The professor had found being cooped up in her office during her lunch hour to be a horrible idea given how nice the campus was currently wasn’t. As such she’d packed up her things, adjusted the pirate hat and eyepatch currently being worn by the old Dalek casing in the corner of the room (she could only imagine how loved Aberdeen and Fitch were at the local costume shop by now) and then slipped an old and worn-looking Vortex Manipulator onto her wrist, deciding to head to 21st century Earth for some nostalgia food.
Nobody could quite make a crepe like the ones she’d find in Paris, and so she’d found herself slipping out of an alleyway and heading off for a stroll in search of a good-looking cart. However she’d momentarily gotten distracted by rather posh-looking outfit in a shop window and hadn’t been able to quite sidestep a form coming around the corner. River was quick to turn her focus forward with a surprised look. “Blimey! Well there goes my reputation for being alert…” A slight sigh escaped but she eventually shook it off with a wry smile. “Sorry about that, are you all right?”
The Trickster was quite surprised to find himself in a quaint American town; one, because there were no aliens in sight. In fact, there were few people in second. Two, there was a coffee shop across the street, and judging from the architecture, they probably offered those frozen coffee drinks on their menu. Happily, the Time Lord ambled across the street to the inviting cafe, quite positive that nothing could go wrong on this sunny day.
He hadn’t been with The Doctor for long, two Timelords in one TARDIS…that was unheard of. But Ehavon was just too interesting to leave behind, an enigma that The Doctor wasn’t used to seeing. And another Time Lord alive? Walking the planes of this universe? Unheard of. He was the last of his kind, was he not? And yet here they were, facing one another, hip pressed against the counter in the small kitchen tucked in the back of the TARDIS. "It’s good, yeah?“ He grinned, watching Ehavon devour the chocolate souffle Clara had left behind for him to eat this week. A bit of chocolate drizzle fell from the top of the souffle, streaking along Ehavon’s strong, stubbled jaw, and before the doctor could stop himself, he stepped forward, pressing an opened mouth kiss over it, cupping Ehavon’s neck as he kissed the bit of chocolate from his jaw, inhaling the soft scent of his skin and soap before he pulled away, "Sorry…” He murmured, looking away and digging through the fridge for another bit of souffle.