you do will permanently mean something to your life. Speaking of which, you need a boy."
"Excuse me?" Haley scoffs as she writes down the order that belongs to the couple holding hands at the black and white checkered table.
"That's right! You've been here for two years and you haven't laid eyes on a single man in London!" Monica says, neglecting her waitress duties. She ignores the burning stare of her boss, who leaning against the nearby wall, tapping his foot in irritation.
"That's because I have better things to do than kiss up to men and let them get into my pants. I just need to get everything settled. I still have payments on my car that's due, I'm a few days late on my apartment rent, and-" Haley is cutoff by Monica pressing her tan finger to Haley's lips.
"Honey, calm down. Maybe a man could do you some good, especially a rich one. Could help you pay off all of your debts to the government," she winks and finally picks up her tray. Her heels click against the tiled floor to a booth on the other side of the night club.
"Oi," Haley groans softly with a roll of her eyes. She turns around to go take another order, but she slips on the glossy tile. She goes flying upwards. She thought she heard the snapping of her heel as it twisted when she slipped. As she braces for impact, she feels herself become embraced by a pair of warm arms. Her tightly shut eyes pop open. She turns to face her savior. Her cheeks burn as she sees that it's a man. The man is tall and has messy brown hair. His eyes are a beautiful brown, but they're old and kind and hold lots of wisdom. In fact, they're so old that almost seem fragile compared to the rest of his healthy body. The man smile softly as he sets her down in a booth.
"That was some fall you had there. Fortunately, you only twisted your ankle," the man has obvious British accent, much like her friend, although, he speaks with a more formal accent than Cockney.
Haley shuts her eyes for a moment and wakes up from her daze. Her mind becomes serious and she stands herself up, "Thanks for the saving, but I think I'll be fi-" Haley takes one step forward on her twisted ankle and collapses to the ground. She bites her bottom lip so hard that she could probably break the skin. The pain shooting through her ankle feels like it's been shot a hundred times.
"They never listen," the man mutters to himself softly.
"What was that?" Haley says with a hint of a glare in those bright violet eyes of hers.
"Nothing," the man helps her up and sits her back onto the booth, "Now, what's your name m'dear? From your accent, it seems you're not from around these parts, either."
"Haley. Haley Foster. I'm from America. Now that you know my name, what about you?" Haley asks as she massages her sore ankle.
"John Smith," he says with a smile.
"Lies."
"Pardon?"
"That's not your name. I can see it in your eyes."
"You can see it in my eyes?" 'John Smith' stares at the girl intently, focused on her eyes. At first, he thought they were blue, but no. Like an optical illusion, the female's eyes seem to be a normal human color at a quick glance or when not staring her directly in the eyes. He looks deep into her eyes until he noticed the almost glowing color of violet illuminate from them.
"You have remarkable eyes, Ms. Foster, if I do say so myself," the trench-coat wearing man says.
"You're changing the subject," Haley says, still with the same irritated look on her face, "Now tell me your name." The sudden change in her voice startles him. It went instantly from a strict and serious face to something more hostile and commanding.
"Fine, my name is The Doctor," he says. The Doctor sees a sudden relaxation in her face. It's as if telling her his name gave her a sense of relief.
"The Doctor. It is your name, yet it isn't. How strange," the mysterious phrases and questions surprise not only the Doctor, but Haley as well. Sure she's a little strict, but she's never heard words like these come out of her mouth.
Both open their mouths to speak, but are interrupted by a glass breaking shriek. A shriek that can belong to only one person that Ms. Foster knows. Her best friend, Monica.
