It was another lazy day for the Doctor and Jamie; there were no missions from the Celestial Intervention Agency for the moment, meaning that it was up to the two of them to get into mischief.
At the moment, the Doctor decided to stop by several post offices to check on various post office boxes that the Time Lord had apparently reserved.
"It's something that I've learned to do, you see," the Doctor explained to Jamie. "I set up a post office box most places I've visited the event that anyone I've met has a way to contact me again."
"Aye, I guess when ye keep traveling, it's hard for people to reach ye…"
"Quite right," the Doctor said. "Of course, I rarely get any actual mail from these boxes; still, it doesn't hurt to check—"
The Doctor was cut off in midsentence as a large pile of mail was handed to him, prompting Jamie to laugh.
"Aye, of course ye rarely get any actual mail from these boxes…"
"Well, 'rarely' is still a far cry from 'never,' after all," the Doctor countered. "Now instead of standing there laughing at me, you could offer to help me sort these out."
Jamie took half of the stack as he and the Doctor headed outside, sitting down on one of the nearest benches. It was a moment before the piper noticed something.
"Doctor, these are all from the same person," he said. "Irving Braxiatel, Irving Braxiatel, Irving Braxiatel… Who is this chappie?"
He glanced at the Doctor, who was staring at the stack of letters.
"…He's someone I know from long ago, Jamie," the Doctor said, at last. "Long before I ever met you."
"Oh," Jamie said. "Aye, shouldn't we see what he wants if he's sending ye all these letters?"
"I think I have a good idea," the Doctor muttered, as Jamie opened one of the letters.
"Hey, Doctor; this is nae a letter—it's an invitation! …And so is this one! And this one! I think they're all the same invitation, sent at different time periods so that they'd reach ye no matter what year ye arrived!"
"So it would seem," the Doctor said. "These are all identical, but, as you say, some are clearly older than others."
"But why would this Irving Braxiatel chappie want to invite ye somewhere?" Jamie wondered.
"I imagine it would amuse him," the Doctor said. "We haven't seen each other in a very long time."
"Aye, well, these invitations say that ye are invited to KS-159 for a tour of the Braxiatel Collection… What's that?"
"As I understand it, it is a collection of relics from across time and space, assembled with the intent of protecting them from the various destructive elements of their home worlds," the Doctor explained.
"Oh. Well, it also says here that the tour will be… followed by a meal and drinks at the Rat and Pestle Pub." Jamie's face showed a look of approval at the mention of a pub.
"I see that caught your attention more than the prospect of seeing valuable relics from across time and space…"
Jamie shrugged.
"I won' know anything aboot ninety percent of those relics," he pointed out. "But I know a good ale when I drink one."
The Doctor gave Jamie a long look.
"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother—I really do wonder," the Time Lord sighed.
"It's because ye're an old softie," Jamie said, without missing a beat. "Aye, then, ye want to go for a pint to this Rat and Pestle Pub?"
The piper struggled not to laugh as the reply was a jelly baby thrown so that it would bounce off his nose.
"The vast expanse of time and space at our fingertips, and it's all one big pub crawl to you," the Doctor sighed, in mock-disapproval.
"I notice that ye ne'er refuse t' drink with me. Ye e'en put ginger in yer drinks so that ye can feel the effects like us humans do."
"Scientific study, that's all; I'm just attempting to discover what you humans see in this indulgence."
"Aye, whate'er ye say…" Jamie mused.
"Yes, that is what I say! …Hello, what's this?"
The Doctor was now distracted by a different envelope at the bottom of his stack of invitations. This envelope was different from the others, and was sent by someone else; Irving Braxiatel's letters had been addressed to "Thete," but this letter was addressed to "Doctor John Smith."
"Well, open it!" Jamie prodded.
The Doctor opened the envelope to reveal another invitation.
