Where's Mike? [closed to Team Mike]

[oopshitrefresh.livejournal.com]

Team Mike, please report to the... a pause ...it's large, it's French, does everyone know what the Notre Dame looks like? Hold on, I'll send a photo on your comms.

The Doctor, seated on the steps, pauses to do as he just said. With some juggling of his communicator and omnicom and, all right, perhaps some slight screwdriver-y, he gets it done with minimal difficulty.

As I was saying. Team Mike, please report to the Notre Dame, Team Mike, please report to the Notre Dame.

He pauses again, laying down to wait, ankles crossed.

Master, that does mean you as well. No, we're not changing the name.

Comments

[kindofscary.livejournal.com]

Oh, he'll be there alright. How would he complain otherwise?

The Master arrives in due course. His hands are blackened and oily, most likely from another rummage in Special Weapons Division. He bounds up the steps with something hanging limply in his hand. To some, it might look a bit like an open-reel tape recorder. To the Doctor, however, it probably looks just a tad like a timey wimey detector that's been made in a cave from a box of scraps... then dropped down the stairs.

"Yes we bloody are!" he instantly protests, "Go on, no one will notice."

[literaryloser.livejournal.com]

Fitz sort of slinks there eventually after him, smoking up a storm and looking bored and shifty.

"Hey, Doc." Is about all the conversation he's offering at the moment.

[oopshitrefresh.livejournal.com]

"'Lo," the Doctor replied to them both cheerfully, standing up and stealing Fitz's fag in one nearly-fluid motion.

He eyed the Master's machine. "I like Mike."

[kindofscary.livejournal.com]

He rolls his eyes as theatrically as he can muster.

"It's so terribly pedestrian. You would like it."

[smegging-hell.livejournal.com]

Lister manages to find the meeting point just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.

"Unless there's someone called Mike on the team. That would get confusing."