#ithoughtidsurvive

"Do you really have to be a villian now? In front of other people?"

"Oh, good, you’re awake. Eggs, bacon, and some coffee are on the table."

Brendan let the machine go on playing Miranda’s message on repeat while he took the time to get situated on the couch. He winced every time she said his birth name. He knew she was upset but he didn’t rush to call her right away. He settled back comfortably against the well-dressed man seated behind him, who was half laying over the opposite arm of the couch with a gaping gunshot wound at the back of his head. His partner, who had met a similar end, was laid out upon the floor at Brendan’s feet amid the bits of blood-covered wood and glass that had once made up the Scotsman’s coffee table, and which had been horribly destroyed when the poor bastard fell and died upon it. Brendan kicked his corpse over with his foot so he wouldn’t have to keep staring at that ugly face, then draped his legs over the couch arm at his own end before finally picking up the phone to call back Miranda.

"Cool cellar. Do you have like old wine and mysterious meat pies or something?"

(Oooo! Yes! I'd love to

"Welcome ta the TARDIS. First question of many: 'Ow the 'ell ya get on m' ship?"