"You shouldn't have, provided it's not alive. Hopefully it's not," the Doctor lets the outburst wash over him, unruffled. He's used to reactions like that. Sometimes other lifeforms don't much care for his methods, which is fine: usually it's mutual. They want to point guns at people, he doesn't want them to point guns at people. Things like that.

The Doctor makes sure the handherchief is tucked neatly into his pocket, patting it down as he flicks a sidelong glance at Karis.

"Karis, I just finished saying we're on a brand new planet. Rocks could be alive, flowers could be about a step away from coming up with a cure for the common cold," the Doctor pauses, then corrects himself. "Or whatever they have here instead of the common cold. It's not as common as you think, actually."