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Why can’t he ever just have an adventure that doesn’t entail him getting filthy? The Doctor felt the muck squelching in his socks as he walked to the wardrobe room. He could always change up his clothes, that would shock Clara wouldn’t it. Her reaction to the plaid trousers had been incredibly amusing. Once inside the large room, the Doctor was quick to strip his muck encrusted clothes off and wander about. How he ever fit into some of these outfits was beyond him. Instant weight gain was a side effect of regeneration. Not to mention height gain, as he looked at the incredibly short pair of cream trousers he held up against his legs. He wound settling for a pair of darker plaid trousers this time around, after he’d had some adjustments made by the TARDIS to them. Now, for a shirt.
Frilly shirts, he smiled at those. Those were some fun times battling the Master. Jo Grant had loved those shirts. Left the Doctor for a Professor she had. Oh well, no accounting for tastes. The Doctor shrugged and hung the shirt back up.
Some of these jumpers made him laugh. All those bloody question marks! Now that’s a joke done to death many times over. Doctor who? ha ha ha. He thought to himself.
Oh! The loose tunic! The cream coloured shirt hung there. His long fingers ran over the light linen. The low neckline, the drawstring. And the collar! It brought back memories of Gallifrey. He held it up. It was much too large now for him. He’d been taller then and wider. Pulling it on over his head, he fixed up the cuffs to shorten the arms enough and tied the drawstring up slightly. It hung well past his hips, no, almost to his knees! He laughed and for the moment, reliving the memories of his days on Gallifrey he left it on and wandered off to go read a book.