"What's that for?" Jamie inquired. Without waiting for an answer, he leaned over to read it himself, prompting the Doctor to roll his eyes. "This is a pair of invitations to a dinner banquet, followed by a wine-tasting!"
"So it is. And there's a letter here, as well…" The Gallifreyan trailed off as the Scot now craned his neck to read the letter, too.
Doctor,
I'm not sure where—or when—you currently are, but I trust this will find you at some point or another, as it usually does. I get invited to a lot of these posh parties, but I can't seem to get away at this point in time. Rather than let these invitations go to waste, I decided to leave them for you and whoever it is you're currently traveling with.
I hope this finds you in good health.
Regards,
Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart
"I imagine the Brigadier does get invited to a lot of these," the Doctor mused. "How kind of him to give these invitations to us…"
"Aye, and this is the kind of party I would like to go to," Jamie stated. "Nothing but food, with fine wine afterwards. I'll admit I would prefer an ale, but the wine won' be bad, I'm sure."
"Well, I can't deny that I would prefer to see the Braxiatel Collection," the Doctor sighed. "However, if you prefer going to the banquet, I suppose I would find that enjoyable, as well."
"Aye, that'd be great!" Jamie grinned. "But I still would like to visit this Rat and Pestle Pub sometime."
"Of course you would."
"So we can go to the TARDIS and go to this banquet right now, aye? Why wait?"
"Well, before we go, I think… …Oh, dear," the Doctor said. "I just realized something, Jamie."
"Eh?"
"This is an extremely high-class banquet."
"Aye, so?"
"…They aren't going to let us in as we are."
"…What does that mean?"
"I mean, Jamie, that these sorts of get-togethers require attendees to dress and groom themselves for the occasion."
"…I don' think I like the sound of that," Jamie said.
"No, nor do I," the Doctor mused. "We shan't be allowed to wear these clothes we have on now; they'll practically require tuxedos. And they'll probably want us to have our hair done, as well."
Jamie frowned.
"Ye know, Doctor, suddenly, that banquet doesnae seem as appealing as it first did," the piper declared.
"I do believe you're right, Jamie."
The duo continued to sit on the bench for some time, silently pondering over their options.
"It is a pity that the Brigadier's banquet invitations will go t' waste after all," Jamie mused.
"No, I don't think they will," the Doctor said, as he stared at the pieces of paper. "I'll leave them in the TARDIS. I daresay Old Fancypants will find a use for them; this seems like the sort of thing he would prefer."
"Who is Old Fancypants?"
"An absolutely insufferable gentleman that I am one day destined to become," the Doctor muttered.
"Oh," Jamie said, remembering what he had learned about the Doctor's people, and how they change when they died. "…When?"
The Doctor could sense the apprehension in the piper's voice. He gave the Scot a gentle smile as he ruffled his hair.
"Not for a long time, if I can help it," the Doctor promised him. "And I'm sure you'll do whatever lies in your power to prevent his premature arrival, as well."
"Aye," Jamie vowed, instantly.
"I never doubted it."
Jamie smiled back, and then sighed.
"Ye really want t' see this Braxiatel collection, aye? If ye're sure we willnae have to get dressed up t' go t' that, I'll go with ye."
"Oh, don't worry; it's clear that this is come-as-you-are. The pub setting for afterwards certainly confirms that," the Doctor assured him. "You'll enjoy the pub. And who knows? You might even learn something at the exhibit."
"Knowing ye, I don' doubt it," Jamie mused. He paused. "Doctor… I know I complain aboot my lessons a lot, but I am grateful that ye took the time and effort to teach me things—and that ye still try to."
"Did you think I would have pressed on with them if I didn't know that, deep down, you truly did appreciate them?" the Doctor queried, gently tapping the piper on the nose. "Of course not! Now then, I say we get back to the TARDIS and enjoy this little trip to the exhibition—and the pub."
Eagerly, the two of them gathered the opened envelopes and invitations and dashed back to the TARDIS, eager to reach their next destination.