The Bizarre Adventures of Doctor Who

The Hermit & the Boy

Standing in front of a mirror as he's pulling on his olive stitched vest, a tall lanky man in his forties, with a look in his dark eyes as he studied himself extensively. In his mouth, a wooden pipe that hung on the edge on his mouth as he stared at his outfit for the day. A white pressed shirt with an olive stitched vest over it, a darker green for his stitched trousers, his hair a curly brownish mess, it's a miracle he even got out of bed this morning.

"Stop worrying, you look fine!" he heard a woman, around her mid-thirties, beside him as he turned his head.

When he spoke, the man had an unheard accent, sounded rural at times, otherwise neutral to some degree.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this," the man exhaled sharply as he checked his bowtie, making sure it's tight enough as he turned his head back to face the mirror.

Giggling, the woman beside him crossed her arms as she stated, "You always said I was a troublemaker."

Nodding as he admitted he said it more than once, but added with, "You didn't have to drag me into show business, River. I don't think I'm perfect for this job."

Showing doubt in his capabilities, the man sighed as he turned to his side, looking at himself at a different angle, hearing River overhead remark that he's never dissuaded by anything, if it's something he can't figure out, he worked trying to understand.

"Science's different than guiding people who I wouldn't know from a hole in the wall," the man pointed out that there's a difference, but River shook her head, her curly sunburnt hair bobbing as she did.

River assured him that he's capable, with his amassed stories, he can easily make enough stories to last him the rest of his time on the show.

Thinking about it, the man nodded, but added that he doesn't think he should go that deep into it, far less people would've been appreciative if he delved into his mind too deep.

He knew many that would've wanted nothing more than him dropping dead on the spot, if they didn't kill him on the spot themselves. That's the best-case scenario.

Not many people like his face and for good reason, him being on this show's bound to rile enough feathers that pillow manufactures won't have shortages for the rest of their existence.

"I doubt they'll come all this way giving you trouble, now, Herman," River pointed out that it wouldn't make sense for the people formally in Herman's life suddenly springing up all because he decided to use them and their experiences in his part on the show, 'The Doctor' that's garnered plenty of buzz since it aired, more when the former showrunner departed.

"You don't know them the way I do," Herman pointed out that River never met them, much less knew in-depth, what kind of people they were when he was back home.

River pointed out that whatever he uses' only coincidental, after all, the former showrunner on the show made it similarly like the stories Herman told her.

Lightly snorting, Herman responded that he only told River the choice cuts, there's plenty of stories he never got around telling her, yet. Don't think he might, some's too close to home for him that he didn't want to bring it up, again.

Comforting him, River mustered that he doesn't have to deal with them ever again, they can't hurt him, again, and he admitted that she's right.

They're dead, they can't hurt him, haunt him, maybe.

"They made their mistakes," River pointed out to him as he left the mirror, going over to the oak table with an ash tray before he poured out the used ash from the pipe, smelling of lingenberries and other berries with hints of different mints, something of a favourite when he was back home, having replicated with what he found here.