There's always background noise here on the TARDIS—a resonant thrum, like the beating of an ancient heart. Can't quite call it mechanical, though, not when it seems alive most days.
It's louder than usual, that white noise filled out by the clatter and clink of metal, and the familiar whirr of the sonic—a brief flash of deep blue snagging through the holes in the grating. Rose's shoes scuff in a consistent rhythm across the metal floor. Perching on the edge of the jump-seat, she fiddles with her damp scarf, still clinging to the winter weather they'd fought through earlier.
She peers at what she can make out of the hunched silhouette tinkering around in the dark. "You tried the brakes?" she suggests as the sonic's glow fades out. "Mickey's car conked down once, turned out it was something to do with cross-wiring—the lights, apparently," she snorts. "Had him tryin' all sorts himself, insisting he could fix it."
"Well, he would, wouldn't he?" There's obvious disdain that filters on through the open hatch, causing Rose to roll her eyes. "And this ship doesn't do brakes. S' not that anyway, even if it did."
"What is it, then?" she asks, partially because she's bored and partially because a part of her is genuinely wanting to nosy. The Doctor's always been funny about the details.
His head pops up, big ears and all. And he squints at her, as if trying to make his mind up on whether he should say. Hoisting himself up to settle on the rim of the hatch, he wipes his hands free of oil with a cloth before throwing it aside. "Thermo-couplings, like that brake issue, it's minor. Won't take me much longer."
Rose presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, turning it over in her head. "What, like, temperature readings?"
"Entropy," he replies flat as a punctured tyre, like that word alone explains anything. "Can overheat though—if they're out of place or their casing's knackered." Ducking to grab the sonic, he fiddles with the settings.
Blinking, her foot stills. Even if she doesn't get it, when's he ever bothered properly trying to explain something about this ship's parts to her? Yeah, she's not big on vehicles or anything, but the TARDIS is… different that way. Amazing, wonderful and bloody barmy. Bit like him… A lot like him, actually. "So, you sayin' it's broke down then?"
"No, it's not broken down. Just..." he pauses, face screwing up like he's tasted something bitter. "Refusing. No—malfunction," he snaps the correction out fast, already ducking back below the grating as if to escape the slip.
Leaning forward, she stretches a hand out, brushing her fingers across the console. Is it a tad warm, or is she imagining things? "Think we all have those days," Rose says, cheeky amusement lilting through her tone.
He trips up on things like that a lot; 'Refusing,' like it has its own sense of awareness, a personality enough to do so with. Mad enough that it's this brain-achingly immense—she got lost this morning on her way to the kitchen... well, one of them, anyway. She bets there's probably a dozen or so, all scattered around this ship, just to make her life extra difficult.
There's a hiss beneath, a rising pitch from the sonic and: "Ah-ha!" the Doctor exclaims, triumphant, shooting up with a manic grin.
Around them the hum grows, the pale lights brightening, casting a cyan glow across copper, silver, and them.