allpurposescarf | (no subject)

There are great number of things that Four can tolerate when it comes right down to it. Or more than a few rather, depending on who one asks and how one counts it. Having his TARDIS dragged across all time and space and forced down onto some planet that is very certainly not where he'd meant to be. Not to mention that he'd thought he'd seen the last of this sort of request.

But he'd forgotten about the Time Lords. And he's almost certain it is them. There aren't very many people who would have bothered to try. Again. Needless to say, then, he's decided that whatever they want him to do can wait. He's had too much of getting into trouble on other people's behalf later and certainly they'd have to have been aware that he's getting very tired of this repeated instance that he fix whatever problem has come up this time. Right now, he means to take full advantage of his old fishing rod.

(Romana, of course, had insisted that he'd only been doing it to be contrary, and he's not to proud to admit that she's right. He is - and will continue to be - contrary. Especially if it means that they'll stop asking him to pick up the messes.)

So it is that he's set himself up on the banks of the local river with his old fishing pole, quite entirely unconcerned about the local trouble. In fact, he's whistling softly to himself as he waits, and if Romana's gone off to look into things, he hasn't really noticed any.

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Six scowled at his console briefly, pressing a few more buttons in an attempt to do something, but the old girl's rotor stubbornly refused to even twitch. With a long-suffering and dramatic sigh (not that there was anyone around to hear him) he stabbed his finger down on the viewscreen button.

"Well... not bad for a vacation spot, I suppose, though it's no Eye of Orion... are you trying to tell me you think I need a spot of fishing, old girl?" That probably wasn't it, especially since there's a small flashing light discretely pulsing away on his console, but he's ignoring that in favor of striding over to the door and ducking through to find his rod. If whoever or whatever brought him here was rude enough to do it without even so much as a polite message, they could just stew for a bit, until he was ready to figure out what was going on.

It only took a few moments to track it down, along with a few other things he'd need, and then he was stepping out of the TARDIS and taking a deep breath of fresh air. "Yes... this is just the thing. Come along, Doctor... and you really ought to stop talking to yourself, you know."

It is, perhaps, something of a testament to where Six's TARDIS has landed - and, perhaps, the fact that Four has taken his time in finding what had seemed to be the best spot for a little fishing and is thus rather far away from his TARDIS - that leaves him just about close enough to hear the very tail end of the comment. Not, unfortunately, enough to hear Six refer to himself as the Doctor, but enough to hear a voice and have something to comment on.

(Unfortunately he isn't really looking Six's way and certainly doesn't recognize the voice besides, but the sound of Four's own voice ought to be familiar enough when he answers.)

"It really is a terrible habit, I've heard. Or so people will keep trying to say."